Look who got bored enough to come over to help me pack!
Also look who is kicking ass at L4D2!
Only one in two statements is correct.
Thursday, July 30, 2015
Life in order
Look who got bored enough to come over to help me pack!
Also look who is kicking ass at L4D2!
Only one in two statements is correct.
You are the cure
I used to be a terribly sad person.
It was intentional - I went out of my way to depress myself. I would read sad books, watch depressing movies and search for miserable tumblr blogs. To my friends I'm fine and dandy, the self-loathing only comes at night.
In fact, all my entries prior to meeting Gabriel are a mess of chaotic unhappiness. I reject happiness and doubt every good thing in my life. My family and friends were untainted by the bubble of misery I put myself in. My sadness belonged to me and me alone. It was a private world I retreated into nightly.
In a way, it was a gift to be able to be that sad.
After all, it must mean whatever I'm sad about must have given me a colossal degree of happiness, for it to conversely turn into this much unbearable sadness when it leaves.
The sadness grew comfortable and I reveled in it towards the end. I had a grand total of one relationship after I fucked things up with a man who I didn't deserve, and to be honest I don't remember that relationship much.
What I remember is the punishing nights I spent wondering if I should have just waited. If I should try again. If I could touch the heavens and move the earth with my unshakable faith that in the end, I belong to him.
But then I met Gabriel.
He wasn't supposed to be special.
When we got together, he told me he went through great lengths to find me. He saw me on Tinder and saw me again on Paktor and resolved to talk to me no matter what. He attributes it to my attractive red hair. He swiped right and waited. And then I saw him pop up on my app.
I remember my exact train of thought when I first saw him on Paktor.
He had four photos. The first was him carrying his baby cousin. The second I forgot. The third was him eating from a plate. The forth was him on a bike. My reaction was as follows, "No. No. Hmm. Ugh."
But I decided why not and swiped right on him. He chatted me up on Paktor and I didn't think much of it. He asked to take our chat to whatsapp so I gave him my number. But I ignored all his messages there. I am pointless I know.
So I continued ignoring him for the entirety of December 2014, the month where he first secured my number. Every conversation he tried to initiate, I shot down. I would delete his messages and disappear. The only reason I saved his number was solely because of his name.
Constantine.
But I ignored him still.
Little did I know but he was already on my instagram and reading my blog by that point. He knew things about me while he remained a complete enigma to me. He kept trying to talk to me. Man was I cruel.
I am smiling reading through our whatsapp history. The number of times I blue-ticked him could have colored the sky. And he tried so hard awww I didn't know any better. All kinds of hints I blatantly ignored.
"Constantine would like to know nicole better. He likes it when nicole replies. It makes his day brighter a little:)"
I came so close to "brighten*"-ing him. So close.
On Christmas he spoke to me again after weeks of static silence. I replied out of courtesy and decided to chat a little. My first thought is always the same, "A Constantine. A Constantine. Just try replying." But I always disappeared.
But on 31st December 2014 at 3.45AM, I called him for the first time.
We had been chatting on whatsapp past 2am, which is roughly the time I start consciously making bad decisions. And since the man was up, I decided to be more chatty than usual. And it led to me eventually calling him.
And he handled it well. Most men I used to date got terrified at the first call. But not him, no, he was playing a game and didn't quit it even though I was on the line. He just multi-tasked. If anything, this was the game changer for me. It changed my idea of him entirely.
I was always convinced he's an idiot. He sounded like an idiot on whatsapp and I thought he had air for brains so I didn't enjoy talking to him. But on the phone he was a perfect charm.
He had the most delicious English drawl and the deepest, sexiest voice. His laughs were full and cheeky. His jokes were lame and punny. He was smart, he was witty and he was irresistible to a fault. I liked talking to him so much, I didn't hang up till two hours later, close to 6am.
I don't remember if we continued to chat more. In my memory, I know there was a period I'd call him every night. I'd rush home by 10pm just to wait for his roll call and be sad when it nears 1am because he'd have to hang up.
Now because life likes to throw me challenges, it gave me an abrasion of a nose in the week I was due to meet him for dinner. So on 2nd Jan when we were supposed to meet, I cancelled. I told him I had a nose thing.
"What's your address? If you really ain't feeling well then ill cancel the reservation and come take care of you instead."
