Enduring Ink

I saw it out of the corner of my eye, a flutter of colour and vibrancy. When I realised what it was, I tried not to move too quickly to fix my gaze, worried I would frighten the dear creature in its natural setting, as it searched for some nectar. I could tell that it was a male, since its feathers were so bright, appealing even to the human eye, not just the opposite sex of their species. To say it stayed in one spot at a single plant is dubious, since a hummingbird’s flight is never stagnant. But at the very least, it didn’t fly off when I turned to look. I could take in the moment longer than I had expected. It culminated the end of my first year living in this new city, surrounded by trees and flowers, in the most densely populated area within its limits. I took in this shared moment with just a few steps outside my front door. It resonated with me then, as it continued to do so as the years passed. I never saw another hummingbird in the city, or elsewhere again. 

I became gracious to the magical unpredictability of life, the beauty and joy it can bring. But also came to know, in a few short years after the moment I spotted that hummingbird next to me, what can be taken away. In a fleeting moment, much like the agility and grace brought on by that hummingbird’s pause within my sight, family was taken from me. The first significant loss I faced thousands of miles away. And I no longer saw that hummingbird represent what was given to me, but what it took away. My choice, my decision, to be so far away, what kept me living with this distance, was now represented in that tiny bird’s wild body. Yet oddly, I wanted to commemorate that. It meant something to me, even if it was bittersweet instead of momentous. My first tattoo had to be poignant. And it couldn’t be something that was done by just anyone. I had to take my time, do some research, and find an artist I could trust. I had to find someone who would be able to represent me as well as their talent. It’s permanent, to a degree. Nothing lasts forever, but I knew having this added to my body wouldn’t be as difficult as it would be to remove it afterwards, if I wanted to of course. I knew it couldn’t be a half-hearted decision. Bereavement takes time as well, and large decisions need to be set to the back burner for at least a year. Well, that’s what I had been told. Don’t do anything you might regret and can’t take back. So even though I knew I wanted this to be a part of me, a tattoo of this beautiful bird, some flowers surrounding it in mid-flight, I told myself to wait. They’re always supposed to mean something to you, in some way. Even if you can’t explain it to anyone else, or if you do, they don’t need to understand it. But, of course, you’d like it if they could. Because it is, or they, are a part of who you are. Once it’s happened, you are this person who is now unique, but weirdly not. At least not these days. Tattoos are like that. 

I saw the final design when I arrived that very day to get it, and thankfully was able to discuss some adjustments with the artist. It was their design, but it’s also my body, and they fully understood. No, actually it was more that they respected it, me. But there was very little to alter, I was pleased with what they came up with. And yet, as I lay there, bearing the burning, stinging, unending pain, as that gun with its tiny needles injected ink into my skin, I did wonder if they were going to ask me why I decided on this for a tattoo. I’m not one to openly share unless asked. I don’t mind doing it, but perhaps it’s a residual effect of my upbringing, to not burden people with your thoughts or opinions unless they want to know. Makes me sound like a pretty dull conversationalist. I can’t even remember if I even really wanted to share the reason or tell the whole story. I could have, there were several hours to go until the tattoo would be done. But I made a point to remember it. I recalled why I wanted to make this change permanent to me, seeing in my mind yet again, that very moment when in the early morning light, my eyes caught that zip and rest right in front of me, the vivacity of passing moments, people, life, as I endured the ink.