Forget Deep Water, I Was in Hot Water.

When I was four, I was always wanting to do my own thing. Do you remember that feeling? Being so young and wanting to do things on your own to prove you were more grown up than what your parents thought? I remember trying to do simple tasks on my own, like dressing myself in the mornings, choosing my own snacks, and so on and so forth.

To make this story make more sense to every who has never experienced my country, I was born and raised in the beautiful New Zealand, to be honest, I don't think I'll ever leave.

One particular morning, the 14 of November 1999 to be exact, my mother and I were getting up and getting ready for the day. My step dad at the time (Allan) had just recently got a new job on a Dairy Farm milking cows, and we had shifted house, I had been going to a new daycare for a few weeks now, and was excited to get back.

My mum flicked the electric kettle on - as she did every morning to prepare herself and coffee, and myself a milo. (Milo is a hot chocolate drink here in New Zealand). I insisted that I could put the sugar and Milo in by myself, (Because ya'know, I was super independent and wanted to do everything myself).

My mum left a small spoon out for me, and my little plastic stool so I could reach the bench, so I could do what I oh so badly wanted to. Stepping onto the stool, I scooped up what was probably far too much Milo for a four year old. To tell you the truth, none of us are 100% sure what happened at this point, but whatever happened, it resulted in the just-boiled-kettle landing on my very small and vulnerable body.

My poor mother was 7 & 1/2 months pregnant at the time with my little brother, and I'm surprised now I didn't send her into early labor. I screamed - naturally. She panicked and took the clothing I had dressed myself in that morning off, undressing me (We learnt later, that it's not a good idea to do that, so please don't do that, it tears the skin with the clothes). Mum put my into a freezing cold bath - and at this point for me, I realized, I wasn't actually in pain, so I was trying to reassure her "I'm okay mum, I'm okay"

In response, she pushed me back into the bath while I was trying to get up. Mum had already called an ambulance, and they were on their way. The next few minutes while we waited, I can't remember at all. I remember being in the ambulance though, they wrapped me in cling wrap to keep the moisture inside my skin, then they gave me a small grey teddy bear, that I still have to this day.

I remember that first day when I got to the hospital they wanted to put my in a bath, I remember it all moving so fast, everything was a blur, but they put me into a large sink, with a big mirror above it. Which wasn't the smartest idea, I had never seen my burns, and when I stood up in the sink, I flipped out, screaming at the nurses and doctors to get the burns off me, I didn't like them.

I had to get two operations for skin graphs, removed from my thighs, the scars aren't so much visible anymore, but if you know where to look, and what you're looking for, you'll see them. My actual burn scars however, you can definitely see them.

Eventually, a few years later, I was classified as being 16% burnt. I suffered third degree burns on my back, right shoulder, and the top of my chest. Making light of the situation - I was pretty lucky they were third degree to be fair. Remember when I said I was trying to reassure my mum that I was fine, and I wasn't hurt while she was panicking and putting me into a cold bath? That's because third degree goes so deep that it burnt my nerves, I felt nothing when it happened. To try and explain it a bit better, first degree is pretty standard sunburn - it hurts to touch, goes a bit red. Second degree it burns through the first layer of your skin, and you get little blisters filled with a clear liquid, hurts really bad. Third degree burns burn through both layers of your skin, and can damage the nerve endings, which is what happened to me.

Now, I've learnt a lot in the years I've had my scars. I've learnt that people don't like people that look different, oh I was given hell in school. But I won't get into that, I learnt to accept them, and really enjoy them, they make me who I am today, and I quite like who I am today. Things are different now obviously, I'm not in school anymore.

I find children the easiest to deal with if I'm being honest, because kids have no filter whatsoever, they'll just peer up at me with wide eyes and point at my scars and ask innocently "What's that?" in reply, I usually tell them to not go near anything hot, and to listen to their parents. I like to think I've taught a few kids what can happen in those situations.

I've recently had a photoshoot to celebrate the glory that are my scars. They're a part of me as much as any other piece of me is. That's one of the primary things I really started to understand as I grew older - they weren't going anywhere, I'll have them for life. But as far as I'm concerned, if someone doesn't like them, they have business being in my life anyway, and who wants that? Someone so negative and judge mental about scars of all things.

So I suppose, the point of telling this, is to remind you that you're beautiful, no matter how the world may see you, no matter the words that you hear about you, you are beautiful, you are loved, and you are so amazing.