Month: January 2017

Ever since young, the idea of tattoos and body piercings have always intrigued me in the most fascinating ways possible. I remember going to an Audi car exhibition when I was barely 4 years old and was given a temporary Audi logo tattoo that I loved so much on my skin, that night when my Mother washed it off me I was inconsolable in tears. I remember walking pass tattoo parlours watching grown men and women being held at the mercy of the tattoo artist’s tattoo gun, the buzzing sound of the needles penetrating the skin somehow didn’t scare me even though the looks of agony on their faces clearly said otherwise.

Then, I read that tattoos are associated with gangs and are often connected with violence and secret societies. “Good people” don’t do tattoos, and tattoos aren’t good. I read that the origin of tattoos came from gangs, but slowly became more popular in today’s society as a form of body art and self-expression. In a sense, a tattoo also symbolises your bravery in pain tolerance because as much as I am not afraid to get on the tattooing chair, tattoos do hurt. 

I was never really into the game of hair dyes, lipsticks or nail polishes, as were the more common body modifications and beautifying agents that society generally accepted. Cosmetic surgery is something I will never try as long as I am sane, and anything temporary just didn’t really appeal to me.

Come 2016, I’ve once made promises to someone that we would get matching chain tattoos on our wrists, but that dream that I once so looked forward to was scrapped and very thankfully so. Yet, my burning desire to get inked only became more and more overwhelming until the day just a few days before my first A level paper, I decided to get my first ink from an inexperienced artist. The ink wasn’t bad, but I will probably never visit her again because I have now connections with an experienced and fully licensed artist. I remember the first time I held my arm outstretched and being asked if I was scared. I told her to go ahead because there was no turning back.

The second the needle penetrated my skin, all the memories of my youth experiences came back. The Audi tattoo encounter, the familiar sound of the tattoo gun and the broken promises on the chain tattoos came crashing down on me. All the words I never said, all the emotions I thought I had bottled up for good came pouring down like a waterfall, so much so that I barely felt the pain even though the soreness hit me bad afterwards. 

Conservative Asian families and cultures, I was told to never get a visible tattoo and to date I still haven’t got past the mental barrier of getting my arms and legs tattooed even though I have 2 on my inner forearm and biceps. My internship in prison has given me a lot of insight on the tattoos the inmates have, and some of them really do tell a story.

Sometimes, I am insecure because of my education and family background. People don’t usually expect someone like me to get inked because it’ll supposedly “clash” with my background ideals. Nonetheless, I am tired of living under the facade of a “good kid” and as long as we have the rights of self expression, this is how I choose to do it because I’m never good at any other form. I can’t pull off the most basic things other girls my age can, because of my personality, because of my character. I am different. I am not ‘normal’.

I live by these insecurities that do haunt me even though I try my best to put up a confident outer image. I try my best, but these tattoos will come to me and I will embrace them with opened arms.

There are nights when my eyes won’t sleep. Nights when these thoughts prick and pry at my insecurities, bugging me to succumb to my failures.

There are certain reminders I don’t ever need, certain contacts I’d rather lose. Certain photos I wish I never saw, certain names I wish I never came across again. Certain memories I cannot seem to erase.

I wonder what thoughts went on through your mind. Perhaps, they didn’t race through yours like they raced through mine. Perhaps, you never did open the letter. My words can only travel as far as the paper that meets the eye. And you, you were never afraid to deny.

It’s been a long time since you crossed my mind. I’ve been very busy with my life – and hopefully you are with yours too. I live with the reassurance that you have forgotten me, and know that once I have completely exited your life, so will you, mine. The long train rides every morning take me right by your side, and in a flash I am gone, leaving nothing but your building behind. These empires of mine will see better times, the cataclysmic wreckage of the past year will be left behind.

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And for you, I still sleep with banana every night. I never threw away anything you gave me, sometimes I still wear your t-shirts at night. Perhaps it was because I’m lazy, but I never finished the chocolate cereal bars you gave me on my birthday. I still keep the scrap book because that’s what you were known for making, but you don’t hurt a single bit anymore.

We used to cling on to each other for life, but now we are absolutely unnecessary and unwanted to each other.

Let’s keep it this way, and I hope we never see or hear from each other again.

We took away each other’s firsts, but I am glad we will never be each other’s last.

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These are the nights when my eyes won’t sleep.

Today, I found out that visible body art is not permitted within the premises of high-security areas owned by the government. These are things that my stubborn mind simply will not understand.

Your body is an empty canvas waiting to be filled with beautiful things. You lose your first kiss on your lips and you lose yourself between hot breaths and messy hair, sweaty mess and intimidating glares. You paint your nails and dye your hair, you spend three hours sitting on a chair just for that picture perfect moment and occasional stares.

Why then, are tattoos such a taboo? Tattoos are a statement of bravery, the highest level of body art commitment. They speak the words you have never dared to speak, they express the emotions you were too afraid to express. They are not violent. They were never violent. They were not supposed to be associated with violence.

My tattoo reminds me of all the things I ever needed to prioritize, it reminds me to be a human and against all odds fight to keep what’s mine. I am not ashamed, I am not afraid of my tattoo. If anything, I wear it with pride.

Some things I am probably too dumb to understand; but tattoos, they have always been all around me and one day they will be all over me.

You were never important to me. I could have lost you and my physical lifestyle would go on unaffected by your absence.

Yet, you are special. You make the most lacklustre smiles beautiful. You make a plain navy jacket breathtaking. You make ignorance blissful.

2 days I have spent cooped up in a tiny cubicle in the office, my mind occasionally wanders over to you here and then between my breaks. I wonder what you are doing, I wonder how you are doing, I wonder if I’ll see you again during the period of time between knocking out at night to the first twitch of my eyelids in the wee hours of the morning. I remember your last words, I remember your silhouette down the corridor, your shadow fading into the traffic junction the very last time we met.

There is this officer in the place where I work who reminds me of you. Your name is suddenly ubiquitous on all the websites and physical names I see, wherever I go. We haven’t talked for well over a month but not a day has passed without some sort of deja vu. I let these memories haunt me peacefully because my dreams are as vivid as reality, as emotionally comforting as physically being next to you.

I miss you, but I don’t need you. I love you, but I don’t have to.

The galaxies must have collided for me to have met you. Time must’ve stood still for me to withstand you. Between closed eyes and semi-unconsciousness, I have found you; the memories rooted into my soul, hammered into my brain, the part of you that will keep me alive forever.

I do not know you. I do not understand you.
But you are unique beyond recognition;
You are special beyond comprehension.