My place is off limits to anyone but my friends. Most of the men I date don't meet my parents. Nobody meets my parents unless I'm dying or I'm serious about them. And so I said no. And we decided to meet the day after.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
I have never been happier, Gabriel.
I truly haven't.
You lifted the sad haze I've grown so accustomed to. You cut through my fog like a knife and you shone like a beacon in my darkest hours. I almost lost you. I almost chose another. But thank god you came. You came through.
Some days it feels like I wrote you straight out of my dreams.
Last week, I was sitting on your chair in your big shirt watching Breaking Bad up close because I can't see it from your bed due to my shitty vision. But I got cold and needy and so I waddled towards you for love.
Most of the time, you would continue watching and not be bothered by my presence. But that day, you looked at me walk towards you and your face lifted as you opened your arms and made space on the bed for me.
I climbed onto the inside of your bed and snuggled up to you. You turned and lovingly fussed over me, going, "Awww so cute you. Always want to cuddle," and I buried my face in your chest and refused to let go.
I do. I do love cuddling you.
I love holding your hand to sleep. I love your leg sprawled across mine. I love your noisy breaths on my forehead. I love hugging your belly to sleep. And I love the rare moments where you would shuffle in your sleep and reach to hug me, and settling down after I'm warm in your arms again.
The days to my Tokyo trip are counting down, and yes I'm suitably excited. But no more excited by the fact that it draws closer and closer to sleeping next to you again. From 11 days of not seeing you to just 8 days.
It is strange, isn't it? That my love for you has become so exponential that you are no longer just a boyfriend. You are my home when I go on vacation, and you are my vacation when I am back home. You are everything.
Dear God, let me keep him.
Let me keep him forever.
Take whatever else you want from me.
Just not him.
Let me have him forever.
It was intentional - I went out of my way to depress myself. I would read sad books, watch depressing movies and search for miserable tumblr blogs. To my friends I'm fine and dandy, the self-loathing only comes at night.
In fact, all my entries prior to meeting Gabriel are a mess of chaotic unhappiness. I reject happiness and doubt every good thing in my life. My family and friends were untainted by the bubble of misery I put myself in. My sadness belonged to me and me alone. It was a private world I retreated into nightly.
In a way, it was a gift to be able to be that sad.
After all, it must mean whatever I'm sad about must have given me a colossal degree of happiness, for it to conversely turn into this much unbearable sadness when it leaves.
The sadness grew comfortable and I reveled in it towards the end. I had a grand total of one relationship after I fucked things up with a man who I didn't deserve, and to be honest I don't remember that relationship much.
What I remember is the punishing nights I spent wondering if I should have just waited. If I should try again. If I could touch the heavens and move the earth with my unshakable faith that in the end, I belong to him.
But then I met Gabriel.
He wasn't supposed to be special.
When we got together, he told me he went through great lengths to find me. He saw me on Tinder and saw me again on Paktor and resolved to talk to me no matter what. He attributes it to my attractive red hair. He swiped right and waited. And then I saw him pop up on my app.
I remember my exact train of thought when I first saw him on Paktor.
He had four photos. The first was him carrying his baby cousin. The second I forgot. The third was him eating from a plate. The forth was him on a bike. My reaction was as follows, "No. No. Hmm. Ugh."
But I decided why not and swiped right on him. He chatted me up on Paktor and I didn't think much of it. He asked to take our chat to whatsapp so I gave him my number. But I ignored all his messages there. I am pointless I know.
So I continued ignoring him for the entirety of December 2014, the month where he first secured my number. Every conversation he tried to initiate, I shot down. I would delete his messages and disappear. The only reason I saved his number was solely because of his name.
Constantine.
But I ignored him still.
Little did I know but he was already on my instagram and reading my blog by that point. He knew things about me while he remained a complete enigma to me. He kept trying to talk to me. Man was I cruel.
I am smiling reading through our whatsapp history. The number of times I blue-ticked him could have colored the sky. And he tried so hard awww I didn't know any better. All kinds of hints I blatantly ignored.
"Constantine would like to know nicole better. He likes it when nicole replies. It makes his day brighter a little:)"
I came so close to "brighten*"-ing him. So close.
On Christmas he spoke to me again after weeks of static silence. I replied out of courtesy and decided to chat a little. My first thought is always the same, "A Constantine. A Constantine. Just try replying." But I always disappeared.
But on 31st December 2014 at 3.45AM, I called him for the first time.
