bisita

I just love it when my grandmother exerts extra effort whenever I am home. Last night, she stayed late and watched all the soap operas with me. I insisted that she already go to her room and rest at about 9 pm, but she in turn insisted she wasn't sleepy yet. From time to time, I can see her closing her eyes. haha. In fact, she fell asleep once or twice. But she said, she regularly does that every commercial. Marunong pang magpalusot si lola! I pretended sleepy so she would sleep already.

When I woke up this morning, she heated water for my coffee and offered all the breakfast she had around. I just took the coffee. She stared at my face and saw the pimples that appeared during finals week and asked me if I wanted her to bring me to the dermatologist for skin care (during college, she was the one who always insisted, and the one who actually brought me, to the same derma). Considering how simple she is, it's surprising how she really gets bothered with a few pimples in my face (as well as that of my male cousins!).

And on our way home from my cousin Eduard's recognition, she bought me halo-halo and my favorite isaw. Isn't she the sweet one? =)

My Harry Potter Scar

About 7 years ago, I was in a vehicular accident. I hit the windshield with my head, and well, both the windshield and my head didn't totally break. I guess we can call it a tie. Fortunately, in the hospital where I was immediately rushed, there was a cosmetic surgeon who sutured the wound in my head, using a hairstrand-thin strand to close up th wound. I think he did a fairly good job because the scar isn't as noticeable as it's supposed to. Still, to this day, I still have that long scar in the middle of my forehead, much like Harry Potter's.

Oftentimes, people do not notice this scar. I still get surprised whenever a friend I have known for several years would suddenly remark one day, "Oh, you have a scar in the forehead!" The place where my scar is located is rather conspicuous, and I do not know why some people would not readily notice, until I point it out to them.

But my grandmother never forgot about this scar. From the moment I had this, she insisted on me undergoing a plastic surgery, which I vehemently refused. Always, she was the one concerned with how I look. Back in college, she was the first person who took me to the derma and bought that expensive acne scar removal cream for me. She's also the one who buys all those Eskinol for Men for my male cousins during their teenaged years.

Up to now, I am quite comfortable with my scar and believe that it is already of part of me and my character. I never really harbored any anger toward that drunk driver who suddenly hit my car head-on. I took the accident rather coolly. Perhaps it's a symbol of how I survived figuratively and metaphorically, much like the baby Harry Potter survived Voldemort's attacks. As for my grandmother, she still feels sad every time she sees the scar that fate brought me. It feels like it hurt her more than it hurt me.