Let me relate this incident once more because it's important to know why I'm writing this post. The false ceiling of our bathroom fell on me a couple of days ago and as you can see it scratched my face. I had got it repaired just two weeks ago and I got really pissed as hell at the men who repaired it. I called and blasted them and still I was angry as hell. The interesting thing was that not only was I angry but after a while I got a bit distressed. The reason was that that harmless looking scratch might leave a permanent scar on my face. The scratch hasn't healed yet so I don't know if it's going to actually leave a scar or not but at the time somehow the fear took on a disproportionate intensity and I washed my face several times. I couldn't stop looking in the mirror and touching the slightly angry thin red line next to my eye. It distressed me even further and I began to cry. I called my husband and cried like a baby saying that my face will be scarred forever and I'm going to be ugly for life. He soothed me and said,"Even the moon has a mark on its face." I felt a bit better and decided to forget about it but I couldn't. Yesterday as I applied a liberal amount of concealer on that little scratch it distressed me a bit again. As I washed off my face in the night I touched it again and I wondered why it distressed me. I recalled a friend who recently went through surgery and has a very visible and prominent scar. I didn't even see it until she touched it self consciously as she was telling me about the surgery. I realised that she probably looked at it every morning in the mirror, touched it and wondered if she was still beautiful. I hope she didn't because her beauty shines through her eyes. She has a serenity and grace in her demeanor which puts everyone around her at ease. She is a devoted and loving wife and mother. But there's the scar, so insignificant, so unimportant. And here I was crying like an idiot child over a scratch. I feel ridiculous about the way I reacted. I've said many times that it really doesn't matter what a woman looks like her beauty is unique and twinkles in her eyes, in her laughter, in the way she takes care of her family, the way she supports her friends, the way she loves and much more. And yet I had shed tears over a scar that may or may not even be there. In that moment I had forgotten how lucky I was that I hadn't lost my eye in the accident. I forgot that even if my face was a criss cross of scars the people who really love me will continue to love me just as much. Love doesn't recognise scars. I've understood that I'm a long way from understanding beauty. I mean what if there is a little scar on my face? Would I like myself any less? I hope not. That would be even more distressing than the actual scar.