I had my ears pierced when I was six years old. It hurt, I think. I don’t know, I don’t remember. I remember one day having plain earlobes and then the next, having gold studs in them. Thus, began the fascination. Now, earrings are an important accessory.
I will, however, avoid the pain of getting a tattoo, afraid more of its permanence than its sting or bleeding. To be “branded” for life isn’t something I take lightly. The only needle that will ever enter my body is the one I’ll get at the doctor’s office for my annual flu shot.
Perhaps my early idol worship of Madonna as a preteen during her “Like a Virgin” tour did me in. Perhaps it’s been my admiration of beautiful women with “beauty marks” just above their upper lip.
I don’t know. I was born with many beauty marks—a few on my face, actually, but none just above my lip.
If I wasn’t to be born with this phenomenon, why not put a stud there instead?
So I did. When my daughter got her ears pierced, I got a Monroe piercing.
(c) Zara Alexis D. Garcia-Alvarez