At A Glance
Author	strawberry
Contact	[email protected]
IAM	strawberry
When	N/A

I'm sure you have all felt like this sometimes. I am sick of being told by perfect strangers what they think I need, for I know what I want much better than they do. Because, you see, I live in my body, I live my life and I know better than anybody else what it's like to be me.

It all started at the doctor's, this morning. But it doesn't have to be the doctor. It could have been a professor, or a friend, or even my mother. Or yes, even someone who stops you on the street, because these things do happen, my friends, even in the 21st century.
I have been told by this medical professional that my piercings are bad for me. Bad for me?, I asked in disbelief.
Yes, darling, because they harbour bacteria that will lead to infection, she answered with the confidence and arrogance of someone who thinks she has my destiny in her hands. Basically, if you get a cold it's because of the big chunk of metal in your tongue. If you contract an UTI, it's because you have 9 piercings down there (Heaven forbid). If you ever have mastitis, well, what else could you expect when you got nipple rings?
I wanted to say that I have been having genital, oral and facial piercings for years. My nipples have been fine since day one (one winter circa 1998). And yes, I get a sore throat once in a while, but my mom does, and she has no tongue stud, and my mates do, and they haven't got venoms. If piercings are what make me ill, what is that makes other people sick? The evil forces? A curse? A black crow.
I didn't say anything like that, though, just because she seemed a hopeless case and it's not up to me to enlighten her. Working on her lack of knowledge isn't my mission in life. Being happy is.

It started at the surgery but didn't end up there. I walked to the bakery asked for my bread and focaccia, like you do when you're pissed off and want some carb for comfort. As I was being served, an old lady approached me and interrogated me with such words: do you think that thing on your lip will attract men?
I was pretty puzzled. I wasn't in bar, picking up potential partners. I was buying a loaf of wholemeal, multi-grain freshly baked bread. So the question, rude in itself, seemed inappropriate to say the least. You know, those pragmatic rules that suggest you utter sentences appropriate to the context. More to the point, I didn't know this lady, and she didn't know me. I looked at her, she shook her head and muttered something I couldn't hear.
I'm not interested in men, I said. I get pierced because I like it.
So you like women, that explains it all. She answered. Apart from the fact that who I like is none of her business, there is no connection between sexual orientation and piercings, at least for me. And, in case wonder, I'm bisexual.

One last example. A conversation I had with my mom later on the day. In my family everybody smokes, drinks, doesn't exercise and eats too much. It's in their genes, the way bad habits are in your genes. I don't smoke, drink and I exercise regularly and try to eat well. I'm not a saint, but I take of my body because I need it, it is my canvas and I'd be lost without it.
Well, going back to my relatives, they spend a fortune for their prescriptions to repair the damage they do to their bodies on a daily basis, and when drugs fail to work, they invest in doctor's appointments and hospital visits. My mom freaked out when I mentioned my plans to split my tongue and is always rolling her eyes when I come home with a new tattoo or with a lip ring, or whatever. Why do you hurt yourself so much? She enquires.
But I don't, you see. She does, with cigarettes, I don't with steel, ink, scalpels and needles. Not only I have fun in the process, but I have never had an actual health problem that was to be blamed on my modifications. Okay, my septum got a bit angry once, but if you consider that I have about 20 hours of tattooing, 30 piercings, scars, scalpelled lobes and tongue, it could have been much worse, if my doctor and mom were right. As for what the old lady said, that my medusa prevents me from finding 'men', I am single at the moment but had partners when I had my tongue and ears done, I had boyfriends hold my hand when I was pierced, and girlfriends take pics when I was getting tattooed. I admit that there will be people who don't like my modifications, but then again there will be people who won't like what I have or do, regarDless of my tattoos and piercings. You wouldn't alter the size of your breasts to please a man, you wouldn't lose weight to seduce someone, why should I stop getting pierced, inked, cut to meet a person. It's a simple case of love me, love my mods. If you don't like them you can't like me. And, I don't aim at being accepted. Acceptance is for those who settle for second best. I aim at finding someone who loves me in my wholeness. Love, for me, is not some degree of coping what stuff you mostly don't like but have to tolerate. Love is enjoying the other person -and since what I do to my body is, without wanting to sound all New Age-y, part of my essence, part of what makes me me, you either like it or not, and if you don't, we can be friends but maybe we won't be together forever.

It's as simple as that. It's taken me years to figure it out. I respect other people's opinions, but sorry, the piercings are staying, the number of tattoos is growing, my tongue will be cut in tow and whatever else I fancy doing, I'll try to do as safely as possible, but it's gonna happen I want to make it happen. I'm on the process of reposessing my body from what my family, what my doctor, what society as a whole (the old lady will have to be symbol of that bigot society I'm talking about and, yes, I'm giving her stupid remark that much importance because it serves the purpose of my article). My body is mine and I rule over it. I am my body and I am free, I want to be free and accept full responsibility for my actions. But if I make a mistake, if I go too far, I know I'll be the one who's to blame, and if I succeed, I will be the one who's savouring triumph (or just having a good day).
But please, stop telling me what I shouldn't be doing to my body, using self-serving arguments that don't help me like they don't help you. I can guarantee you, it's words into the void. Oh, and one last thing, forgive my arrogance, for that I am angry and sick and tired and nervous. But you'd be, too, if you'd had one day like I'd just had :)