We had been chatting on whatsapp past 2am, which is roughly the time I start consciously making bad decisions. And since the man was up, I decided to be more chatty than usual. And it led to me eventually calling him.
And he handled it well. Most men I used to date got terrified at the first call. But not him, no, he was playing a game and didn't quit it even though I was on the line. He just multi-tasked. If anything, this was the game changer for me. It changed my idea of him entirely.
I was always convinced he's an idiot. He sounded like an idiot on whatsapp and I thought he had air for brains so I didn't enjoy talking to him. But on the phone he was a perfect charm.
He had the most delicious English drawl and the deepest, sexiest voice. His laughs were full and cheeky. His jokes were lame and punny. He was smart, he was witty and he was irresistible to a fault. I liked talking to him so much, I didn't hang up till two hours later, close to 6am.
I don't remember if we continued to chat more. In my memory, I know there was a period I'd call him every night. I'd rush home by 10pm just to wait for his roll call and be sad when it nears 1am because he'd have to hang up.
Now because life likes to throw me challenges, it gave me an abrasion of a nose in the week I was due to meet him for dinner. So on 2nd Jan when we were supposed to meet, I cancelled. I told him I had a nose thing.
"What's your address? If you really ain't feeling well then ill cancel the reservation and come take care of you instead."
My place is off limits to anyone but my friends. Most of the men I date don't meet my parents. Nobody meets my parents unless I'm dying or I'm serious about them. And so I said no. And we decided to meet the day after.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
I have never been happier, Gabriel.
I truly haven't.
You lifted the sad haze I've grown so accustomed to. You cut through my fog like a knife and you shone like a beacon in my darkest hours. I almost lost you. I almost chose another. But thank god you came. You came through.
Some days it feels like I wrote you straight out of my dreams.
Last week, I was sitting on your chair in your big shirt watching Breaking Bad up close because I can't see it from your bed due to my shitty vision. But I got cold and needy and so I waddled towards you for love.
Most of the time, you would continue watching and not be bothered by my presence. But that day, you looked at me walk towards you and your face lifted as you opened your arms and made space on the bed for me.
I climbed onto the inside of your bed and snuggled up to you. You turned and lovingly fussed over me, going, "Awww so cute you. Always want to cuddle," and I buried my face in your chest and refused to let go.
I do. I do love cuddling you.
I love holding your hand to sleep. I love your leg sprawled across mine. I love your noisy breaths on my forehead. I love hugging your belly to sleep. And I love the rare moments where you would shuffle in your sleep and reach to hug me, and settling down after I'm warm in your arms again.
The days to my Tokyo trip are counting down, and yes I'm suitably excited. But no more excited by the fact that it draws closer and closer to sleeping next to you again. From 11 days of not seeing you to just 8 days.
It is strange, isn't it? That my love for you has become so exponential that you are no longer just a boyfriend. You are my home when I go on vacation, and you are my vacation when I am back home. You are everything.
Dear God, let me keep him.
Let me keep him forever.
Take whatever else you want from me.
Just not him.
Let me have him forever.
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
An arrangement to remember
Visited my grandma with my bouquet!
My happy intention was to ask her to help me take photos of me carrying the bouquet, because none of the photos I took yesterday made the mark. And she happily obliged, on the condition that I included her plants.
Explains the stream below:
She got wobbly hahah.
The phone was straight at first but she sneakily started tilting it more and more so that she can include more of the plants behind me. As you can tell she no longer cares to make me the center of attention in for any photo.
For the last burst of photos, she made me shift to show the red bloom better.
I insisted I was the biggest bloom in the photo but she just ignored and continued turning her plants to face the camera. She only snapped after 5 - 10 minutes of plant adjusting, nodding her approval before snapping.
And when I asked her which photo should I upload, she pointed to the last stream and said, "This one because all the flowers can see," and I said I looked fat but she continued on, "Wow the flowers blooming so prettily."
SUCH IS MY LIFE.
After that, I tried to water the blue roses. So, without thinking (I do that too much), I started to pull out the bear from the bouquet. I watered the bouquet then realized I couldn't stick them back in anymore.
And the grandma went on a rampage.
"See la who ask you pull so violently. You can just cover the bear and spray the rose. Why must pull out. See la your bouquet spoil already. See la. Now how you tell me."
Then I said it's fine, I've already taken photos of them and I'll bug Gabriel to buy me another. She ignored me and eventually we took apart the bouquet together and fixed it back up. And LOOK AT THE RESULTS:
She was so pleased hehe.
