Hup!

I lurk around my house of windows very often, camera in hand, spying on the dogs, trying to get all sorts of cutesy shots. Because this is what they do if they see me.

Radical Art - Freedom of Expression, Freedom of Self

I love tattoos. They are almost as sacred as Christianity to me. They are my personal spiritual journey. Those who know me and are close to me understand and accept that. Those who are not so close, think I am either a bit mad or way too bold and aggresive. There might be some truth in that, but they don't bother me at all. Life is so short. I need to be myself, feel free, before it ends. Tattoos are a lifelong adventure, much of which I have yet to experience. There is a part of me that secretly plans to give it all up and fly away for a year, or a few; and that part is intrinsically tied to the part of me that subscribes to the spirituality of tattoos.

Anyone who's followed my blog over the last 9 plus years would know enough to expect an occasional waxing poetic of tattoos from me. I've been an afficionado of body art since I was in secondary school. I took over 10 years to think about what tattoos mean to me, their permanence, the art of it, and what it would mean for me to have them. I chickened out of a potential disaster in Fremantle, Western Australia, when I was in university. I walked into a tattoo parlour with the stereotypical beer-bellied, Harley-Davison biker-type, bald, handlebar mustachioed tattooist waiting for me to pick a design out of a standard album. I picked a dophin. God knows why. Then I practically ran out, never to return. It was to be another 5 years plus before I bumped into an elderly Orang Ulu lady in the Upper Baram. She was Sab'n, from Long Banga. And she reminded me of my grandmother. It was my first trip up there. There was an encounter of sorts with a logger, and the whole thing is forever etched into my memory. She had soul-stirring tattoos on her legs.

I came back to Kuching, and my ankle band came into existence, inspired by the old Sab'n grandmother. Since then, I've commemorated special events in my life with them, and my cousin is only too happy for me to be his live canvas. It's my personal bejalai, a modern parallel to the traditional Iban way. He did his first traditional method tattoo on me. We've been collaborating for over nine years now. That's how long my love affair with tattoos have been.

I believe the first tattoo is the scariest of the lot. That decision to have it done. The permanence of it. The pain. (That can be quite spiritual). Most of all, the courage to be free to express yourself, be who you are, and to rise above and beyond social conformity.

I feel like I have, for myself, truly broken that barrier of conformity with my latest tattoo. You can hide tattoos. Have them in places that the sun don't shine. Secretly admire them in the privacy of your bathroom, or with a lover, and hide them when you go for that corporate meeting. No sweat. But my latest one. There's no way to hide it. I can be most discreet with it, but it will announce its presence to most.

But J and I have been planning my latest journey in tattooing for almost a year now. Something that shows the higher plane of my personal journey, and the evolution of J's technique. And so it happened. Just the outlining, as you can see, on my left arm. It flows from the work done on my back, shows off my shoulder and triceps quite nicely, tapers off on my fingers. Two and a half hours to design, and another 4 hours to outline it, in dots. It was perhaps the most exciting-scary-exhilarating. It's a 'coming out' statement for me. My friends are in awe more of the pain and the boldness of it. I think I need that boldness. It's being honest of who I am and what I want, and that measured freedom of choice that I choose to exercise. A strong statement of ME.

Two weeks later, I will go back and have it finished.

This is big. A huge big giant event in the life of Cyn. And it will take me some time to settle down, let alone others. So don't worry, I will be gentle with the folks around me.

For now, you could learn braille off of me. But I do feel as pretty as a flower.

Baby vegies estimated survival rate: I'd say 50%. Simply because I haven't been taking care of the ones out in the bed. The ones under the ylang ylang seem....ok. Yes, I transferred some of them there because I ran out of space. The ones in the various pots are sort of stunted. I think the topsoil I used compact too easily. The ones that I haven't transplanted are thriving. Ho hum. I enjoy the experimenting. Though I also look forward to free vegies.

I have been sleeping at the recommended healthy time every night but am feeling mentally stunned and stunted for two days because of interrupted sleep. I think the next phase is getting myself to actually stand up when I do wake up at some uncivilized hour. Perhaps I could yoga myself back to sleep. Or deep breathe myself back to unconsciousness.

Am reading Lloyd Jones' Mister Pip, which is rivetting me to the pages so far. It's the sort of book I don't put down until I reach the last page.

Week in Review

Trust that, on a day when the new pictures have not been uploaded, and the camera is not by my side, I have the itch to be chatty, bloggy and verbose.

Monday. Woke up. Smelt flowers. Watered flowers. Went to work. Worked out and hung out. Looked forward to the short week. Honestly, I don't remember what I did on Monday. Having non-existent short-term memory can be bliss.

Tuesday. Woke up. Watered the baby vegies, which were starting to look sorry and droopy....I really do not have much experience planting vegetables. I had help from my granny over 10 years ago. Yoga was good. I enjoy it a lot. Adventures abound in the journey to find one's centre. It's always interesting to stop that thought of wanting to thump someone on the head mid-way through deep breathing.

Wednesday. Hari Raya holiday Day 1! There was much soil to be shovelled from the flower bed. The pages on the journal finished, and a new journal from my stock of neverending plain paper journals of all shapes and sizes from all over was started. Always an exciting moment! Bought hippie clothes online. Indulge, indulge, indulge. Did not go for the last minute trek because had shopping date with mummy and sis and auntie. Woohoo! Well, I really do love trekking but it was too last minute and I love shopping almost as much and that was already planned. Transplanted all my baby vegies so they'd have more space. Survival probability, I'd say 75%.

Thursday. Coffee at the Spring. Peter came back. Peter is the guy who makes the Spring meaningful for my group of friends.

Friday. All I remember is the killer circuit class at gym. Dripping. That was what I was at the end of it. Oh, and more coffee at the Spring.

Saturday. Aching and recovering from Friday's workout. Big fun family party at HI in the evening. So fun that a friend from another wedding party in the same hotel kept popping down to join in. Meanwhile, another friend was falling asleep. I should've just smacked him. On second thoughts, better not. He's so skinny, I might do serious damage.

Sunday. Caught up with an old friend. Even more coffee at the Spring.


And for today's finale, I can't resist a photo........

Pepper and my chicken. If anyone out there can spare an old unwanted soft toy for her, I'd be most grateful. I really don't want my collectible softies saliva-ed, munched on and destroyed by Pepper Dog, cute and adorable as she is.

The past two days have been bliss. This week really feels as short as it is. Hari Raya hols feels just like that. Hols. Bliss. It really is quite perfect. I couldn't feel more relaxed if I went on a holiday somewhere. I took a few photos of my flowers and garden but have been far too vegged out to upload them.

More soon.