Scars & Tattoos

I remember the day I was told I’d have to undergo a spinal fusion surgery, the thing that made me break down crying wasn’t the thought of undergoing surgery, or the risk involved, or the consequences that were to come – it was having a scar run all down my back. It was the thought of being self conscious whenever I’d go to the beach or to the pool, it was feeling like it would be another imperfection, another flaw, compounding on my already fractured and fragile teenage self image.

years later, with each surgery, the scar just got more and more disfigured and hellish. many more scars added with different peripheral surgeries all over my body. Funnily enough, the surgery that left me eventually momentarily paraplegic had the most aesthetic scar, replacing the main disfigured scar that adorned my back. It wasn’t at all comforting in the midst of my body failing.

now I can say that I finally feel peace with each and every scar of my body, and see them for what they are – reminders of the path, the journey I had to endure. Reminder that it all really happened, a visual representation of the scars hiding within me.

For years I planned to cover or disguise those scars with tattoos, trying to make them more aesthetic or appealing, or more invisible, but I never did. To some extent I believe I felt that more surgeries were coming, and any attempt at having a tattoo before I get to some sort of status quo, some hopefully optimistic and evolving outlook, would be futile and a waste of time, energy and money.

straight after the last surgery in March 23, I decided I would mark the end of this chapter – being cautiously optimistic – with a tattoo. And it was obvious to me what it would be – “One More Time with Feeling” (to under stand why visit this blog post – Regina). Contemplating with my friends on a design, one of them suggested I’d ask Regina herself – the songwriter, composer and reason behind this song being so meaningful to me – to write it on a piece of paper for me to tattoo. I knew that she’s been reluctant in the past to sign on people for them to tattoo, but I hoped I found a loophole.

I asked her through her to oblige through her husband, Jack. Three months later she sent me a letter about relearning and performing that very song in my honor to a packed London venue. A while later she finally sent me two endearing, full pages of different sketches of her writing “One More Time with Feeling”, and last week I finally, finally, got tattooed, for the first time, at 35.

In a way the tattoo serves the same function to me as the scars do – with one very important distinction – whereas the scars were forced upon me, the tattoo was a choice. And that to me signifies something I’ve been lacking severely for the past two decades – Control. For years I’ve been feeling like I’m stuck on train tracks while everybody else get to drive an open road. Hopefully, from now on, I get to hold the wheel.