Posts Tagged ‘healing’

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g4l. (my new tattoo)

February 6, 2010

Yesterday, I got my second tattoo done, check it out!

That picture is taken straight after the guy had finished tattooing, so that’s why it’s quite red – the blood is at the surface.  In a couple of weeks when the tattoo has healed, the shading will look much more black and grey, which will be perfect! Needless to say, having a tattoo on my ribs was a tad bit more painful than my first one above my collarbone, but I handled it like a man, and Mike reassured me a couple of times which was helpful (we’re both two tats apiece now!).  I didn’t get hardly any sleep last night, because my tattoo is quite sore and every time I rolled over on it, I seemed to wake up, but I’m happy to sacrifice a little sleep for a piece of art I’m truly happy with.

A lot of people have asked “Why a gun???” I think that it’s a little darker than people expect from me, but it has its significance to me.  Firstly, I like the fact that it’s a little dark, a little edgy, a little dangerous.  I was inspired by Rihanna because she has a little gun on her side, but I really didn’t want to just copy her tattoo: a) it didn’t have that much detail in it, and b) I wanted it on my ribs as opposed on my side on level with my chest.  I had my own ideas, and that’s the most important thing I think when getting a tattoo: it has to be what you want.  That’s why I’m so into custom design, rather than picking something from a book or from the display cards in the studio.  The gun means that I’ll never be defenceless again, and it’s a little reminder of the fact that I always possess some power, some control in life.  Finally, I modified the design to make it a revolver instead of your average pistol / shotgun, because I am in love with Rihanna’s song “Russian Roulette” – not only is it a beautiful song to listen to and to sing, but the lyrics mean so much to me.  In short, when I listen to it, it’s the story of Mike & me, it’s a story of love and heartache and the danger bound up in that.   And for those reasons, I wanted to get the revolver barrel put on my gun to honour that; over the past 4 months I’ve had to grow up a lot, and those experiences have really shaped who I have become and my maturity, my outlook on life.

The tattoo studio I went to this time was Iron & Ink on Bristol Road in Whitchurch Village: Dean and Lewis are both fantastically talented and really nice blokes, and having done this tattoo + two for Mike, and Phill’s getting one there next week (where are our loyalty cards?!?! 😛 ), I can’t recommend them enough.  They may be a tiny bit pricier than some other tattoo parlours (their minimum charge I think is £40, rather than £15 or £20 that you might find elsewhere), but I hope the picture above demonstrates that you get what you pay for.  At the moment, they have small waiting lists (I expect this to change as they become more well-known!) and I booked my gun last week, got it done yesterday, thankyou very much – and they’ll work on a design brief you give them and customise it so that it looks the best it can.  I thoroughly recommend them!

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i cry real tears.

August 4, 2009

On my way home on the bus after a lovely day spent with Hannah and Nick, I suddenly felt tired and wanted nothing more than to be instantly wrapped up on the sofa.  With the rain flooding down the windows as I gazed out at the grey, overcast cityscape passing me by, I couldn’t help but feel that the weather echoed my inner sentiments.  As if, for all the nice chats and coffees and perfume I enjoyed today, I couldn’t escape my own sorrow, loneliness, fear and ennui – I could only subdue it and try to ignore it.  But with the rain coming down all around me, I could have started crying – not bursting into tears, but silently letting them fall from my eyes.

Why? I have a pretty good life, and I had had a nice day.  But I guess that being on my own, in the middle of a crowded bus (the windows steamed up by our collective body heat) with nobody to talk to and my ipod drowning out everything, surrounded by anonymous faces and anonymous rain, the solitude just got to me.  I’ve fallen for somebody real bad, and it’s crazy because right now, I can’t think of anything better than escaping my life and running away to another country, learning another language and living a completely different life.  Obviously I’m not going to do this, but I can’t help but imagine what it would be like, and how happy I could be if we really did fall in love with one another.  I’m wrapped up in a fantasy and it’s so sweet, it makes reality all the more bitter in comparison.  And I’m wrapped in his cologne (Opium Pour Homme) so that I always feel it on me, and it’s torture because it smells so good and yet he’s not there.  I’ve met the guy once (though we talk most days) and I’ve gone utterly crazy.  Rationale literally out of the window.

I have a ridiculous amount of music on my iPod, and at times like this I can’t help but pick songs that echo my mood, or lyrics that echo my situation.  My current choices range between optimistic and heartrending: Blu Cantrell – “I Can’t Believe“, Mariah Carey – “The Beautiful Ones“, Shontelle – “T-Shirt“, Toni Braxton – “Spanish Guitar” & “I Don’t Want To“, The-Dream, “H.A.T.E. U” are the examples which come to mind.  Of course, tugging at my heartstrings doesn’t make me feel any better or enable me to forget my situation, but instead keeps me moping, though at least I am moping to a good soundtrack!

Anyway, I didn’t cry.  I am not the kind of person who would break down in public (I don’t like looking imperfect, even sweating in public, so tears are out of the question – I do my utmost to keep my façade weakness-free), and I’m not the kind of person who breaks down even in private.  Ever since I was a kid, I was taught to keep my emotions inside so that nobody can see your weaknesses (particularly when my dad would try to upset me with the goal of making me cry, my mother taught me not to give him the satisfaction).  So even during trying times, I try to suppress any extremity of emotion in public, and take deep breaths and clench my fists and just get on with things.  After all, the quicker it’s over, the quicker it’s done.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to cry.  I believe in the cathartic power of tears, and once you’ve cried your eyes and your heart out, there’s nowhere left to go but to start healing yourself and picking yourself back up.  Although they make your eyes puffy and swollen, and seem to bring out dark red freckles around my cheekbones (lucky me), tears do serve a purpose – they let you acknowledge your sadness and express it and move on.  Sometimes, my restraint from expressing my sadness even privately means that it festers, whereas if I could just let myself go and cry, maybe I’d move on a little quicker.  Who knows – that’s just the kind of person I have come to be, it’s probably to late to do anything about it now.

Yet I disagree with the widely-held belief that “boys don’t cry”.  They just don’t let anyone know that they cry.  There are a lot of secrets kept between the sexes that I think stop us from understanding one another and feeling close to one another.  Of course people are going to think that men and women are from different planets; that’s the way we live our lives.  The machismo the boys don’t cry does stem from the fact that crying supposedly signals weakness, and men must never appear weak.  But why is it ok for women to be weak, in that case?  Everybody gets weak sometimes (even though nobody talks about it, we all know it’s true) and in that weakness, the best thing we can do is to seek strength from others.  But (and I am particularly guilty of this), seeking strength and asking for help once again points out our weaknesses to other people and we are too proud / afraid to bare ourselves in this way.  So we cover it up.  But I think that to make it a gender thing (Fergie made things no better with her song “Big Girls Don’t Cry” – boys cry, men cry, big girls cry, petite girls cry, grown women cry, transexuals cry.  Everybody cries.) is just stupid – tears are universal.

Babies cry for attention.  Adults rebel against this because when we cry, we don’t want anyone to know – bringing attention to ourselves is the last thing on our minds.  Crying is a secret rebellion against maintaining that all-important appearance of teflon perfection.  I don’t cry (films never get to me – the right music is usually the closest thing to bring me to the brink) very often at all, but sometimes – like today – there is an evocative feeling in my heart, and I don’t know what to do with it.  And though, despite everything, I am not comfortable with letting my tears fall in public, it’s as pure an expression of hurt and longing as you’re gonna get.  And wrapped in this cologne, my longing aches just that little bit sweeter.