As of yesterday, I have
four tattoos.
They are reminders,
images, symbols of moments in time. Of eras. Of questions I am still seeking
answers to. Of commands to myself to keep moving and learning.
Body modifications that
make me feel sexy and rebellious and deep and self-aware.
They are stories yet to
tell and stories told.
I have learned that getting
a tattoo feels like getting a tattoo. It’s a hot scratchy pain that makes your
skin flaky and scabby and crusty and itchy.
There is a ritual to
the after care, keeping it clean and covered and moisturized. It makes me
keenly aware of my skin, about these parts of my body that I have embellished.
I rescheduled getting
my first tattoo because I was going on a trip to Chicago and didn’t want my
foot to be wounded, walking in a new place.
I made the decision to
get my second tattoo while drunk with a friend. We have matching ones now. And
I don’t regret it.
The tattoo on my back
made my skin itchy for so long that I thought I had nerve damage. It’s the one
I get the most compliments about.
This new one is puffy
and sensitive and scabby already, the delicate skin on my inner arm angry and
hot.
I wasn’t sure I wanted
it.
I didn’t know where to
put it.
I’d only had the image
in my mind for a few weeks, even though I had an appointment months ago.
Yesterday, after having
my artist resize the image twice, and as the needle was poised, it crossed my
mind:
“I can still say no.”
I said yes instead.
And then got home and
promptly freaked out.
I couldn’t pinpoint
why.
Tattoos are permanent.
My arm will never look the same. That arrow will stare at me for the rest of my
life.
Reminding me of my
uncertainty. Of, what felt like, my 31 year old impulse.
It made me feel really
uncomfortable.
It’s simple and gorgeous.
But it’s forever.
And it commemorates this
super tough year and how, despite sometimes feeling like I’m getting pulled
back, I always need to be aiming forward.
I made the decision, in
an instant and despite all my reservations, to get it anyway.
And there’s something
that I like about that.
Because, really, what’s permanent?
There is only this
moment and this decision and this body and this memory.
And they are mine.
Now.
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