Ink

My parents don't understand body modification. And while I realize that this statement smacks of melodramatic teenage prose ("SIGH nobody understands me, I'm all alone in this colddarkworld, my parental units were young when the Earth's crust cooled and couldn't possibly get me"), I stand by it. What makes the generational gap a little more difficult to navigate is that besides being parents, they're Koreans, and Confucianism still runs rampant back in the mother country (other than preaching blatant misogyny, our boy Confucius declaimed body modification [piercing, tattoos, cutting one's hair] as an insult to one's ancestors). Ironically, or perhaps a little hypocritically, both of my parents have gotten cosmetic surgery/tattoos; in my mother's case, both. And as I may be disowned if I reveal any more deepdarkfamilysecrets, I'll leave it at that.

The notion that tattoos are solely the domain of prison inmates, gangsters, and generally unpleasant folks (oh, and those affiliated with some military organization) is still strong in "first world" countries, but society is changing. Our generation in particular is providing the impetus for that change. More and more teenagers and twenty-somethings are getting ink as tributes to dead loved ones, as testaments of love for living family and friends, or simply for the aesthetic appeal. We simply have a different idea of aesthetics, not unusual in a species whose idea of aesthetics is subject to change on a generational basis. It is not so uncommon to see white-collared employees with body modifications--my AP English teacher proudly displayed her ankle tat, though my college anthro instructor and English professor try to keep theirs tucked away. Tech support folks are veritably clothed in all manner of geeky ink, and librarians sport literary quotes or Dewey decimal numbers on their skin. Some public relations or customer service workers are even encouraged not to hide their body mods--for them, looking like the people they help is an asset. I would not be the least bit surprised if one day the norm is to have tattoos, multiple piercings, and cybernetic limbs. Okay, so that last one is just wishful thinking. I write specfic, it's allowed.

Anyway, I got another tattoo, and it's awesome.

Mom: Bwaah I didn't even tell your father yet about your first one!
Me: I told him!
Mom: When?
Me: This summer! Before I went to school.
Mom: What? He never mentioned anything to me!

I just think it's cute that each of my parents were apparently trying to cover my ass. XD

And then my mum insisted that she would be driven clinically insane if I got another tattoo (though she would retain enough of her mental faculties to cut off my college funding) and made me swear blind that I wouldn't get anything else done until I turned 25 at the earliest. My original bid was for when I graduate from UIowa in a year and a half, and hers was the age of 30, she insisting that the older I am the more certain I'd be that I wouldn't regret a permanent addition to my body, I maintaining that at 30 I may as well start having my mail forwarded to Death's doorstep.

People say that when you're young, you think you're invincible. Why then do I see memento mori reflected in every surface, waiting to wing me to my untimely yet somehow ironically implemented demise? Too many horror novels/comics/movies, I don't doubt.