A New Day

Monday.
The day of eternal start-overs. Monday was the day I committed to a change I thought I would never make. At one time, I saw change as the enemy. I resisted, fought against and rather loathed change. It took a while, but I now realize change does not have to be the big bad monster I once thought. It is necessary to evolve and grow. Overtime, I have started to embraced change, seek it out, welcome it. On this Monday in November, change was coming in quite a momentous way. I still don't know if I was ready.

When I closed my eyes in the days leading up to that Monday, I tried to envision what the final product may look like. I still didn't know what he had in mind, but I had faith that he knew what to do. I guided him as much as I could, gave him the ideas in my head and hoped he could come up with something that I would be happy with. I tried several times to talk myself out of it, but I just couldn't. I would stare at my arm, trying to see it with all my favourite colours. I couldn't but I knew that I wanted to.

The excitement that brewed in my belly was boiling over when Monday finally arrived. Or was it fear? Or was I reconsidering? Still, I don't know. I took a deep breath got in my car and went to get Jazzy. Jasmine is the daughter of a dear friend. She was my back-up, my second opinion, my support. I don't think I really realized at the time how much I was expecting of this young, beautiful 19 year old girl.

I couldn't stop talking for the entire drive. I talk excessively when I am excited and become somewhat of an obnoxious extrovert. When I am nervous about something, I tend to shut down and go inside myself. I took this as a good sign.

I repeatedly told Jazzy to be honest, tell me what you think, offer up opinions or alterations. She assured me she would. When we finally arrived, I thought I truly may bust. It was really happening. I always had thoughts of making this change but never really thought I would have the nerve to do it. I always worried what other people, certain people might think. I was fully aware that there would be a backlash of sorts from people at all levels in my life. I think I have finally reached the point in my life where I just have stopped worrying about it...or at least have started to stop worrying about it. Living one's life by the standards of other people is really no way to live.

Derek is a sweet guy. I liked him instantly the first time I met him. He laughs easily and honestly. He has kind eyes and is a little shy. He showed us what he had drawn for me. My instant reaction was a happy gasp. I adored it. It is exactly what I wanted without really knowing what I wanted. I looked at Jazzy before I actually said anything. She was smiling, she looked at me and nodded her head. I looked at Derek and told him I loved it. He placed the sketch on my arm for general placement. My heart was racing with excitement. I tried to calm myself.

Two months previous, I had gone in to see Derek on my way home from work. It wasn't completely impulsive since I had been thinking about doing it for quite a while. I went in, told him I wanted something, anything! He drew up a teeny flower and got to work. It hurt. More than I remember from the last time I had it done. My hand was shaking and continued to shake for a few hours after. As I stood there, in the shop, on that Monday I thought back to that day. I knew this was going to hurt even more and I really tried to prepare myself.

We went into the back of the shop while Derek prepared his tools. I was pacing and I am sure I was rambling on and on, but I have no recollection of what I was talking about. He finally said "Why don't you have a seat and relax." So I did. Once he was ready, he sprayed my arm, put the transfer on, then, that familiar buzz. He asked me if I was ready and we got started.

The pain was unique and like nothing I had experienced before. I whined and instantly regretted that I did. I wanted to be tough and impress. I watched him and then I didn't and then I watched again. We talked, joked and laughed out loud. Then it quiet except for the buzz of the gun. Then we laughed again. He asked me if I wanted a break. I said no. I just wanted him to finish.

After a little over 2 hours, I started to get really warm, and a little dizzy and then the nausea hit. I told Derek he had to stop. I got up. I needed to get my land legs back. I quietly cursed myself and tried to will this silliness away. But it didn't work. I went and sat down on a stool. I could hear the talking, but it made no sense. The next thing I remember is a face really close to mine but I could not register who it was. Then it hit me. That's right, I am in a tattoo shop, getting and enormous tattoo on my forearm. Then the pain came back and the nausea hit me like a ton of bricks. I ran to the bathroom. I could hear Derek saying "It happens, it is no big deal" to Jazzy and the shop helper. But it was. I was mortified. I gathered myself and went back out. There were chimes of "are you OK?" and "please eat this chocolate" and "sit down over here" all around. There was no judgement, but rather simply concern. Jazzy is a tattoo artist herself and she has had people pass out on her as well. I apologised over and over, but was reassured it truly was not a big deal. They were more concerned that I was OK and they kept pushing the chocolate. I was not to stand and couldn't leave until they were sure I was alright. As embarrassed as I was, I was more comforted by the concern and reassurance. I am glad I came to this shop.

