Keeping private things private

Photo by Luca Bravo on Unsplash

I don’t think you can be a blogger in the early noughties if you aren’t prepared to post intimate details about your relationships, friendships, family matters, and personal drama. I know I did—I overshared many times. Back then blogs became online personal diaries because none of us anticipated that internet would grow to be this far-reaching and we don’t even know how “digital footprint” would turn out to be.

Thinking of all the things I’ve posted over the years in my old blog gives me that sense of embarrassment that I now wonder what people who’ve read it must’ve been thinking at that time. I post pictures, I don’t hide names, I don’t redact information. I post when I’m upset and angry in the heat of the moment. I just write it all out. No filter. In its truest raw form. 

After realizing this faux pas, I immediately archived my old blog because it’s a buffet of TMI in there. And even when I try to be careful on this newer blog, there are times that I am still guilty of telling people too much information about my life more than I should.

I guess this is the very reason why I don’t update much on this site anymore. I don’t want to blog about every single thing that’s going on with me. Aside from the fact that my life is kinda boring compared to most people, many just don’t care anymore if I had a staycation, or if I’m seeing somebody now, or if I celebrated a family member’s birthday recently.

Surely, in recent years I have been very careful about what I put online for everyone to see. I no longer want to invite unwanted attention from people who hardly know me and who just happen to land on my site for whatever reason. It leaves people the chance to judge and criticize me just by what they see on the surface.

Not everyone who reads what you post will hope for the best. Over time you’ll realize that some people aren’t exactly there to cheer for you. Some will secretly hope for your failure to prove whatever point they have. Some will just hate their fictional versions of me—and I’m not saying this because of some perceived “main character complex”—but because this is so true. 

There were times when my posts caused misunderstandings. A lot of what I posted in the past turned out to be quite controversial for some and it had become detrimental to both my personal and professional life at times. There were even rumors that I didn’t get the promotion I was eyeing many years back just because of my online presence “noise”. 

Imagine your writings becoming some sort of ammunition against you. 

I know I might have overshared before because I wanted attention, validation and sympathy. I wanted to be relatable to people. But if there’s something I regret from the two decades of blogging is my loss of privacy. Time has taught me that pouring my feelings only made me more vulnerable. That while this is my void, I’m not totally safe out here.  

So for people who come here to check for my life update, I don’t think you can see much of it here. Let me do the updates on Twitter and IG—which I now placed on private yet again because it is only privy to the very few people who bothered to follow me there. I’m not saying every single one of them followed me with good intentions, but at least what goes on with my life now is limited to a few. 

Got Inked?

A few weeks ago, while lying in my bed randomly scrolling my phone and kuya was sitting on his couch minding his own business, I asked him out of the blue: “Magpa-tattoo kaya ako?”. 

I wasn’t really asking for his permission; more like hoping for support and encouragement. He answered, “Why not?” and went on saying I should do the things I wanna do and stop giving a flying f*ck about what people might say. 

I went to my mom next trying to weigh in knowing her fascist tendencies. I was surprised that she was up for it. Mom even said that if she were younger, she’d like one on her neck. (It might be senility, who knows?)

I don’t know what has gotten into me. I’ve always been sort of a purist. But then I thought I have never done anything remotely risky and exciting. And I’m pushing fifty in a few more years, when will I start?

As I got the approval of the two people who mattered to me, I started browsing what to get for my very first tattoo. I already know where to put it though; I want it at my back right below the nape. Too gutsy, you might say, but I always wanted a tattoo in that area of my body. I also don’t like the dainty ones; I want it at least 3x3 in size and in color. My mom wanted me to have it where it could be seen, preferably in my sleeves, but I told her I don’t want it on my arms or legs or anywhere I could see it. It’s a personal preference; a tattoo rule that I have imposed on myself.

At first, I showed kuya a design of a crescent moon with stars below it. He didn’t like it. It’s not you, he said. It had to be something that’s you, he added.