She kept fluffing out the yellow and white veils, making the bouquet as puffy as her hair. Then she gave herself an impressed lip curl and said it looked much fuller than my original suffocated bouquet and kept looking at it.
I'm adding flower arrangement to my cv.
My happy intention was to ask her to help me take photos of me carrying the bouquet, because none of the photos I took yesterday made the mark. And she happily obliged, on the condition that I included her plants.
Explains the stream below:
She got wobbly hahah.
The phone was straight at first but she sneakily started tilting it more and more so that she can include more of the plants behind me. As you can tell she no longer cares to make me the center of attention in for any photo.
For the last burst of photos, she made me shift to show the red bloom better.
I insisted I was the biggest bloom in the photo but she just ignored and continued turning her plants to face the camera. She only snapped after 5 - 10 minutes of plant adjusting, nodding her approval before snapping.
And when I asked her which photo should I upload, she pointed to the last stream and said, "This one because all the flowers can see," and I said I looked fat but she continued on, "Wow the flowers blooming so prettily."
SUCH IS MY LIFE.
After that, I tried to water the blue roses. So, without thinking (I do that too much), I started to pull out the bear from the bouquet. I watered the bouquet then realized I couldn't stick them back in anymore.
And the grandma went on a rampage.
"See la who ask you pull so violently. You can just cover the bear and spray the rose. Why must pull out. See la your bouquet spoil already. See la. Now how you tell me."
Then I said it's fine, I've already taken photos of them and I'll bug Gabriel to buy me another. She ignored me and eventually we took apart the bouquet together and fixed it back up. And LOOK AT THE RESULTS:
She was so pleased hehe.
She kept fluffing out the yellow and white veils, making the bouquet as puffy as her hair. Then she gave herself an impressed lip curl and said it looked much fuller than my original suffocated bouquet and kept looking at it.
I'm adding flower arrangement to my cv.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
When you're seas away
You amazing man.
You amazing, amazing man.
Even when you're seas away, you still find a way to make me smile.
Today was a great misadventure with my basic theory test, courtesy of the fuck up that is Bukit Batok Driving Center. Long story short, my basic theory evaluation expired and hence, they magically cut me out of my test!
So I had to retake my bte and thankfully, a very dejected Khaiwah bumped into me at the canteen, telling me he failed his btt and discussing with me the questions he got wrong. We looked through my book for the right answers and they came out for mine! One man's failure is another woman's success WHOOP.
In the end, my btt will be in September. It is fucking unbearable yes but at least it gives me time to raise funds to rush all my practicals so all fingers crossed that no matter what, my license will come by December.
Was pretty down in the dumps but then I received this!
Pardon the photo stream I rarely get flowers heh heh.
Baby has been asking for my full address and telling me to stay home no matter what today so I figured something was fishy. And in the end, it wasn't as fishy as I thought - it was flowery!
There were six blue roses and three teddy bears and a little enclosed note. He's not a man of many words and so I was most excited about opening the little card. And true enough, it was all but seven words long. But I loved it!
Yes baby, I get it! :*
I'm still not sure what inspired this thoughtful little gift but before he sailed, I mentioned in passing that he isn't the romantic sort. And lo and behold a day later, I get a mini surprise that's making me smile from 4pm till now.
Now the bouquet is sitting happily next to my constantine corner. It is an area where I hang all his clothes and what I hug when I miss him! I would sniff the shirts and hug them and say, "I love you!" aloud.
Yep I am officially the most smitten girl ever.
You amazing, amazing man.
Even when you're seas away, you still find a way to make me smile.
Today was a great misadventure with my basic theory test, courtesy of the fuck up that is Bukit Batok Driving Center. Long story short, my basic theory evaluation expired and hence, they magically cut me out of my test!
So I had to retake my bte and thankfully, a very dejected Khaiwah bumped into me at the canteen, telling me he failed his btt and discussing with me the questions he got wrong. We looked through my book for the right answers and they came out for mine! One man's failure is another woman's success WHOOP.
In the end, my btt will be in September. It is fucking unbearable yes but at least it gives me time to raise funds to rush all my practicals so all fingers crossed that no matter what, my license will come by December.
Was pretty down in the dumps but then I received this!
Pardon the photo stream I rarely get flowers heh heh.
