Tattoos and Me!
Have you ever crossed paths with someone who has tattoos? What was your first thought? In the old days people with tattoos were either in a gang or drug addicts. This was my perception as a teenager and medical student. Such a view shows that I was very limited in my experience of the world and therefore judgmental about people or situations I could not understand. Of course, life challenges change a person. I would include a progress in age too except age has nothing to do with maturity. It is just a number in the 21stcentury when experience is gained in a variety of ways – social media, travel, personal trials which are far more now than half a century ago.
The first person who changed my mind about people with tattoos being promiscuous was my brother. He got the name of our German Shepherd Dog tattooed on his forearm in the Chinese alphabet. It must have been painful but he did it in memory of the dog we have never been able to replace. When I asked him why he used Chinese letters, he sheepishly answered, ‘It’s a boy’s name. What do you think people would think if they saw it on my arm?’ and we both had a good laugh. This was way back in 2011. I was going through a tough time in life and Dennis was dear to me too but I did not want more pain than that which existed in that part of my heart our dog had taken with him to heaven. I was also suffering from a loss of faith in friendship with men having had my heart broken by my best male friend.
I was hit with one tornado after another, in the years between 2010 and 2014, with little or no time to recover in between. It was towards the end of 2014 that my mind cleared up a little to begin focusing on personal goals once more. I had spent four years catering to everyone’s needs but mine. Now it seems I was using them as an excuse to distract myself from the actual work I needed to do. Inner work. At that time I wasn’t even aware of this term so I refuse to be hard on my old self. I did what I could with what information I had.
My brother was happily married with another tattoo on his forearm, this time the initials of his wife. Dad’s health had stabilized. The new home was ready to move into. I could therefore turn my attention to advancing on other fronts like career. I had decided to apply to a fellowship in the United States, no easy task since it involved clearing licensing exams. There were three steps. The second step had two parts, one of which needed me to travel to the US. I decided to take the parts I could in India within a month of each other. No one I knew had done that. It was tough to say the least. I almost thought I had failed miserably with the first exam. When the results were out and I had great scores, I jumped for joy. It felt like I had killed quite a few dragons. My study time was interspersed by breaks during which I watched movies like Kung Fu Panda and How to train you dragon. I must admit, they are made for children but have wonderful messages for adults mostly. They speak to the inner child. I believe adults are just children who think they have grown up or have to grow up. My inner child was extremely happy when I watched such movies. They made me think anything is possible.
I took a vacation in Goa with a few cousins that summer. It was at one of the beaches that I got my first tattoo, a dragon about 4 inches long. I felt like a dragon slayer. My cousin kept feeling the pain she anticipated I was feeling. I was doing alright. Since my 72-year-old aunt was also with us I wondered what she would think. To my surprise she set off excitedly telling all her neighbors about my tattoo. Apparently in the old days married women would be asked to get their husband’s name tattooed on their body. What a custom! Did the husband do the same, I wonder. At least my aunt did not think it was wrong which was a relief. Although I don’t care much about what people think, my family is a different ball game. Well, let me say I have finally graduated to not worrying about family members’ opinions now.
In fact, I am surprised how much importance I placed on the opinion my family had of me in those days. I don’t think I began to express my authentic self until I got that tattoo, always keeping my most rebellious thoughts and ideas to myself for that fear. In a way 2014 marked the year I began to explore many more hobbies and interests much to the chagrin of my anxious-minded parents. They did not know their daughter was an adventure junkie until then. The road to America was paved with challenges, chief among them being the death of my father at the most crucial time. Of course, I was affected but continued my journey with several failures. After one such failure I was feeling dad’s absence a little more. I rebelliously set off to explore America solo.
That journey not only helped me feel dad’s loving presence once more but changed my perspective of the world. So many wonderful people came forward to help me serendipitously carry that journey to a wonderful conclusion. It made me realize the world is not as scary a place as the media makes it out to be. I discovered the part of myself that loved traveling alone and making friends with strangers. So many of those strangers became long term friends. That journey spurred the next two tattoos.
In retrospect I understand that getting tattoos was like marking a trial overcome, a new level of understanding or consciousness reached. There were many more adventures to come and now they were about love, self-love. I achieved my dream of working in the United States, two years later. No training period is easy but Covid induced another layer of challenge. Being unable to travel to India to meet family for over 2 years was frustrating. To top it all I did not get the kind of job I wanted. I made myself adjust because the world was not really doing well either. This intense multifactorial challenge period induced the first episode of depression. I had done everything by the book when it came to career and family responsibilities. So, why was I not happy?
What is my true purpose I asked on the day I questioned my reason for being alive. I am glad I lived through that moment to reach the point at which I am writing this blog post. From the day I realized surgery was not my only calling it has been a long and winding road and with every turn I am given another clue and another that keeps me going. At times I have taken the leap of faith blindly, at other times I have waited to be instructed despite logic pushing me to ‘figure it out now’. Slowly, life began to change, my true purpose began to emerge as the brain fog of social conditioning lifted. Only love stood by me in those dark hours of the night and bleak days that were worse than nights as I transformed from someone who used logic to someone who trusted her intuition. The road was rough, emotionally, and mentally but love saw me through. As a token of gratitude and a reminder to myself I got my fourth tattoo, the Celtic symbol for unconditional love on my left wrist. Women in particular but also men at times, tend to forget to love themselves first. Never again will I forget that, because when a person loves themselves the most, they attract the people who can love that person more than that person can love him/herself. This is the law of attraction.
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