It's been over a week since that Monday of change. I have not had one ounce of buyer's regret or wishes of going back to a less colourful arm. If anything, there are plans on an even more colourful arm. I've gone back to see Derek and apologised again. We laughed and talked about expanding it. He will finish it when it heals.

I think I will go back on a Monday.

Beautiful Things

I often wonder what it's like to feel comfortable in your own skin. It is a concept that quite frankly is foreign to me. Can other people pinpoint the time in their lives when the image of themselves was sealed in their minds. I can't remember how old I was, but I know I was at least 6 or 7. I remember it happened on Terra Nova Avenue. And I remember it was Kevin Bubel who spoke those ugly words that gave me the first image of myself. I didn't even know what it meant, but I knew by the look on his face and the reaction of the others around me that it was bad. And my poor self image was set and only intensified from there.

Ever since that moment, I have been battling with myself about how I believe I am perceived by the people around me. It has affected every aspect of my life, ruined relationships, prevented me from doing things that I want to do. It has made me hesitant, distrustful, angry all the time, resentful and unpleasant to be around. The simple act of getting dressed to go out with friends causes so much stress, I've often broken down and feigned illness to avoid being seen. I would rather sit home stewing in my own misery, then try to find something to wear to go out with my thin, beautiful friends. I believe that inevitably, I would be ignored, looked over or made fun of at some point in the evening. Going to war with yourself every waking moment of every day is an exhausting process. Trying to end that war is even more exhausting.

So, what do I do? I move to Asia. Land of the waif. Brilliant, yes? Initially, I thought that moving there would help to change me. Transform me into the person that I want to be. But it didn't. It only solidified the horrible perception I have of myself even more. I thought the judgement at home was bad. Hearing "No big sizey" over and over just made things worse. I remember one particular incident when I was on my way to work. Two ajummas were walking toward me, and I could see that they were staring and talking about me. As we passed each other, they stopped and watched me pass. They had looks of disgust on their faces. At that point, I lost my composure. I yelled at them, "WHAT? What do you want?" Yelling at them only made me look worse, I suppose, but I really could not control myself.

Being on the receiving end of criticism for being fat chips away at any self confidence or self worth I may have. Maybe this is why I photograph things. Being behind the camera is a comfortable spot for me. It takes away any potential for the spotlight to be on me. Finding beauty in places where others may not see it is almost like an accomplishment for me.

These feelings are so ingrained in my being, I don't know if I would know myself as a self confident person. And yet, I continue to try.

Transitions

I have been home, in Canada, for almost a year and yet, I am still struggling with this transition. Still finding myself saying, "I just got home." Still waiting for the moment when I finally feel settled in. Eleven months, and it still has not hit me yet.

Within the 3 and a half years of living and working in Korea, my mind would constantly wander to that moment when I could get on the move again to get home. That was my ultimate goal, wasn't it? And now, 11 months into my being home, my mind still wanders back in time to eleven months ago. Am I just nostalgic for the good points of my time there? Or am I just wishing for those things I don't have?

Eleven months ago, I could list 100 or more reasons why I needed to leave, needed to go, needed to "get the hell out of Asia". The smog, the crowds, the endless intrusion, the lack of personal space, the lack of open and empty spaces, the constant staring, the ever present film left on my skin from the lack of true, fresh, clean air, the humidity....my god, the humidity! And then of course were the things I missed from home. Clean air, fresh water, the ocean, being able to go outside and be alone rather than having to stay inside to be alone, my family, my friends, driving a car.

Now that I am home I find myself listing in my mind, lots of reasons to go back. I miss my friends, the easiness of life, the freedom, being accountable to no one but myself, and of course the money flow. In reality, my friends have mostly found their way in other places, their homelands, or are on some adventure in a far off land. There is also some distortion in my perception. I know this is true. I realize I am almost romanticizing my time there.

The other part this transition is I am becoming that person that no one likes to have around. I am becoming that person who says "Well, in Korea we did things like this...." "If you think this is bad, you should have been in Korea...." "When I was in Korea..."

I hate that person.
I swore I wouldn't be that person.

I am not sure of many things, but I am certain that I am not where I want to be. As I sit back and examine my life and where I am today, eleven months after coming home, I know change is eminent. Even with all my nostalgic thought, I am quiter certain the change will not take me back to Korea. But there is more transition to come.