End of June, 2013

It’s one of those moments hopefully you will never forget. But people do; all the time.
I am sitting in Kathmandu and wondering whether now is the time to get another tattoo. I am busting out of my corporate life, but I also know common sense means one day I will probably end up back there. A very visible tattoo can – let’s call a spade a spade – have a serious impact on your future employment options.
I already have a tattoo on my right forearm which is very visible. I don’t feel a need to hide it, but I also don’t want to be an advert for tattoos and have another in plain sight. So this is a decision which needs careful consideration.
Tattooing is one of those weird things which becomes insanely addictive and the self-control and common sense required to keep it under control becomes a testament to a person’s sense of judgement and maturity – or not.
So I wander into one of the world famous tattoo artists in Nepal with a clear idea of what I want and where I want it. Discreet and meaningful without being, well, crass.
I flick through the dozens of books to be sure I am doing the right thing. I have just had – in the last few minutes – a half dozen people trying to sell me hash. I am not a drug taker as a rule and so do not need to make this decision in an altered space. But suddenly I understand the dynamics of a lot of really bad decisions being made by hundreds, if not thousands of people.
I had walked into maybe a dozen tattoo studios throughout Nepal but each place kind of screamed at me “not here”. It has taken a long time but I have learned to listen to that voice.
So I find myself in Kathmandu and feel a need to mark this period in my life; a period of radical reassessment, of self reflection, of coming of age; of achieving balance. And I know what I need to do.
I completely understand that tattoo virgins won’t ever understand this. And power to them. But I am driven. I need to mark this period in my life. It is about me and no-one else so I don’t care if another human being ever sees what I am about to do to my body.
I pick the perfect image. It is identical to a charm a dear friend gave me a few months before; it is a metaphor for my recent past – the tree of life! And it is beautiful. Intricate (read painful), but quite perfect. I tell the artist the word I want written underneath it. It is a direct translation of an English word. He suggests a Nepalese version which has greater meaning. I call my Nepali host to make sure I am not about to deface my body with a word which is frankly, having a laugh at my expense. He assures me it is in line with where my head is at.
So I agree, checking first and foremost we are dealing with clean needles, clean ink. The pain is, well, what one experiences getting a tattoo.
But then there is a brilliant distraction. In walk two really young people, maybe 20 or so. They have a German accent and are walking with a swagger. They are young and wearing US basketball outfits right down to the backwards cap. They make me laugh. He is a tattoo veteran. She has never had a tattoo and, at maybe 20, is keen to enter the fold.
She decides to get a love heart on the middle finger of each hand. One will be filled in, the other not. I am wincing in pain as the tree of life is inked into my body, but I am also fascinated by the sideshow of this young, supercool, serious attitude woman, getting her first tattoo. The outline of the heart on her first finger goes well. I can channel the pain I am feeling as my own tattoo takes shape, into sheer curiosity at this very young woman wanting to impress her boyfriend.
But then the artist starts working on the second love heart. It is literally a matter of seconds before our über-cool tattoo virgin passes out; literally. One second she is sitting being tattooed, the next she is on the ground unconscious. The staff try not to laugh. Her boyfriend looks disgusted, embarrassed and concerned all at the same time. I am in enormous pain but boastful I am still conscious yet concerned this young woman is literally unconscious.
Clearly the staff here are used to this. They have been doing this gig for a long time. I am totally pedestrian by comparison. We all share a kind of uncomfortable chuckle, and I feel further emboldened. Sure, I don’t need to take my tattoo to the next level, but I am pretty impressed with myself nevertheless. I have trekked the Himalayas, I have been on the most terrifying bus rides ever, I have quit my job and taken off to Nepal on a whim. I can handle a tattoo in Kathmandu. This woman’s unconsciousness curiously, perhaps uncomfortably, emboldens me, and I gather strength and grit my teeth while the artist finishes my tattoo.
There are maybe only half a dozen people who have seen my tattoo since I returned to the corporate world. Even fewer know what the Nepali word is and it’s meaning. And I like that.
We are built of so many facets. We are not one person, we are many and only gradually reveal ourselves to those we trust.
I like that. It is not withholding who I am. It is taking my time to decide who I share that with.
And always in the back of my head I wonder, did the baseball cap German woman follow through or is she wandering around with half a tattoo? I like the metaphor – each person’s journey is so individual and so intimate.