I never really trusted anybody. It was too hard to believe that they wouldn’t hurt you, too painful when they did. The healer at home, an old, wizened woman with no name to speak of, was my only friend. When I was young, she had read my eyes, and told me that they were meant to trust. Green with sea blue sparkles in them. But I still didn’t trust. I didn’t know how, and more importantly, I didn’t want to. Only the healer was worth it.

It was when the healer resigned herself to the fact that I would never trust without help that she gave me the scar. She said I would trust when someone finally understood its story. I hardly felt it, a light pressure on my temple. When I looked in the glass later, all I saw was a small purple bump. It was smaller than the tip of my little finger.

So many memories of that place. So many things that happened that changed me; made me wonder why I was the way I was. I remember when the healer told me to make a list of eye colors and their meanings. It went like so:

Brown means the person will have many troubles, but they will be strong.

Blue means the person will be open, but slightly cautious as well.

Green means the person will be trusting.

Black means the person will be wise.

Grey means the person will be quiet.

Amber means the person will be loyal.

Any combination of these would be a combination of the meanings they carried. When I was done with that, she told me to make a list of the hair colors and THEIR meanings.

Brown means the person will be wild.

Black means the person will be sweet.

Blonde means the person will be impressionable.

Red means the person will be fiery.

I remember these lists because this was the day that my healer gave me the mark on my cheek. I run my fingers down it. It is rough on the edges, but smooth in the middle. If I were to look at it in the glass, I would see a jagged, purply-white line.
My eyes are a combination of green and blue, which means I should have been much more trusting. My hair is dark brown, a combination of brown and black, which means I am wild and sweet. Wild, at least is true. Grant says that whether or not I am sweet is debatable. Oh, curses, the ink is dripping again. Grant is laughing.
This was five years before my healer died. Even now, I remember when she would have me sort herbs and medicines in different piles. Then she would tell me what they were for. Hata for stomachaches. Zorihew for blood infections. Yemi to help you sleep well, and juta root to induce vomiting when necessary. The branches of the kuel tree could be ground into a powder to help make dreams clearer. Auntie (my name for the healer) was a great believer in dreams.
The list went on and on, and it was a wonder I remembered any of it. I was to leave on a trip to our different islands the next morning and she was making sure I could take care of myself. Auntie told me it was time for me to get away from our own little island and get some experience with the rest of the world. “Your mother was a traveler. It is in your blood. You cannot deny your blood its reward.” she would say. The last part is a common saying on our island, meaning that we cannot deny what is in our hearts, because our hearts keep us alive.
Anyway, Auntie promised that I would start small. I didn’t particularly want to travel. I had already decided I would become a healer like Auntie. She was the only person who was kind to me. Why should I not want to be like her?
I was to leave on the Huyi Darla. In your language, that means Morning Fire, or sunrise. As it turned out, I did become a traveler, but my trip to the islands was somewhat delayed.