Oo nga naman. If I must get a tattoo, it had to be something that when people see they’d go: “Oh, that is SO you!” and what else can be “so me” than a tattoo of a cat?

Google “cat tattoos” and you’ll be surprised how many of them you could see online. I tried choosing about six cat designs then narrowed it to four and even did a poll on my IG story. I finally decided on this peeking orange cat I saw on Pinterest.

The next step is to find a reputable tattoo artist/studio. I first looked for tattoo studios within Makati and was able to check on two that are just nearby. Tattoo Studio #1 quoted me a rate of PhP1,500 for the design, which I thought was great being that I’m kuripot. Tattoo Studio #2 priced it at PhP5,000++ pesos for the same design which was way beyond my budget. The difference in the price somewhat bothered me but the cheapskate inside prevailed and went on with the first tattoo studio that quoted me the lower price.

I sent a message via Facebook and asked for an appointment. Tattoo Studio #1 confirmed an appointment for the following Friday of that week. After that, I checked the FB page (I know I should have done this first and foremost) and found that there aren’t that many updates and only a few reviews albeit good ones. The silver lining was the tattoo artist bragged a lot of awards and citations so I kinda thought that’s enough for me.

A day before my supposed appointment, after not getting any word from the tattoo studio #1 about my upcoming session, I messaged them again. They got back after a few hours asking me if we could cancel the appointment as the artist caught the flu. I was so disappointed because it was less than 24 hours and I already filed a leave for that Friday. But then that flu might be COVID for all we know so I didn’t insist anymore.

Sensing my dismay, they offered me an additional PhP500 off for the inconvenience. I initially said it wasn’t necessary; I just asked them to let me know when they will be available. 

That weekend I made another follow-up on their Facebook page but they still couldn’t give me an appointment as the artist is still sick. I was turned off by the lack of effort on their part to notify me so I did not bother them anymore. 

Besides, I’ve been having this nagging feeling about how low their quote was. I fear that if I bite it and paid too low for a tattoo, then I got no say if it turns really bad for I got what I paid for. Maybe it’s done by an apprentice and not by the tattoo artist himself which is why they have no problem giving me additional discount for an already cheap quote. As they say, “Good tattoos aren’t cheap and cheap tattoos aren’t good”.

Too many red flags waving for that tattoo shop. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

So I’m back to square one. My brothers said we could check out the tattoo shops along Cartimar. Kuya went the next day and realized that the tattoo shops that used to be there are no longer in the area. It got so frustrating because I already told friends I’m getting a tattoo and I don’t want them to think I was “all talk”. 

The next morning while Gavin was browsing Tiktok, he came across this tattoo artist on his FYP and told me about it. It was within Pasay so I decided to check their Facebook page, which compared to tattoo studio #1, is updated at least twice a week. I messaged them the details and got a reply almost immediately. For the same peeking orange cat design, they quoted me PhP2,500—slightly higher than the first studio, but still within my budget. I went ahead and booked an appointment. I was asked for a downpayment via GCash and was given a schedule for last Saturday.

Thinking about it, tattoo studio #1 didn’t even ask me for a downpayment before confirming, which I realized now is another red flag as it is the common practice for tattoo bookings (unless walk-ins are allowed).

Naturally, I started stalking the FB, Instagram and Tiktok pages of my tattoo artist, Steve. From there I saw all his recent works and noticed his keen attention to detail. My orange cat had intricate features like hair and whiskers that would be challenging for an inexperienced and unskilled artist. 

***

Most people were incredibly supportive of my getting inked. My friends Tetay and Jen, who both have tattoos, were very encouraging and were pretty excited. A lot of inked friends were assuring me that it is not painful or if it was it’s tolerable. Meanwhile, there are a few who try to scare me out of it and even said it hurts so much that I might faint. 

What these people probably don’t know is that I have a high threshold for pain.  

I digress. In 2009, I had a sebaceous cyst the size of a marble just below my right breast surgically removed. It was a minor surgery, with no need for me to be confined after. I remember that I was given an injected anesthetic and was awake during the procedure (even taking pictures for my older blog). The female doctor was very chatty so I guess the short procedure took longer and the anesthesia was starting to wear off. I am already feeling the suturing needle on my flesh as she finishes the stitching. Even so, I was lying there not saying anything. 

