Majano

Julian Majano
Ms. Gardner
English 10, Period 0
24 January 2015
A Story Grafted in Skin
There are many stories to be told just by looking at the grueling hands of many people,
such as workers, innovators, teens, and many more. It can be a story still in the process, or be a
memory long forgotten. Through it all, hands put in the work that is necessary for a human vessel
to live. We all put our hands together when we pray, and we are connected through a simple
appendage that everyone has and that we all use. My father has always told me, Julian, there are
mistakes in my past, but none in yours. There are great opportunities and challenges to overcome
when you get older. When I gaze down at my hands I see a rough past that my father cant see,
but a great future that he has foretold.
I value my hands, for they are what help me perform the actions needed to succeed in my
life. They are needed for me to write my ideas, to help me wrestle, and to create opportunities for
my future. They can determine whether or not a person can perform actions and when
incapacitated, a person is left in the dust. For instance, the mighty Azog from The Hobbit gets his
hand sliced clean off, and being a beast of his size; he still wallowed in the pain that came from
this severing. The Pale Orc, so high and mighty, was defeated by a mere mortal, which means
that hands can make or break anything in the realm of the living. My hands are a map made of
skin, for each scar placed upon them is a memory of happiness or gloom. The hands make up

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one-third of all injuries, and its no surprise why they can be so symbolic because of these
wounds. Injuries upon my hands only help me drive my future forward by making myself learn
not to repeat the past.
My hands have felt pain, in both emotional and physical tolls. One great memory I have
would be when I made my voyage to live with my father in New York. The Big Apple, going
there recognizing no one, and shaking the hands of many new acquaintances. Before I left
California in 2009, I took hold of my fathers hand as he led me to a new area that I have not
been before, and my hands are branded with small scars of certain events that I hold dear which
occurred in this new state. I still remember how I got some of the scars because the events
leading up to how I acquired them were events that I can never forget, for good and bad. It was
always warming to hear my father say, I love you, son. The emotional pain I felt, however, was
the day that I held my fathers hand for the last time for a while, almost a year after I took hold of
it and abided in a great new area. I was returning to live with my mother, and waved my dad
good bye, and made a path to a new adventure that I still feel in my hands.
When I reached High School, I shook the hands of many new people who I feel have
become great influences in my life. As I shook the hands of these people, their stories and
knowledge course through my hands when I grasp theirs. Friends, teacher, girls, and many more
people have met the welcoming grasp of my hand. Everyday, I learn a new story by shaking the
hand of a person and determine who they can be by how they shake my hand. If it be having a
limp hand when they grasp mine or a firm and steady grip, I will know if they are slackers, or a
person of interest. Everyone uses hand gestures to help describe certain facts about themselves or
just a new story they heard. I still feel in my hands this urge of conquering new tasks and

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meeting new people, and all the calluses on my hands represent the work that I have made, and
the work that will come.
As I begin to wrap up my thoughts, I will make it more apparent that the hands symbolize
generations to come and the work that everyone puts in to achieve what they want in their future
and how to sculpt that goal. The scars that are cast upon my hands show the work that I have put
into sculpting what my future can become. I hope that more sweat and hard work will be drained
from my hands so that I lead a successful life and accomplish what I want. A great quote from
the mighty Voltaire sums up my thoughts. Each player must accept the cards life deals him or
her: but once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win
the game. When I gaze down at my hands, I see a rough past, but a very bright future.