About Me

I am an indie writer. This is not a blog, it's a berth for my scrawling. Read my works and you'll probably think that they are either just plain junk or maybe knacks of a decidedly Bohemian attitude.

Friday, February 22, 2013

The 'Alternative' is no more

The 'Alternative' is no more

So now, who doesn't know Miami Ink or the beautiful Kat Von D's notorious break from the famous crew and created her own LA Ink. Just few years ago, I flipped through channels and saw that there's an addition to the basket called London Ink.

I looked upon all these TV programs with interest at first and then with a pinch of uneasiness. Tattoo was supposed to be 'sacred'. You know, sort of like a minority, shadowed and underestimated sort of art. It makes me feel special - like an alternative.

Couple of years ago, a friend called me up and told me she wanted to interview me for a school project. I choked on my coke when she told me her would-be title is 'Alternative Teens'. You mean having tattoos, thirteen piercings (I counted) has made society romantically named me as an 'alternative'? She replied me that if people stare at me in the trains or on the street, then either I'm an invalid, a young pregnant teenager or yes, an 'alternative'.

Hence, I proudly branded myself as an 'alternative' from that day on. So I laughed at people with small tattoos peeking out from their low-waist jeans and asked in disgust,"That's a tattoo?" I yanked my right sleeve up and announced, "THAT'S A TATTOO!"

I continued to parade my tattoos in discos and pubs, on streets and at the hippest place in town all the time mind-telling people who stared that yes, I endured more than ten hours of pain to get this on my back. Yes, I am brave enough to tattoo both my ankles. Yes, I have another one on my tummy.

Did I hear you say Mother? She was stunned into shock at first when a small one I got on my left hip as a fashion statement, morphed into a gigantic piece depicting an alien baby with brains oozing out from its head trapped in a cylinder while all the time, feeding on orange liquid and grass-like plants. A purple skull flaunt the side of the cylinder with mushrooms growing at the bottom. "This is called Organic Biomech'" I explained to mommy dearest, indicating my body as a blank canvas before and then dedicating it to art. My mother warned that she will disown me if I added another, which of course, I did.

Imagine my jealousy when I saw younger people displaying their tattoos on the street and those whose tattoos are bigger than mine. "They are only doing it cause they are vain." I said with silent protest that hey, this is my time, I am the real 'alternative' here, all the time forgetting that I am already in my 30s. Hell, I will always be the alternative even if I'm well into my 60s!

But I started to panic seeing that I was no longer the centre of attention, the brave one who sacrificed her body in the name of art. In order to redeem my pride and increase my self-worth, I deemed that I am no base, drop-out who put on a facade, with an inked piece at my hips saying I am alternative. The real alternative would be one who makes the real minority of society, kind of like the real deal; the rock-star fantasist who makes noises on her guitar, the neighbour with a streak of green hair or the fashionista in skinny jeans listening to Bon Jovi (yes, him) on her MP3. You can all go read up about the word 'alternative' because having a tattoo and watching Miami Ink doesn't make you an alternative. It makes you a show-off.

Hang on, I am not talking about me.

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