Baby has been asking for my full address and telling me to stay home no matter what today so I figured something was fishy. And in the end, it wasn't as fishy as I thought - it was flowery!
There were six blue roses and three teddy bears and a little enclosed note. He's not a man of many words and so I was most excited about opening the little card. And true enough, it was all but seven words long. But I loved it!
Yes baby, I get it! :*
I'm still not sure what inspired this thoughtful little gift but before he sailed, I mentioned in passing that he isn't the romantic sort. And lo and behold a day later, I get a mini surprise that's making me smile from 4pm till now.
Now the bouquet is sitting happily next to my constantine corner. It is an area where I hang all his clothes and what I hug when I miss him! I would sniff the shirts and hug them and say, "I love you!" aloud.
Yep I am officially the most smitten girl ever.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
Guide to getting your first tattoo
Tattoos, eh?
Hold on, don't tell me - you're thinking of getting one! Of course you are.
There are two classes of people in the world of ink. The former are the folks who talk all day about getting one but never do do it, and the latter are the ones who have to put up with that kind of shit till said folks fuck off or actually get it done.
I am thankful for the most straight-forward boyfriend in the world who woke up one day and decided, "Yeah ink, bitch!" and dreamed up a design and got it done, all in a month's work. Thank god for my decisive man.
Digressing, I think my inked ex boyfriends must have rolled their eyes inwardly every time I brought up the topic of me getting one. I was 16 then and IT IS A LEGITIMATE CONCERN OK I wasn't even ready to commit to them for two weeks, why would I commit forever to an ink jesus.
Plus none of the assholes understood my trepidation at getting my first ink. How bad would it hurt? Would I get sick of it? What is the cost? How often do I have to go for touch up? Yada yada.
So fret not - here is your definitive guide to getting your first tattoo!
Step one: Decide how big a disappointment you want to be to your parents
This is a tricky question.
Do you want them to be a little disappointed, but still love you? Or are you ready for them to be majorly disappointed, and un-love you a little? What a difficult choice! Here is my personal experience for your perusal!
The first time I got my tattoo, it was on the inside of my right foot. And it was pretty easy to hide - I just had to plan my walking route in advance everywhere I go to make sure it was covered at all times. Imagine the following:
I used to have such a big home sigh.
Anyway, my usual route is as given. Sometimes I see what's on the tv and sometimes I go to the kitchen hunting for food. After I got my ink, all that became a much trickier task. I had to walk like this:
Man those were tough days.
I had to plot my walking route back then. Ok how to walk to the kitchen to get a snack and come back? Ok I will walk a round at the living room. How to watch tv while hiding it? Ok I will cross my legs, right foot under.
In the end, they found out because I forgot to take a spin one day and my naturally suspicious dad went, "WHAT IS THAT?" and that night was a screaming match.
My dad and mum are a match made in Jewish heaven, I am sure.
My dad would use anger, wielding it like a sword. He would shout at me and came me names and I would learn all sorts of new Hokkien vulgarities in the same time frame. My mum would employ guilt, adding tears for maximum effect. She would cry and ask where did she go wrong.
And together, they were invincible.
I felt so bad that I put off having another tattoo for six months, even though I was itching every day to do more. And eventually, they got more and more accustomed to the idea. Or maybe it's because they love me less now. WELL FUCK IT I DON'T NEED TO KNOW!
So back to step one yes.
Decide how big a disappointment you want to be to your parents. Are you ready to see the love leave their eyes as you say, "Yes, I got it done last week I am sorry," and can you handle the feigned fainting?
You can? STEP TWO IT IS!
Step two: Decide how often you want to receive questions
Which in a nutshell means - get English or Chinese tattoos only.
In fact, don't even get Chinese tattoos. Chances are, you can't speak Chinese to save your life. You can test your Chinese capability by repeating whatever I'm typing in Chinese. Are you stuck at the word "repeat"? There you go!
Anyway it's chong fu (yi bian), not "jiang again?" yeah.
When I got my feet tattoo, I got the standard few questions.
"Why'd you tattoo "congee" on your feet?"
"Is that an infinity sign or a smudged 8?"
"What is that word in the center? Ethan?"
HOLY FUCK SUDDEN REALIZATION: My favorite self given name used to be Lexi, after the book, "Mistress of the Game" by Sidney Sheldon but it has since reverted back to Thane, which I dreamed up.
