When school was cancelled, when we stopped being able to interact with the world in the same way, my roommates and I ordered tattoo supplies.
It was a good excuse, I think. That’s what it started as. A good chunk of time to learn how to do something we’d been wanting to learn how to do, and something that felt fun and reckless when we couldn’t express that anywhere else.
Eventually, I started to realize that there was a lot more going on here for me than just giving and getting new tattoos. My friend said as I was giving them one, “We’ll never forget quarantine, that’s for sure,” and as much as they were half-joking when they said it, it sort of threw me into this self-psycho-analyzation headspace, trying to figure out why the hell I was letting myself be so much dumber than normal.
It is kind of reckless, even I can admit that. Why am I doing this, why am I choosing these images, why does this not feel as unhinged as some people, namely my parents, might think it is? What is it about permanently marking myself, and those that I choose to surround myself with, that seems so appealing, especially in a time like this?
This is insane, what we’re living through. It’s nothing like any of us have ever experienced, it’s forcing us all to deal with these overwhelming and existential ideas that maybe we never stopped to think too hard about before. I want to remember that. I want to remember this, as hard as it is, as horrible as it is. I don’t want it to be forgotten.
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