I just read Mumai’s last post – about her phoenix.
And it took me back to the beginning of my supposed addiction to self-inflicted pain a.k.a. tattooing.
Deciding to get tattoos never was sparked by mere curiosity, or wanting to simply feel ‘cool,’ or be part of a 'cool' fad.
It definitely was a way for me to affirm who I am. To affirm the truth that I have grown up and I can decide for myself.
I went through some really dreadful things when I was a kid, and I still am living through traces of its terror. There are simply some things we cannot shake off of ourselves, some things we cannot escape from. The truth is, there are no means to mend what has happened, and I definitely won’t deny them.
The truth is harsh but that is the truth. And those of us who are left here to endure the fright of remembering our history every single day – have to do but one thing – acknowledge that it all happened, and move on.
When I decided to get my very first tattoo – I was confronted by two things. First, the fact that of course, it will be permanent. Secondly, if it will be permanent, what would I want to put on my skin?
I had the word ‘Imani’ tattooed on my right hip. It means ‘faith’ in African, ‘believer’ in Arabic and goes back to the word ‘Amen’ in Hebrew.
When I think about it now, I suppose it meant wanting a permanent faith. Faith in who I am. Faith in what has happened – faith that there is a reason for everything. Faith in what I can be, even after all that has occurred.
Realizing this – I know that getting inked was and is never about simply having to feel physical pain (so that we can forget our emotional torment even just for a moment). It ought to mean something more.
It ought to remind us of our endurance. Of our strength. Of our courage. Of our own ‘permanence’ in this world.
And knowing that we are permanent (or at least our history is)…what do we intend to leave all those we know and love with?
I leave my unaltered and steadfast faith in all that is good in you.
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