AND I JUST REALIZED THE CENTER WORD OF MY FOOT TATTOO OFFICIALLY LOOKS LIKE "THANE" NOW MORE THAN EVER BECAUSE IT IS MORE SMUDGED THAN BEFORE!
Ok I'm adding Thane to my IC by 2016.
Back to topic, notice the sound of music over people not asking what longer than forever means? Notice the birds in the background that chirp for the first time in their lives because no one asked, "So what does it mean?"
All the said birds died in their sleep and on their branches that night because the next thing I knew, I got myself a Latin tattoo and holy shit the floodgate of questions I received became so template, I could sleep while answering.
Normal conversation goes like this:
I: What words are those? Vietnam?
Me: Vae victis.
I: I see. What does it mean?
Me: Woe to the vanquished.
I: But what does that mean?
Me: Misery to the losers.
I: Huh what's that?
As you can tell, "I" stands for idiot here. Also as you can tell, by this landmark in the conversation I have already either resorted to violently eating my meal or vehemently staring at a point beyond their head enough for them to realize they probably should Google it.
Maybe I should make it easier for them and tattoo the Google definition of it right below my tat.
No one is stopping you from asking.
Ask ahead. But have the courtesy to take a minute to think about whatever you've heard, instead of giving me a face blanker than canvas and asking me again and again what it means. Maybe ask your mum. Okay that was rude.
So if you're as impatient as I am when it comes to entertaining questions, stick to English. No one ever asked what my collarbone tattoo means. Yes they misinterpret it as save the dog or lave the day but hey, AT LEAST THEY DIDN'T ASK WHAT IT MEANS.
Step three: Decide how cool are you with smudging
My foot tattoo has smudged to oblivion. These days I'm lucky if someone recognizes the word "longer" on it. Luckier if I, myself can recognize the word "than" at all.
My thigh tattoo has smudged like a dementia patient - if it had a life, it wouldn't remember who it was at all. I have touched up on it four times now and five times it has disappointed me. Yes it is that hardcore.
No close-up photos because they're gross.
My arm tattoo, neck tattoo, collarbone tattoo are doing fine. I predict my newest one might take a turn for the worse if I keep scratching it. But my point is: choose the location wisely and don't be trigger-happy with itches.
Step four: Test your pain threshold
To prepare myself for my first tattoo, my boyfriend (at that point) broke up with me and made sure my broken heart far outweighed all physical realms of pain LOL. And my god it worked like a fucking charm.
If you've ever asked me how much tattoos hurt, I would have always answered the same thing. My foot. My foot hurt the worst. The area leading up to the word "forever" and the infinity sign hurt the worst.
Physically it's true, because the skin there gets thin. Poetically though, it is because I had a hidden sorrow from the break up and the word forever was sensitive to me and the infinity sign, sensitive-r. BOOHOO ME.
We got back together after my tattoo and broke up again JUST IN TIME for the second one. See guys, this is dedicated pain threshold building right there. I have the best self-motivated trainer ever, it seems.
Eventually I left him before I got my third tattoo. By then the pain truly didn't bother me anymore. The ink is worth the pain. I've been an inked woman and I've been a plain woman and I choose ink, every time. Fuck I have just ruined my favorite quote from Jordan Belfort. Moving on.
In the coming few years, it would me be testing his pain threshold as he periodically asks, "Wow Nicole, you're looking better every year. How are you?" and I reply with, "Yeah I got hot, didn't I?" as I change my display photo to me parading my perky ass.
HOPE THAT HELPS WITH YOUR NEXT TATTOO SESSION TOO YOU ASSHAT.
Side note: I mean if you physically want to know your pain threshold, you can try Gabriel's method.
He annoyed me daily for a month and I pinched him for it regularly and in the end as he sat down for his session, he sagely went, "All that pinching was training for today mmm," awww my darling silver-lining baby.
Step five: Book an appointment even if you're not ready
As you can tell, I'm a mistakes first, worry later kind of person.
But really, all of my tattoo sessions were booked way before I had a clue on what I want. I have a sketch of what I'm looking to do. But never anything solid. Especially with my text tattoos. They always came at the door.
Literally at the door.
I would be heading out to the parlour and the perfect text would float around in my mind, to be shot down by the archers whiling around in my mind and bought proudly to the management, who then stamp their approval.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, you probably already do know what you want.
It stays in the subconscious part of your mind, an area that can only be awakened in times of urgency. And if urgency comes in the form of a needle about to break your skin, then it will definitely wake it the hell up.
