At A Glance
Author	Aiobheann
Contact	[email protected]

I was talking to a friend today, about the various body modifications I have.

"Oh, I could never do that," she said, when I mentioned I'd had my nipples pierced. "My breasts are saggy. They're too ugly." After a moment's pause, in which she surveyed me and my body, she hurriedly added, "But that's okay for you! I mean, it's okay if you want to do it."

I think of my breasts, full and large, and yes -- sagging. I think of the soft sighs of lovers who thought they were beautiful, of sitting with my newborn at my breast and feeding her from my own body. I think of how I love to look at my breasts in the mirror, how I pause when I step out of the shower and admire the silver barbells ornamenting my nipples.

I feel a sense of pity for my friend, who is so caught up in what she "should" look like that she will never know any of those feelings.

"If I was skinny," my friend then continued, "I'd get my navel pierced. But I can't -- I have yucky stretch marks."

I have them, too, I remind her.

"Oh, but that's okay for you!" she says again.

I think of the lovers who have caressed me, kissed the skin which bears the scars of my weight, of the pregnancy that produced my beloved daughter, and my pity for her grows.

"Besides, I'm so fat, I could never wear anything that showed off my belly button."

I look at my friend. She is of normal height, of normal weight, and a lovely lady. How is it that she hates herself so much, while I, who should be ashamed of being "so fat", love the body I wear? I think of crossing the street with my head held high, proud of my body, and hearing the Chicano construction workers down the block whistling and telling me that I am beautiful. I think of looking in the mirror, and of seeing my lover walk up behind me and embrace me, telling me what a sexy woman he sees in our reflection.

My friend is still talking. I laugh at something she says, and when I open my mouth, she spies my tongue piercing, and she's off again.

"I thought about getting my tongue pierced a few months ago, but I decided not to," she says.

"Why did you decide not to do it?" I ask.

"Because I broke up with my boyfriend, and I don't have anybody to give head to anymore. I don't need it now."

I cringe inside, thinking that it's terribly sad that my friend will never understand what I mean when I say I wanted a piercing for myself, and for myself alone. This woman is so caught up in what others think of her, in what she thinks the "perfect body" is, that she will never enjoy the body she has now.

I listen as my friend bemoans the loss of the body she used to have, when she was nineteen or twenty, and I see that she will never understand me, or why I love my body, why I choose to modify it even though it isn't perfect.

When I get a tattoo or a piercing, I'm not thinking of whether I "should" be doing this -- I think of how much pleasure I get from my modifications, of how beautiful the contrast is between soft, warm skin and cold, hard metal, of how lovely I find art that is etched into inked flesh...of how much closer I am coming to the vision in my head of how I want to look, of who I want to be.

I walk my friend to the door, and as I hear her car pull away, I think of the body I have, and the body she will waste her life wishing she had. She will always hate her stretch marks and scars -- I will honor mine as a sign that I have lived, and loved, fought and bled, and given birth to new life.

She will glance at other women who proudly wear piercings and ink, and think, "...if only I was skinnier, if only I was prettier, if only I was younger..."

I will wear mine, and love them, as my badge of honor, as my rite of passage, as my hard-won battle scars, as markers of what a wonderful, strange, joyous life I have led.

And I will always feel a little bit of pity for her, that she can't celebrate the body she was given. Our bodies are the only thing we ever truly own. To spend your life wishing you were something, anything, other than what you really are, without acting on that desire, is deeply saddening. For those of us brave enough to change our bodies, no matter what that change may be -- piercings, tattoos, implants, amputations, surgical mods -- life will always be fierce and fresh and real, lived in a body that we love enough to make our own.