>I have 5 tattos. Every single one of it hasits history and its motif.
I got the first one at 18. Its in my belly. Ever since I was a little girl I decided not to have children. My oldest sister gave birth to her first daughter at 19. I was 3 years old. And I saw her do badly hurt after the cirgury that I figured she was too old to live for her daugther. All my sisters and brother were too old already, and will die soon and I will end up with multiple kids to look for. So, I must not have any, so I could care for them. Even it was an overreaction, there was a point in my life in which I have to take care of the daughters of that sister. So, I wasn’t that wrong.
So, when I got 18, I decide to get a tatto to remind me (when nude and forgetfull) about that particular subject. An image that aware me of the danger of getting pregnant when I wouldnt be thinking of it. I tattoed an ovule made of spades and a sperm soroounding it. Just to remember…
For a long time it was all. When my father die, I used to live with a not so good person. I was allready thinking in a Harry Potter tattoo, and I have the drawing in my agenda. I was thinking of it, cause my rule is: if you want a tatto, think about it a year. If in a year you still want to, do it. So, we have a huge fight, and when we were apart, he got my design tattoed. Then the recontilation came, and he took advantage of our lousy relationship and my low, low self-esteem and push me to get the same tattoo, which I stupidly accept.
I know I was thinking of doing it, and probably I will do it with out his influence. The problem was’nt that, the real problem became later. We were in a party and some one look my tatto and ask about it. I explain that I wanted to have a HP tatto because I was the first journalist to write a review of the book in Mexico, and because it was some kind of a promise to myself: to publish my novel. But then my ex got in to the chat and tell to the person I was talking to that it wasn’t true, that I got the tattoo because HP stands for Hector Porfirio, his name. I felt like a cow.
Even I was completely furious about it, I did’nt want to cover my tattoo, I just simply want to forget about that awfull coment. A year went.My father got sick, and died of leaver cancer. During his convalescence I read The Tibetan book of Life and Death. It was sucha great help in those moments of sadness and desperation. I was so thankfull of the path it taught to me, the peace and resignation I acomplished because of the meditation and reflexion that I want to have a tatto about it. So I design a Yin-Yang symbol sorrounded by the three principals word of mantras. Om- Ah- Hung.
My actual husband acompained me to get the tattoo. I decided to cover the HP one but I also wanted not to covered it at all. It was my past, and I didn’t want to escape from it. So, behind the colors, there is a ghost of the past. Literally…
When my father was a year dead I mark my anckle with a mourning symbol: a yin-yang made of fishes (my father was a piscis) with the date of birth and death of my dad. I will have that sign until the emptyness I felt fly away. This saturday, the emptyness checked out. (Really like 3 or 4 months now, but we didn’t have the money…).
When I was 8, my father and I were in a bussiness convention in Guadalajara. I was bored as a rock. So, my dad thought it will be fun to go to Tlaquepaque, a town known for the vidrio soplado. I asked if he can bought a new set of dishes, since ours was sooooo old and ugly. My dad said it was OK and he ordered the set.
It was hand painted, so we received it 10 months later, just about my birthday. There were so many pieces, that the carpenter has to biuld a special case to save them. So, the case was my brithday gift. Every year since that event, arround my birthday there was a big bill to pay. It was an untelled tradition.
The set of dishes was decored with a florar design. Since the set reminds me of the generosity of my dad, I have it tattoed covering the mourning symbol, and just to get it complete, the tattoo is complemented with the name my father used for me: Calabaza hueca.
My husband also honored his father with this tatoo:
When he was a little boy, he thaugth this prehispanic eagle was an original design of his father, a very talented graphic designer. He knows the truth now, but his father remains as his heroe.
I believe my body is like a huipil, the big camisole tarahumara women use and decor with the events of their life: family roots, symbols of their birthday, love, marriage, sons and daughters, illness, and death. They are burried with this clothes, so the gods can read their lifes and then, be judge.
My body is my huipil. In my flesh is my worry about my nieces and nephews, about the future, about the promise of not having children. the love that hurt and brings on my worst self. The philosophy that I embrace and suits me. The words that heals me. The pain and loneliness I felt when my father died. And now, the recall of the joy that he, so generouslly gave me.
Today my mom came to visit me and confess to me that she is worried about the consecuences. I explained to her all the procedure and she felt more calmed after that. I told her I will have one for her, when she leaves. She said: “oh no! don’t hurt yourself for me!”. But later she came with ideas for the design. Jejejeje….