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Erasers Standing Up

I was sitting in the seat of an old chair in front of an old desk surrounded by old walls. I stared down at an old paper only with new writing. I wrote as everyone around me did and as the person in the front of the room said. It was all the same. It was a constant cycle, a uniform sound of scribbles on paper. But then, suddenly went wrong. One gaze down revealed a streak, a blemish, a mark of darkness that stood out among everything else. Suddenly, the page was not uniform nor purposeful. It was dead, murdered by my mistakes. A mistake that could not be mended, or could it? I turn my pencil around and see a small detail of hope. A mender and a forgiver. Something that would heal my mistakes and redeem my crime.

In every paper I have ever written or every letter I have ever signed, a blemish has been made. An eraser is not the opposite of our mistakes: it's the opposite of our actions. It is inaction and repair. I have relied on it for as long as I can remember, although not all erasers are created equally. There are imposters among them. Bad erasers are worse than no erasers. They will exploit your mistakes, smear it and display it to all. It will permanently destroy your efforts without mercy

A bad eraser is like blackmail, held against me for my mistakes. A bad eraser is like a gallos, ready to punish me for my blemishes. A bad eraser is like a lasting grudge, irremovable sign of hate. A bad eraser is like fire, it burns away everything I have worked for in a short second.

However, this is not all there is. While rare and precious good erasers exist. They are not blackmail, a gallows, or a grudge. A good eraser is forgiveness. A good eraser is peace and healing. A good eraser is unconditional love. This can give me hope. Because not all mistakes are on paper. Our everyday life is filled with marks of black and streaks of lies. I am trapped by my mistakes and held there by the bad erasers that surround me. I need to find those few good erasers to surround myself with and even more importantly, I need to be a good eraser for someone else.

Good erasers have been supporting me even when I don’t notice. On the day of my chinese speech competition, my teacher was it. When I wrecked and got stitches in my head, my mom and the doctors were them. When I started my first day of highschool, my closest friends were them. Even when I hit my lowest point, good erasers have risen me back up.

I need to be that forgiveness, that unconditional love. I need to help people wipe away their marks, to help them with a new start. I need to turn wounds into scars and pain into warmth. I can never truly wipe shame away myself, but others need to be able to use me to do it themselves. And they cannot do that without a good eraser.
I am surrounded by good erasers. I have been all my life. And I hope, that someday, I could be that good eraser for someone else.

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