A rebel?

Hey friends! First, I want to extend my gratitude to all of you who are here reading this. You see, I’ve been an extreme oversharer. Writing and sharing are my passions; they’re my vehicles for self-discovery and self-expression. I’ve heard people say that leaving too many traces of oneself behind on the Internet isn’t ideal, honestly, I couldn’t agree more. However, I vehemently rebel against that notion, and so here I am, ready to hop on yet another oversharing escapade.

“Today, I reunited with my childhood best friend, and I couldn’t help but be taken aback by her new tattoos and piercings,” I wrote on June 26, 2016. It seems like a distant memory now.

Fast forward two and a half years, December 2018, I found myself on the cusp of a decision I’d thought about for months. Walking into that tattoo parlor, I left all my preconceived notions at the door. It was like a child in a candy store, overwhelmed by the choices.

As the tattoo artist’s needle began to dance across my forearm, I couldn’t suppress a doubt that perhaps I should have taken more time on the design. Yet, the truth is, whether I’d spent a lifetime pondering, I would’ve probably ended up in that same chair, making an on-the-spot decision.

That day marked the inception of a journey where many more tattoos would find their home on different parts of my body. It was then that I began to reflect on my inked journey.

I found myself questioning: When did the notion of getting a tattoo embed itself in my mind? Was it an internal desire, or had external influences seeped in? Perhaps it was a fusion of both.

Despite my thoughts with “what if” questions – “What if I come to regret this decision in a decade?” or “What if my skin gets all wrinkly in three decades?” – more new art pieces moved onto my skin. The allure of these designs was undeniable, overriding the doubts I entertained.

My journey carried me away from the conventions of my culture, which hasn’t entirely embraced the concept of tattoos. My pursuit was a statement, though the precise message remained hazy even to me. It was my silent rebellion, an avenue to give voice to a facet of myself I’d often suppressed.

The desire to stand out and imprint a particular moment on my skin, whether semi-permanent or forever, went beyond mere aesthetics. It was the significance I infused into every inked piece that held genuine import.

Inevitably, as I began to stand out and encounter the challenges that accompanied my tattoos, I realized that I saw this coming. What I didn’t foresee, however, was my reaction to these situations. Do I regret the choices I made in those yesteryears? Well, there’s no hopping into a time machine to rewrite history. It still perplexes me why forms of self-expression that step beyond the boundaries of cultural norms are often met with disapproval.

What truly defines the self? What constitutes a fitting avenue for self-expression? Why do we want to be both unique and accepted, all at once?

They say that you eventually become the person you once feared becoming. Carl Jung’s words seem to hold weight. This journey, with its twists and turns, has led me to where I stand today, defying my own expectations. It’s as if my nature and the world conspired to bring me closer to someone I once shied away from.

Now, as I gaze into the mirror, I see the duality that resides within me – the light and the dark, the conformist and the rebel – all coexisting as integral parts of my being. Trying to extinguish that inner fire backfired; it felt unjust to embrace the rebel without acknowledging the less-than-perfect parts.

I’m still on the path to accepting the complexities that reside within me, while treading the fine line between self-expression and societal acceptance. It’s my unique dance, and I’m unafraid to let the rhythm lead the way.