Inked for my sake, and my sake only

I've always told myself not to care for others negative opinions about my business, and I have truly lived by it since before I even knew not to care about it. Of course a saying of another slips through the wall once in a while and it's not pleasant, but that is really only because I myself have thought those same thoughts once or twice before. Others' negative opinions can't hurt me nor change my own mind unless I myself agree, but I've realized I've let someone through my wall - about a month ago it dawned on me that I didn't do one surden thing because of another person than myself even though I did not agree with this person even the slightest - my mom.

Don't get me wrong here, I love my mom and we're the best of friends and this is really not her fault. She is the one who taught me not to do anything which would lead to something permanent without being onehundred-and-one percent sure that this is what I wanted. As moms do, she of course also referred this onto tattoos and piercings. When I was still very young, fourteen, I got the idea of wanting a lip piercing and I was furious when she told me to wait to get it - but despite of my rebelliousness back then, I ended up listening to my mom. A few years went by and when I was old enough for my mom to give me the green light, I didn't want it anymore. I simply didn't want the piercing just for my sake - I wanted it to provoke others.

This was just an example of how my moms opinion still has an impact on me today, the only difference is - I am twentyone years old. I might still be a kid in many peoples eyes but I've grown up and my rebellious times are long gone and burried together with my black mohawk. I'm fascinated by the art that is tattoos and in love with the idea of expressing feelings from deep inside of you outside on your body - forever there to remind you of what you felt. Even if a tattoo doesn't have a meaning, it still does - because you like it, and that right there reveals an interesting personal quality. My mom is of course overly conservative on tattoos, even more than on piercings and everytime in the past six years when I've even mentioned the word, she has damned it to hell - she has talked to me like I hated tattoos just as much as she did. When I got my first tattoo on the foot in the memory of my beloved grandfather, I think she figured I would stop there - and I actually did for a while. I waited two years to see if my love for tattoos went away, but it's still there and I don't think it will stop nomatter how many mean things she has to say about it. The thing is, I don't love my tattoos because other people have to look at them. I love them because I have too look at them, because they make sense to me.

I've come to the conclusion that the childish part of me who still thinks she has to ask for my moms blessing needs to ask for my permission instead, and one day far into the future I'm sure I'll look at the wrinkly inked parts of my skin and smile because my personal symbolism has grown old together with me.

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