Messages

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed that my brain has this tendency to unearth Romanian words in place of really simple ones like car trunk. Earlier, a group of four very tall siblings walked into my store and the first thing I thought wasn’t wow they’re giants, it was wow, they’re uriaș – the Romanian word for giants. I have no idea why this happens, but it happens quite often. It’s like I simply can’t remember the English word for whatever it is I’m trying to say, but then I automatically remember it in Romanian.

Anyway, I don’t remember how exactly I had planned on transitioning this post, but I recently altered my body in a permanent way. I’ve been oscillating between loving it and feeling a horrible sense of regret and guilt. So much so, that the day after was conveniently Sunday and I went to church seeking answers. Thankfully, I got them.

I think I’ve mentioned it before, but it’s very hard to hear at my church cause it echoes. However, what I did hear, I firmly believe I was meant to hear: that we all have our crosses to bear and that God forgives all sins. Honestly, this made me feel way better about my decision because I take it to mean God doesn’t really care what I do to my body.

Funny thing is, like I said, I keep oscillating between loving and kinda hating it. The next day, I was painting and thinking about life and my recent decisions while listening to traditional Romanian music. While I was in a “I can’t believe I did that, why did I do that” phase, the following lyrics played: “păcate sunt pe pământ” which translates to “sins are of the earth”. It’s not necessarily that I go seeking these messages, but that whoever is watching out for me is sending them to me to make me understand that what I did isn’t the end of the world and isn’t something worth being condemned over. And it is such a relief every time.

Earlier I was feeling negative about it again. I sat down and scrolled through my Tumblr dash and found this: ”
Our culture teaches us about shame—it dictates what is acceptable and what is not. We weren’t born craving perfect bodies. We weren’t born afraid to tell our stories. We weren’t born with a fear of getting too old to feel valuable. We weren’t born with a Pottery Barn catalog in one hand and heartbreaking debt in the other. Shame comes from outside of us—from the messages and expectations of our culture. What comes from the inside of us is a very human need to belong, to relate.”

I swear someone is looking out for me. I have to believe that because it can’t just be chance that these messages are hurtling themselves my way. Also, somewhat ironically, this recent body change has brought me closer to God. Or perhaps broaden my spirituality. I’m okay with that.

My Dad’s Reaction to My Piercing is That of a 5 Year Old’s

So as I mentioned last night, I played the “let’s see how long it takes for my family to notice my nose piercing” game.

As it turns out, not too long, but amusingly long enough.

I was sitting down eating my lunch after the gym, my dad was changing the trash, and mid sentence he goes “WHAT IS THAT IN YOUR NOSE?” and I don’t think I got to say anything really, and he said “IS THAT A HOLE? IS THAT A HOLE IN YOUR NOSE? DID YOU PUT A HOLE IN YOU NOSE?” as if asking the same question 3 times made it not real.

I told him yes, to which he kinda got pissed, walked away to change the trash in the bathroom, and came back and said “Do you think you look prettier with that thing in your nose?” and I just stared at him, chewing, and then looked back down at my food. Then he said I have dubious friends, and walked away with the trash.

Since then, he has been giving me the silent treatment/pretending I’m not alive. It’s actually genuinely amusing because like…seriously? I’m pretty grateful that he wasn’t more pissed and demanded I take it out or something ridiculous.

I’m so glad that my first tattoo will not be visible for him to shit bricks over. Cause I’m pretty sure he’d go insane. I mean, you know, god forbid I put a hole through my body – imagine what his 20th century ideals are like about INK UNDER MY SKIN. =O

But listen, at the end of the day, it is my body. It is my choice. It is my money. And I am not forcing anyone else to go through the pain. Don’t like it? Don’t care. I literally don’t give a fuck what you think about what I do to myself. It’s 2013. Get over it. Get over yourself. It is not that serious, honey.

P.S. My mom seems rather unphased by it. While my dad was freaking out asking me if I actually have a hole through my nose, her reaction was at first this face: O_O and then “is that like a little stone in there?” +1000 points for her chill attitude, mega appreciated.

So Today I Got My Nose Pierced

Today started out relatively uneventful. Alyza and I went to downtown Ferndale, and after exiting the Rust Belt, she clapped her hands, got really excited, and screamed “DO YOU WANNA GET YOUR NOSE PIERCED!?” To which I took a minute to reply “sure” to.

After trying a few different shops down there (one didn’t do piercings, the other was closed on Sundays) we found a shop on Woodward that was open, did piercings, and did them with studs (I’m not allowed to wear hoops in my nose at work).

SOOOOO, I did what I’ve been wanting to do since I was 12, but was too scared to do on my own for over ten years: I voluntarily offered myself to get a hollow needle stuck through my nose and carved out a hole.

It was kinda painful at first, especially the few seconds right after the needle went through. The girl had me close my eyes, but I opened them when the needle was still in and there was a burning sensation happening, so I saw it sticking out of my nose as she still had my nostril clamped out. It was kind of uncomfortable for a little bit and I remember thinking WHEN IS SHE GOING TO PUT THE STUD IN!?

But then she finally did and I was like holy shit I actually have my nose pierced! It’s been mildly hurting on and off all day, as expected. I never realized how much I flare my nostrils, though, until today. Every time I do it, I send a small jolt of pain to the piercing and I’m like oh! Okay!

All in all, it wasn’t a bad experience. I wasn’t freaking out like I used to freak out when I thought of getting things like this done, which only means that in about 2 weeks, when I might possibly be getting my first tattoo(s), I will hopefully also be as semi calm as I was today.

Now I’m just playing the waiting game to see who in my family will notice first that there is something different about me, and how long will it take each of them to notice. I deliberately didn’t post the above picture on Facebook, because I decided it might be better for them to see it in person, rather than find out via social networking about my recent body mod.

But really, I’m 22. It’s my body. I can legally do whatever I want.