Now if that doesn’t vouch for my pain tolerance I don’t know what else will.

Besides, I’ve had my impacted ingrown toenail murdered by neophyte pedicuristas many times and I didn’t even flinch. The highest on the pain scale for me—my monthly bouts with dysmenorrhea—has tested my limits every single time. Blood tests and IV drips are a walk in the park. Scaring me of tattoo cartridges pricking my skin won’t cut it.

***

On the day of the appointment, I was accompanied by kuya and my nephews to the tattoo studio at the Park Avenue Mansions. Kuya wanted to check it out because he’s also thinking of getting one. 

Steve, who I deduced is just in his late twenties, is an exceptional tattoo artist. I have seen his online portfolio thoroughly and saw plaques and trophies displayed in his small but cozy studio. It made me feel more at ease that I was in safe hands for my first tattoo. 

He started sketching my design and made two different sizes and asked me which one I prefer. I trust he knew better so I said it’s up to him. Steve chose the slightly bigger one maybe because my cat had many details and the smaller one might not come out good. He said that over time, ink bleeds and expand.

After printing the design on a stencil, Steve asked me to stand straight with my shoulders relaxed as he hovers over the area to determine the actual placement of the tattoo. When he finally positioned it to the right spot, he sticks the stencil carefully and said we give it a few minutes to dry.

Once dry, Steve carefully peeled the stencil off to reveal the outline of the design.

I was then asked to position myself in this tattoo chair with my back facing him. After preparing the tattoo machine and adjusting the lights, Steve started tracing. Make no mistake, there was pain and I felt it—and the best way I could describe it is that it feels like being sliced by a blade (which was weird because I imagined it to be a pricking pain). Then again, it doesn’t hurt much at all. Definitely tolerable.  

Kuya and the kids had already left to go to the mall so for the rest of my session I was only with Steve and his younger sister assisting him. After several minutes of him struggling, he politely asked if I could transfer to a monobloc chair as he said I’m tall and long and it is making it hard for him to tattoo while he’s slouching. No problem, really. The tattoo chair was wide, and I was saddling it (legs almost on a 180° angle as seen on the picture) while my pelvis is tilted to the front with the rest of my upper body flat on the backrest. It wasn’t comfortable for me too and I’m sure if it continued for the entire session, it’ll be a torture to my groin.

Steve was good at small talk which I think is his way of making me feel comfortable while going through the process. My body might already be releasing my natural adrenaline because the pain I was feeling initially is already tapering off. I even found myself drifting to sleep with the purring of the tattoo machine. 

After more than an hour, he stood up and said ¼ of it is already done and he had to go on a bathroom break. He took a picture of the tattoo and showed it to me:

 

Steve came back after several minutes and I was asked to go back to my position so he could finish the tattoo. By this time, I could see that he is trying to concentrate as the small chats were kept to a minimum. The tattoo machine whirred more loudly this time as he’s filling the cat’s colors. An hour more passed, and Steve said he is already doing the finishing touches.

“Madam matutuwa ka.” Steve said, obviously proud of the outcome. The people staying inside the room of the studio all came out to check the tattoo and I heard one said: “Ang ganda, Teban! Parang sticker!” 

One of Steve’s younger brothers pointed out that it was bleeding but I wasn’t at all scared. I was expecting some bleeding because of my design. I was more concerned about seeing the final result. 

Now the good thing about getting a tattoo done by Steve is that he makes sure that everything is being videoed and photographed with the help of his younger sister. I don’t need to worry about not getting any documentation that I could later post on my own social media accounts. 

After taking pictures and videos, he sent everything to me via AirDrop. Steve sprayed something foamy and covered the tattoo with a medical plastic wrap. He also gave me aftercare pointers and Fougera™ cream that I need to apply for quick healing.

