Hands: Telling A Story And Beyond

Listen to: Tree of Life – Original Composition

I am a detail-oriented person. Upon meeting someone, I take note of their physique and gestures; how they shake hands, how often they blink, how they hold their cigarette if they smoke, how they articulate letters, if they crack their knuckles or not, if they shake their legs while sitting or not, do they lift their glasses from the middle or the side, and so many other details. First impressions matter to me because they set out the kind of person I am sitting with. Not in essence of personality or how they dress, no, but how their body reacts to their subtle thoughts.

Out of all details I pay attention to, hands intrigue me the most. Not just gestures and movements, but lines, shapes, and length; everything. For as long as I can remember, my interest in people’s hands (not in a weird kind of way, I assure you) has ignited sparkles in my eyes. As a child, I had the privilege of being noisy with the added cuteness measure, so I could reach out for people’s hands and stare curiously at them without being frowned upon. Heck, they used to pinch my cheeks and rub my hair while laughing (grownups).

I cannot explain why I have this in me, but I do. And I enjoy it. I prefer not asking people to show me their hands because then they would be cautious and some would find me weird in a perverted sense, which is not the case at all. When I look at someone’s hands, I could tell the kind of job they have and where they’ve been, whether they like the sun or not, are they pianists? doctors? Are they clean? Are they detail-oriented people like me? Do they take care of their nails? Do they have any beauty spots on their hands like I do? Sadly, if I could answer all questions forming in my head from the first time we meet, I rarely meet them again. Not for anything but for the fact that they were not able to stir up my curiosity for another visit.

I enjoy discovering people through their hands. I do. It’s beautiful. Hands can tell you so much about someone without them saying a word. I came across a poem by Pablo Neruda (source) today and somehow it lead me to this post.

When your hands leap
towards mine, love,
what do they bring me in flight?
Why did they stop
at my lips, so suddenly,
why do I know them,
as if once before,
I have touched them,
as if, before being,
they travelled
my forehead, my waist?
Their smoothness came
winging through time,
over the sea and the smoke,
over the Spring,
and when you laid
your hands on my chest
I knew those wings
of the gold doves,
I knew that clay,
and that colour of grain.
The years of my life
have been roadways of searching,
a climbing of stairs,
a crossing of reefs.
Trains hurled me onwards
waters recalled me,
on the surface of grapes
it seemed that I touched you.
Wood, of a sudden,
made contact with you,
the almond-tree summoned
your hidden smoothness,
until both your hands
closed on my chest,
like a pair of wings
ending their flight. 


Don’t Touch This Trash by Joker 74



Her unconscious elegance by By ArTeTeTrA



Taking a break while burning my lungs… by zeeography


by MPhilipPhotography

by spacemanspiff22

by smugbug

Hands of a Concert Pianist by yuzu1009

by FlawedWorkofArt

by ubermochi

Show me your hands by valante

Dark Horizons. Worn hands handling a bible from 1888; Dalsland, Sweden 2008 by JoachimBrink

tanned by cesarr terrio

self portrait by nikolinelr

unbenannt by Heather McCutcheon

By Annija Muižule

Three sisters by ryanmacphoto

By Adara

Palestinian soccer player Mahmoud Al-Sarsak | REUTERS/Mohammed Salem



I leave with this thought: What do your hands say about you?

p.s.: I tried setting all pictures in one size and color code them but it didn’t work, so let’s all assume the pictures are neatly arranged for the sake of OCD. 

Please note that I do not own any of the pictures in this post. Some I could not find a source for, so if you own them and would like me to remove any, please let me know.

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