Step six: Just do it
Because Shia Labeouf says so.
Step seven: Or not, I don't really care
It's your life.
Disclaimer: This guide was meant to be as unhelpful as possible. In fact if anything, it started as a public service announcement discouraging folks from doing it but along the way I decided I'll throw in legit tips.
So do as you wish and do as you please, s' long as you're happy.
Hold on, don't tell me - you're thinking of getting one! Of course you are.
There are two classes of people in the world of ink. The former are the folks who talk all day about getting one but never do do it, and the latter are the ones who have to put up with that kind of shit till said folks fuck off or actually get it done.
I am thankful for the most straight-forward boyfriend in the world who woke up one day and decided, "Yeah ink, bitch!" and dreamed up a design and got it done, all in a month's work. Thank god for my decisive man.
Digressing, I think my inked ex boyfriends must have rolled their eyes inwardly every time I brought up the topic of me getting one. I was 16 then and IT IS A LEGITIMATE CONCERN OK I wasn't even ready to commit to them for two weeks, why would I commit forever to an ink jesus.
Plus none of the assholes understood my trepidation at getting my first ink. How bad would it hurt? Would I get sick of it? What is the cost? How often do I have to go for touch up? Yada yada.
So fret not - here is your definitive guide to getting your first tattoo!
Step one: Decide how big a disappointment you want to be to your parents
This is a tricky question.
Do you want them to be a little disappointed, but still love you? Or are you ready for them to be majorly disappointed, and un-love you a little? What a difficult choice! Here is my personal experience for your perusal!
The first time I got my tattoo, it was on the inside of my right foot. And it was pretty easy to hide - I just had to plan my walking route in advance everywhere I go to make sure it was covered at all times. Imagine the following:
I used to have such a big home sigh.
Anyway, my usual route is as given. Sometimes I see what's on the tv and sometimes I go to the kitchen hunting for food. After I got my ink, all that became a much trickier task. I had to walk like this:
Man those were tough days.
I had to plot my walking route back then. Ok how to walk to the kitchen to get a snack and come back? Ok I will walk a round at the living room. How to watch tv while hiding it? Ok I will cross my legs, right foot under.
In the end, they found out because I forgot to take a spin one day and my naturally suspicious dad went, "WHAT IS THAT?" and that night was a screaming match.
My dad and mum are a match made in Jewish heaven, I am sure.
My dad would use anger, wielding it like a sword. He would shout at me and came me names and I would learn all sorts of new Hokkien vulgarities in the same time frame. My mum would employ guilt, adding tears for maximum effect. She would cry and ask where did she go wrong.
And together, they were invincible.
I felt so bad that I put off having another tattoo for six months, even though I was itching every day to do more. And eventually, they got more and more accustomed to the idea. Or maybe it's because they love me less now. WELL FUCK IT I DON'T NEED TO KNOW!
So back to step one yes.
Decide how big a disappointment you want to be to your parents. Are you ready to see the love leave their eyes as you say, "Yes, I got it done last week I am sorry," and can you handle the feigned fainting?
You can? STEP TWO IT IS!
Step two: Decide how often you want to receive questions
Which in a nutshell means - get English or Chinese tattoos only.
In fact, don't even get Chinese tattoos. Chances are, you can't speak Chinese to save your life. You can test your Chinese capability by repeating whatever I'm typing in Chinese. Are you stuck at the word "repeat"? There you go!
Anyway it's chong fu (yi bian), not "jiang again?" yeah.
When I got my feet tattoo, I got the standard few questions.
"Why'd you tattoo "congee" on your feet?"
"Is that an infinity sign or a smudged 8?"
"What is that word in the center? Ethan?"
HOLY FUCK SUDDEN REALIZATION: My favorite self given name used to be Lexi, after the book, "Mistress of the Game" by Sidney Sheldon but it has since reverted back to Thane, which I dreamed up.
AND I JUST REALIZED THE CENTER WORD OF MY FOOT TATTOO OFFICIALLY LOOKS LIKE "THANE" NOW MORE THAN EVER BECAUSE IT IS MORE SMUDGED THAN BEFORE!
Ok I'm adding Thane to my IC by 2016.
Back to topic, notice the sound of music over people not asking what longer than forever means? Notice the birds in the background that chirp for the first time in their lives because no one asked, "So what does it mean?"
