“Often the hands will solve a mystery that the intellect has struggled with in vain.”
Carl Jung

When I first meet someone, my eyes don’t fall on their shoes. No, instead my gaze lingers on their hands.There’s something about the intrinsity of the palms. The delicate roundness of some or the rough strength of others. All of them have tales, that are screaming underneath the long-forgotten shade.
They have seen more stories than the writer itself. They are home to the treasure that the treasurer forgot exists.
They are a window to the life of a person. You want an autobiography ?! It’s right there amidst the folds of skin. You won’t be able to see it, but know that its there.

The treasure is not diamonds and gold but a lot more precious.
It’s that phone number you forgot to call, that appoint you missed, that reminder you didn’t acknowledge, or that doodling in a boring lecture ,that date of the concert you didn’t go to, those unexpressed ideas scribbled furiously, someone’s initials you crossed over, that game of flames that ended in an ‘e’ , that teenage obsession, that friend’s secret they rubbed, that fake-tattoo of your friends group’s logo XD , that pen’s ink at the end of an exam, that inspiration you get in the middle of a hundred people, or that math problem you finally understood  and solved all over your hand by the end of class or maybe that to-do list that never got done. It’s the need for the ink to flow. 

It also holds the keys to the times present at the back of your brain, the times you probably don’t remember in everyday life.
Right from when your sister painted her walls and your palms were coloured, to ,that dirt from playing on the beach, that insect that caught your fancy, and that burn you suffered when you first tried cooking, that cut from a sheet of fresh paper, remember that sodium salt that stained your palms yellow in a heated chemistry lab ? , and also that time your niece turned  into an artist and there was a whole lot of purple on your hand  ?! Or that celebrity you touched in a crowd of hundreds at your college, and that smell of the cat’s you played with. Do you recall that glitter you used for your sister’s project, that bruise you got when you first fell from a cycle, that sanitizer you borrowed on your first day of college –  blossoming into a friendship, and that imported hand creme sent by an aunt  you exhausted in a week ?! Well , all this and a lot more..

Palm’s are not just love-lines and life-lines . They aren’t even astrology and all that hoola-baloo. They are testimony to the moments washed away by a little soap. They are a path to your soul.

More power and happiness to you all !
Much Love,
Tazbia xx ❤



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