While I may never get to see the tattoo with my own eyes to admire it, but through the pictures and videos, I am truly happy with the outcome. My peeking orange cat is so cute it looks like a sticker indeed! I’m glad that Steve was able to mix the right colors because that was his worry at the beginning when I handed him my design.

Pain check: When all is done it felt more like a scrape. There was a sting but manageable. It didn’t bother me at all.

It got so many likes both on my Instagram (I mean 50+ likes is many for me) and Facebook when I posted it. Some complimented my guts for having my first tattoo below the nape and of that size. There are those who said that the cat tattoo is so me. All in all, the reactions and comments are positive. (If some people aren’t too pleased, they kept it to themselves).

I am planning to get another one just behind my right ear before the year ends. It will be the last one. 

Let me weep

Ugly Crying: The inner me right now

I’m getting tired of slaving to hold up to that independence and self-reliance expectations from a single woman like me. I want to go back to the time when I wasn’t earning my own money and just be at the mercy of my parents for allowance. Or maybe just to that time when some people would not rely on me too much when it comes to money.

Because fluff it—no one warned me that it’s going to be this hard.

I know people won’t be interested in my moaning about my money troubles, but I just have to let this all out.

See we all experience financial stress at some point or another, except of course if you were lucky enough to be born moneyed then you can skip this and carry on enjoying your charmed life. Only someone who experienced (and is currently experiencing) this would understand what I’m about to say now.

I am forever thankful I have a job that pays me good. I will be on my 14^th year in my current company, and I owe a lot to them when it comes to being able to provide for myself and my family all these years. But sometimes a well-paying job isn’t enough when you have expenses that come in like clockwork.

No one can really say that I’m having these troubles because I have questionable spending habits (anyone who says this deserves a hard smack on the face from me). The thing is, whoever is given the same responsibility to pay so many things would find themselves financially inept with the overwhelming money woes. 

The past few months had been particularly challenging. A large chunk of my salary goes to paying bills. Our electric bills, for instance, is on an all-time high. The very few times I’d remind people at home to take it easy on our electricity use (I mean, I don’t tell them to stop using the AC or the electric fans in this infernal weather, just the other appliances that consumes electricity), somehow, they find my “gentle” reminder hurtful. When the bill comes in and I show it to them—they ignore me. It’s just like them saying I should just shut up and pay it. It’s a good thing my older brother helps me out, as he’s the only one who does, perhaps because he goes through the same thing as we are the only ones working in the household.

But it’s not just the electric bill, there’s still my other obligations like other utilities, groceries, medical (for my maintenance meds), mom’s allowance, house repairs, credit card/cellphone/subscription bills, etc. Thankfully, I don’t get penalized for the loans I took precisely because I manage to pay it all on time (my credit score is divine). It’s just that, my take-home pay— or the money that is left for me after everything’s deducted—frustrates me. It would often leave me scratching my head and ask, “Where did it all go? How was it that I have work but this is the only money left for myself?”. It’s like walking in a tightrope penny-pinching until the next payday, which I feel is somewhat of an injustice for me because after all I am the one earning the money. I don’t even have enough set aside for my savings. God forbid, if something happens to me, I’ll be in deep trouble.  

Lately, I’m not having any of that giddy payday feeling because of the seemingly never-ending cycle of paying everything and being left with so little for myself. Nothing’s funny about looking for ways to stretch all that remains until the next payday. It’s getting to be an ongoing crisis and I don’t know how long this will go on. 

I’m not being selfish, but sometimes I wish I don’t have this many responsibilities in my shoulders; not when I’m alone in life and no one to depend on. Women that are of the same age as me may have bigger worries, but at least most of them has a significant other to help them. I don’t have that. I wish some people will realize this before they demand so much from me. When I think about it now, the same people don’t even thank me. It would make so much difference if they appreciate me at least.

Sometimes I think, had I known that it will be like this for me, I could have had gotten married or had chosen to lived independently. If I were a lot younger, probably that’s something I would do. 

Too bad I’m in too deep. And it’s too late.