Tattoos are considered different things around the world. In some cultures, they are treated as symbols of status or standing, symbols of wisdom or enlightenment. They are seen as an art form, a tool of self-expression or sometimes, a simple fashion statement. In others, they are perceived as taboo, unholy, barbaric, or plain tacky. They are thought of as symbols that identify criminals, deviants, sinners or “bad” people of all kinds. My home town is (was?) one of those places…
Walking through the darkness, silently wishing for company and comfort.
An old friend once told me that fear was a necessary part of life. I disagreed. Still, he argued that fear could be a useful tool, a drive or something of the sort. At the time, I knew I didn’t share his views but I didn't really know the reason why. So, when he insisted and I couldn’t come up with a rebuttal I was thoroughly convinced about, I basically gave in and let it go.
Just like for the next multimedia-obsessed person, scrolling through my camera roll’s almost seven thousand pictures and videos is, simply put, no easy feat to tackle on any given day; but doing it today, in the midst of all the confusion, anger, uncertainty and bizarre abnormality of what has now become our socially-distant and ever-changing everyday life, was somehow even harder than I expected.
It’s 12:37am at night, I haven’t been to bed yet and as I lay here for the millionth time since we moved to Edmonton 8 months ago, I suddenly notice the faintest lavender scent from the multi surface antibacterial cleaning solution of the steam mop I went crazy with earlier, while giving the whole apartment a deep and thorough scrub down (I’ve been known to get a bit clean-freaky from time to time), and as I look around me, surrounded by the satisfying and weirdly comforting scent of cleanliness, I can’t help but admire, with a bit of pride I confess, the masterpiece that I consider our apartment’s decoration to be.
“What you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others.” –Confucius