I used to think tattoos were a sign of lack of reasoning, of rash decisions, of moments of unexpected high brashness, in which inking your body was just a way of revealing how narrow minded we can be at times, since it is something pretty indelible. A mark on the flesh that only pain can erase. So I used to think nothing of them, but now I think I understand the purpose of tattooing yourself. It is an act of self-love, not precisely narcissism, but a sign of your independence; in so doing it, one is saying to the world, "This is my body, my flesh, mine to possess and to care for, not yours. Nothing you can say has now power over me, for I am my own master. I dictate my own identity; no longer am I following the rules established by my parents and this hypocrite society, I make my own. No longer do I follow the path to a certain future, I make my own."
Sure, there must be countless people who get tattoos just for the fun of it, of having something to show, but there are just as many people to whom a tattoo is a constant reminder of what they have been through, of their independence. That each mark is a very different kind of beauty on its own.
I want a star. Etched on the inner side of my ankle or the crook of my arm. A small, intimate star, to remind me of my own value, of the fact that no matter how bad things may be, there is always a light that shines on. My very own light: my hope, my dreams. No one can shun me, nor displace me, for I have value, I have worth, even if it is not in plain sight. Regardless of the people around me, I am beautiful and indomitable, and no matter what you say, you cannot break me.