Five months ago I decided to go on an adventure that my parents won't approve of - getting a tattoo. It's been a plan since college but it never pushed through due to money matters, mental condition, and indecisiveness regarding the design. One tattoo led to another one and another one and another one. For five months, I managed to get four tattoos. I wouldn't say I got addicted. It's just that the artist was just around the corner since he is my brother's friend.
Having tattoos raised so many issues especially that I am from a very conservative and traditional family who views tattoos as something only rock stars, rebels, and convicts has the right to have one. I had the hard time to hide my first three because I always wear sleeveless at home. I got busted when they saw my latest one located at my ankle. It's something I couldn't hide anymore and I decided not to hide anymore. That started the never ending arguments with my mother.
I understand it was hard to accept that your eldest daughter got inked without you knowing and you don't have any idea why she did it. Is it her way to rebel against you? Does she belong to some voodoo cult or something? Is it her way to prove something? Every time she asks me why, I don't answer. I believe she wouldn't understand it at all. The fight would just get longer and longer until I get tired and just give up. You can't win in a fight against your parents because you are just their kid. You don't have any right to fight them at all. Your duty is to obey them. So when I got a tattoo, they felt it was me being disobedient. It was me being being stubborn. It was me being immature. But in reality, it was just me being me. I didn't get a tattoo just because I want to rebel against my parents or to show them how mad I am. It's not like I killed someone or I changed since I had a tattoo. I am still me, for crying out loud. I am still the clumsy, childish, jolly, and happy-go-lucky kid they raised. I never lost my love for my parents. I never lost me. My mother always thinks about what people might think about me or her as a parent when they see my tattoos. Ok, it's a given that people will talk. People always fucking talk. Parents always worry about such things. They care so much about the society that they sometimes forget to ask about what their children feel.
As a daughter, I let my mom be angry with me because it was the only consolation I can give her after everything I did to myself that she didn't like. I am ready to be scolded forever for ruining my body. I don't expect her to understand me. I just hope she could accept me. It don't matter if it would take long as long as she could do it. I admit I am not the perfect daughter as people expected me to be since I am the first born. But why do we always have to follow stereotypes? Why can't we live a life the way we want it?