All the said birds died in their sleep and on their branches that night because the next thing I knew, I got myself a Latin tattoo and holy shit the floodgate of questions I received became so template, I could sleep while answering.
Normal conversation goes like this:
I: What words are those? Vietnam?
Me: Vae victis.
I: I see. What does it mean?
Me: Woe to the vanquished.
I: But what does that mean?
Me: Misery to the losers.
I: Huh what's that?
As you can tell, "I" stands for idiot here. Also as you can tell, by this landmark in the conversation I have already either resorted to violently eating my meal or vehemently staring at a point beyond their head enough for them to realize they probably should Google it.
Maybe I should make it easier for them and tattoo the Google definition of it right below my tat.
No one is stopping you from asking.
Ask ahead. But have the courtesy to take a minute to think about whatever you've heard, instead of giving me a face blanker than canvas and asking me again and again what it means. Maybe ask your mum. Okay that was rude.
So if you're as impatient as I am when it comes to entertaining questions, stick to English. No one ever asked what my collarbone tattoo means. Yes they misinterpret it as save the dog or lave the day but hey, AT LEAST THEY DIDN'T ASK WHAT IT MEANS.
Step three: Decide how cool are you with smudging
My foot tattoo has smudged to oblivion. These days I'm lucky if someone recognizes the word "longer" on it. Luckier if I, myself can recognize the word "than" at all.
My thigh tattoo has smudged like a dementia patient - if it had a life, it wouldn't remember who it was at all. I have touched up on it four times now and five times it has disappointed me. Yes it is that hardcore.
No close-up photos because they're gross.
My arm tattoo, neck tattoo, collarbone tattoo are doing fine. I predict my newest one might take a turn for the worse if I keep scratching it. But my point is: choose the location wisely and don't be trigger-happy with itches.
Step four: Test your pain threshold
To prepare myself for my first tattoo, my boyfriend (at that point) broke up with me and made sure my broken heart far outweighed all physical realms of pain LOL. And my god it worked like a fucking charm.
If you've ever asked me how much tattoos hurt, I would have always answered the same thing. My foot. My foot hurt the worst. The area leading up to the word "forever" and the infinity sign hurt the worst.
Physically it's true, because the skin there gets thin. Poetically though, it is because I had a hidden sorrow from the break up and the word forever was sensitive to me and the infinity sign, sensitive-r. BOOHOO ME.
We got back together after my tattoo and broke up again JUST IN TIME for the second one. See guys, this is dedicated pain threshold building right there. I have the best self-motivated trainer ever, it seems.
Eventually I left him before I got my third tattoo. By then the pain truly didn't bother me anymore. The ink is worth the pain. I've been an inked woman and I've been a plain woman and I choose ink, every time. Fuck I have just ruined my favorite quote from Jordan Belfort. Moving on.
In the coming few years, it would me be testing his pain threshold as he periodically asks, "Wow Nicole, you're looking better every year. How are you?" and I reply with, "Yeah I got hot, didn't I?" as I change my display photo to me parading my perky ass.
HOPE THAT HELPS WITH YOUR NEXT TATTOO SESSION TOO YOU ASSHAT.
Side note: I mean if you physically want to know your pain threshold, you can try Gabriel's method.
He annoyed me daily for a month and I pinched him for it regularly and in the end as he sat down for his session, he sagely went, "All that pinching was training for today mmm," awww my darling silver-lining baby.
Step five: Book an appointment even if you're not ready
As you can tell, I'm a mistakes first, worry later kind of person.
But really, all of my tattoo sessions were booked way before I had a clue on what I want. I have a sketch of what I'm looking to do. But never anything solid. Especially with my text tattoos. They always came at the door.
Literally at the door.
I would be heading out to the parlour and the perfect text would float around in my mind, to be shot down by the archers whiling around in my mind and bought proudly to the management, who then stamp their approval.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, you probably already do know what you want.
It stays in the subconscious part of your mind, an area that can only be awakened in times of urgency. And if urgency comes in the form of a needle about to break your skin, then it will definitely wake it the hell up.
Step six: Just do it
Because Shia Labeouf says so.
Step seven: Or not, I don't really care
It's your life.
Disclaimer: This guide was meant to be as unhelpful as possible. In fact if anything, it started as a public service announcement discouraging folks from doing it but along the way I decided I'll throw in legit tips.
So do as you wish and do as you please, s' long as you're happy.
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