Nine years after getting my first tattoo, I’ve lost track of all the times people have asked me the same three questions:
1) Did it hurt?
2) Will you still be happy with your tattoos when you’re eighty?
Every time I give the same answers:
1) In some places it hurt a lot and in other places it was merely uncomfortable
2) I will still be happy with my body art when I’m eighty because it is part of me, and no, I will probably not worry about saggy skin pictures because I’ll most probably won’t be walking around in my bikini very often!
3) Why? Why not! My body is my temple and I celebrate the joy of having it by decorating it with beautiful things. Every piece of ink has been meaningful, every bit of pain a rite of passage, leaving behind that which is no longer of need and making room for the new and exciting! The bond between me and my tattoo artist has become a life long friendship where words are no longer needed. When I come to him with my drawings I needn’t say more. Trusting some-one with your body and your art and going through that rite together is amazing, and I am very grateful for my dear friend.
Some people react rather harsh, almost in an aggressive defence mode, to my (having) tattoos. They try to convince me I made a wrong decision. This saddens and surprises me. Why would a stranger care what I do with my body? It is still in one piece, beautiful (not meant as arrogant) and pretty healthy I might add. I would never persuade someone else to get one if this is not their desire. So why the discussions? Why that worry for something that is not part of their life and so innocent (since I’m not killing anyone! Or any other harm to others)?
All I can say is: make up your own mind (and body), if it’s for you be happy and go for it, if it’s not for you be happy too and don’t go for it!