Newsflash: I love tattoos. Not just on other people (although comparing ink and stories is a favorite past time of mine), but getting them on me.
I have three small ones and one (VERY) large one that I’m not quite done with. They all, as you might imagine when talking about ink that I’ve had injected into my dermis by a gajillion pin pricks over the course of nine hours, have a lot of meaning to me. To sum up my smaller pieces: I have a monument to my niece, a reminder to fail big, a representation of my astrological sign (look up characteristics of Aquarius – it’s astonishing how much of an Aquarius I am). My larger piece is more multi-layered. The base was inspired by a piece of Bahraini street art, the book (for obvious reasons) and all nestled in a version of Yggdrasil (Norse tree of knowledge).
I wanted to throw this background out there because I’m thinking about getting a new tattoo. Obviously pain is no object, nor is fear of the stigma of tattoos. My hold up has more to do with location. My plan is to get “Live” tattooed on the web between my thumb and forefinger. While it’s innocuous enough, and discrete enough, to not be an issue when it comes to work, I’m worried about the grandparents. While (for most people born after WWII) the idea of tattoos being for criminals and military men, my grandparents still VERY strongly believe that outdated view. I’ve been able to (I believe successfully) hide my tattoos from them for the four years since I started getting them. A tattoo on my hand would be difficult to continue hiding.
However. As I’ve written about and alluded to here and in person, “live” is something I have had occasion to question. I want the reminder. Sometimes I need the reminder. I just need to figure out how to navigate the grandparents next time I see them.