something permanent

yes, it's done. i am now one of those who are inked. the design is maori, the pain was less than i expected, the final result is not what i visualized; but it is something i like. the major question from people has been, "what does it mean?" getting to an answer that satisfies is not that easy for me. i suppose that's because the real meaning of the tattoo is not visual, it is not a function of the tattoo, but it is a function of what it represents.


i had said for years that if i found a design i liked, i would be fine with getting a tattoo. someone close to me would remind me that ink:

1. is not a common expectation for upper management types
2. is not something my preppy irish catholic style embraces
3. is known to be toxic; and can cause health issues
4. can not be easily reversed, even if it is later desired

this list makes me smile, both for the advice and for the ability to transpose these same reasons on other acts that people may choose to indulge and hide.

now the fact that i have done things like begin to shave my head for the pure reaction and enjoyment of it, or move to asia following a decision process lasting 3 seconds, its clear that i have the capacity to go in a direction that others don't expect. but shaving my head and living in the east rather than the west are both choices which i could reverse just as easily as i have made them.

as we were finishing the tattoo, my leaning artist asked why i didn't ask her to create a tattoo that told a story. the options she suggested were icons which represented my family, the kids and my ex-wife. i smiled weakly and decided not to explain that in many ways the images were tied to them already. but the language of the iconography is simply not something a travelling maori would be able to read. the ink is deeper than that.

i spent 10 years as a temporary worker, the day to day expectation that unless i excelled i would be expelled was the driving force to focusing on delivery. making sure i exceeded expectations so that i was in control of the decision on staying or going was core to my professional-life. we did it all for the passion of delivery, openly chanting to our clients, "it's all about the love!"

those days ended years ago, it is no longer all about the love. the love has grown old and passed. the ability to control the departure was removed. folding up shop and moving on was destined to happen. giving up the rooted life for one of travel and change was a reaction to the shifting of soil that had eroded and wasted down into the passing river of time.

now i live in a country that is not my own, i am learning a language that i will be able to use with almost no one outside this country, i have an apartment and car which are not the ones i own 12,000 miles away. i have added weight to the baggage i would now need to fill to move on, but books, t-shirts and guitars are individually light, even if the aggregate mass is not.

but, i now have something that i will carry with me. i was required to sign a contract saying i understood this could not be removed. i allowed a stranger to pierce my skin and inject permanence into me, creating scars that show. openly placed where i can not hide them from others, a signal that my time in asia has been real. i now have a dark band of scars on my arm which i might be able to cover, but which are clearly there any time i expose myself.

i have embraced the permanence that i have been unable to see as a part of myself. the clean white pallet has taken its first marks. these lines, curves and points may not be quickly readable by others, but they are for me. as my skin continues to leak excess ink, as the colors begin to fad with my personal pigment, as the image settles into its long-term state, i am reminded that not everything is temporary.

the next questions is where will the next permanent scars come from.