My mother had the first tattoo in my immediate family.
In a one night haze in her early life, she got a quarter-sized rose on her right shoulder. Then until two weeks after my 18th birthday, my family’s collective skin remained unmarked with only my dad and I vying for something more.
Apart from the average lobe piercing I got at six months old, my ears and all stayed clean for all of my life until I spent Christmas in Bermuda with my father’s side of the family. About ten days into the trip my cousin called me in the middle of my lunch, “Wanna get your tattoo? Cause now is probably the only and best time?”
Never have I jumped at an opportunity sooner. Before I knew it, I was handing 200 dollars to a man for two roses on my right shoulder. Then it was freshman year of college I handed another man money for a beautiful daffodil on my left ankle, two more tattoo parlors and two more piercing places later, I stand, looking like I do, now happy.
Ever since middle school, I knew my style would have to go with tattoos. Just like every other rebel 13-year-old, I aspired to have as many tattoos as possible. For most those ideas fade away as they get older but mine stayed. I planned to ally my family-related tattoos (apart from my parents) before I was 18 and then a few more on top of that. Even asking surviving living family their favorite flower. If I was going to do this I was going to do it right. Then this past December I got my 2nd ear and nostril pierced. Now I had been bitten by the tattoo and piercing bug. What to do now? Mark up my body with youth and courage on my side no matter what, because it brings me joy. I don’t care about looking like a shriveled bag of graphite at 60, 70, or 80. I want to have happiness alongside it.
These past three months I got two new piercings and a new tattoo.
In all honesty, it was in the span of 6 weeks but who’s counting?
Did I need to get those new additions? No.
Did I want to? Absolutely.
I desire more because those needles are a form of creation and expression on a canvas far more powerful and beautiful than we can honestly comprehend. Not every tattoo on me now signifies something deeper and not all of them will. And for me that’s okay. My life might not change the world or cause a huge chasm and change in time, but my body will tell my story.
I hope it’ll be a good one.