So a couple weeks ago I was driving home for a fun-filled evening with the family. I incidentally got stuck behind a biker couple and was quickly reminded of the secret language they shared with fellow bikers. Every time we passed another biker, they would lower their left hands and do that infamous, secretive gesture with their hand. It didn't matter if the biker they were passing was young or old, male or female, parked or driving. They consistently greeted them.
I always envied bikers for this secret little club as a child. Whenever I saw them make that gesture, I desired to one day be one of them. I wanted to be able to have a connection with those around me that gave me the secretive prestige that something like the Masons or Crusaders had. It would place me in a realm above all others, making me invaluable.
When I got my two tattoos, I finally had that connection. Whenever you see someone else with tattoos and they notice yours, your eyes meet for a moment and things click. You acknowledge each other with a faint nod of the head or something else subtle like that. I was part of a minority and proud of it. I never once doubted my choice in getting tattoos.
Then I started classes. I didn't think much of it beforehand. I knew that there would be some judgment on the part of teachers because of the older generations. I knew that for my teaching job, I would have to hide the tattoos. But what I was shocked at was the judgment I found in the eyes of my classmates. When they saw my tattoos, they would shake their heads, sigh quietly, or just eye them with disdain. Professors, strangely enough, were indifferent compared to students. Perhaps it's from years of learning and growing.
Then my other job, the one putting me through college, decided to have us cover up tattoos. Now there is judgment both at school and at work. For the first time all summer, I am ashamed of my tattoos. The words not so much. The scarab, yes. It's bright, obnoxious, a blinding symbol on my wrist of defiance, youthful rebellion, and zero consideration. It's no longer sacred. It isn't a part of my being. It's a stamp of shame. I hate seeing it. I cover it up whenever I have the chance. When I'm laying in bed and notice it out of the corner of my eye, I hide it under the covers. I chastise myself for being so reckless that I actually got a tattoo on a noticeable spot of my body. There was once a time where I was proud of my body art. It was a symbol of my spirituality and beliefs. Now I'm ashamed.
The only support I have are the few other students at AU who also have tattoos. We discuss them in secrecy, out of the hearing of those who would ridicule us. We share our beliefs, the meanings behind our scarlet A's. It is then that I feel at home with my body. When I'm away from campus, I steal a moment here and there to run my fingers over the painted flesh and remember what it means. But now the words are hollow. There seems to be no meaning behind beliefs when those around you do not spare a moment to consider your viewpoint.
To quote the words of one of my favorite books and shows, Children of Dune, "My skin is not my own." Leto Atreides said that when he felt that he was destined for something more and yet could not discover it. When I look at my skin and see those obstinate greens, yellows, and black of drawings forever stamped into it, I feel the same way. My skin is not my own. I hate it. I despise it. It's a vile part of my body, disgusting for all it stands for and how it sets me apart from the world I once loved. The elite are no longer elite. That secretive club is no longer a powerful symbol.
Yet, these stamps are not temporary. They will not vanish if I ignore them. They will not blend into something else if I attempt to hide them. They will be here for my entire life. I must learn to overcome my fears, embrace my scarlet A, and learn to see a new life within it. Just as Leto Atreides did with his unfamiliar skin, I must pursue a new life and understand my body as destiny has determined for me. In Leto's own words, fear is the mind killer. I will face my fears. I will let it pass through me. In time, I hope to find normalcy within my skin and see it not as a determiner of my future but a part of my reality.
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