That’s the sound I make when I want some. It’s soft and subtle, like strong hands on your shoulders. A firm moment of serenity before indulging in pure chaos. No one even notices someone like me in the corner. I could be practically topless and most people look away instinctively. I don’t take it personally. When someone has a wall up it isn’t because they expected to meet me. The curiosity I have to offer is not always worth the risk if someone is comfortably settled in their daily patterns. Most people that seek my attention are desperate to feel anything, even if it’s with me. One persons’s creepy translates to another’s “Is he coming on to me?”

I started this tattoo because I’m tired of hiding. The stripes on my arm are obvious but still concealable. Short of a hijab, I’m not covering this tattoo completely. Ironically my parents might be happier with the Islamic conversion. At least at that point I’m the subservient woman they’ve always wanted. It’s strange to me that my mother can’t see the excellence in my art. Unlike the typical person covered completely in two decades worth of impulsive choices, I’ve been limited to a conservative collection of statements. The tattoos I’ve earned in Seattle aren’t just whimsical flash or a typical lower back montage. I’m choosing art based on what will make me feel more beautiful as a human. Much like the original plan, my obsession with feeling pretty is what motivates these modifications. If you have to watch your own skin wilt for the next few decades why not make it more interesting.

Real irony is the haircut I got the day before. $75 for a professional fade and a little off the top and that’s after $20 off as a friend of friends discount. A gratuitous amount of money for someone that usually just shaves her own head. Granted, the final product is definitely better than my DIY version but everything you do to hair is fundamentally temporary. So investment-wise, the $400 I spent for two hours of tattooing is a much better long-term investment than the haircut that grows out after a month. If I weighed how much I’ve saved by not paying for haircuts in the last three years it more than covers what I’ve spent on tattoos in general.

My mother liked the picture of my new work when I put it on Instagram. Foolishly I decided to follow through and actually ask her if she likes it. Her response was to basically threaten to disown me if I get any more tattoos. I find it comical that even now she believes I’d compromise my self expression for creature comforts. Yes, it’s true that parental intervention is partially responsible for my success here on the west coast. However I have sweated, starved and scraped completely by myself in order to cobble this life together. The percentage of financial help from my parents has kept me out of debt and at times slightly more comfortable but it is not the bulk of what’s supported me. I could go on without it if I had to but I think the money is my mom’s only way of showing me affection. She’s incapable of seeing past my wierdo exterior in order to appreciate the amazing person I am on the inside.

I fucking miss my cat.