The blazing sun greeted another sweltering, Florida day. My hair was plastered against my perspiring head, so I desperately stumbled towards the local water park. As I entered the sopping oasis, an overwhelming sea of tattoos greeted my sweat-stung eyes, and thus, I realized the suprising fact that I was in fact unique. As a simple blank canvas of skin, I stood out from the masses of tattooed individuals.
Was this good or bad? It was neither. However, as opposed to years past, when a tattoo was a taboo that set someone apart, nowadays tattoos seem to synthesize individuals into one ever-growing, human collective—those marked for life. In this club, individuals almost haphazardly plaster their bodies with clichés, spiritual proverbs, and other sayings, from the profound to the meaningless. And yet, why do we do this? What drives us as humans to alter or “enhance” our original form? Is it desperation, rebellion, stupidity, or maybe even hope, creativity, and adoration? On the other hand, what if our insatiable desire to improve—and in many cases, to ink—ourselves, stems from an irritating forgetfulness—an amnesia of sorts?
We seem to have the hardest time getting one simple, albeit exceedingly profound, reality into our heads: someone infinitely special loves us. We desperately try to fix and craft more pleasing versions of ourselves with constant hopes of being loved. With this in mind, I cannot help but wonder if the best tattoo is one that overrides our constant amnesia and reminds us day in and day out of the ever-present reality that we are loved by God and thus quite truly marked for life, despite being nothing but a simple, tattered canvas.