He was always the rebellious type. She had a secret life with a rock band in a disco, so, honestly, it took quite a lot to surprise her about our upbringing. But everything changed in 2001 when my brother Matthew called. He excitedly mentioned getting a tattoo in an alley in Thailand. That was the moment. Despite her lack of religious beliefs, that night she found herself praying that Matthew wouldn’t end up with some terrible illness or infection.
By the time I turned 18 in 2008, I decided to start my own tattoo journey. My mom had started to relax about the risks of tattoo-related illnesses like hepatitis, but a lot of stigmas lingered. When I told her I’d booked an appointment for my first tattoo at a professional studio in Sydney, it was my decision that unsettled her more than my health.
At that point, Mom had been living in Queensland for nearly a decade after moving from New South Wales, seeking peace after her divorce. We visited when we could and tried to keep in touch, but reaching out often felt awkward. My sister had managed to finish high school before Mom moved, and now my siblings were in their 20s. It was challenging in many ways, especially for us kids. For me, it meant that she missed out on some of the most significant moments of my life, which, well, was tough for both of us.
Mom ended up in an oncology ward at a local hospital. Her warm presence there seemed to provide comfort to the patients. They shared their life stories and discussed unfulfilled dreams.
Meanwhile, as I entered my 20s, my tattoo collection started to flourish. I was covered from my neck down to my toes—my mom was less than thrilled. From an outside perspective, it looked a bit antisocial, perhaps just a fleeting thrill with long-lasting consequences.
For me, tattoos became a means of communication, a blend of vulnerability and strength. They turned my emotions into vibrant images. So, when Mom called in 2012 asking if she could come back to Sydney, I knew just how to mark the occasion. I suggested she get a tattoo, and unexpectedly, she agreed without any hesitation.
I packed up and drove to Sunshine Beach, making a stop at a local tattoo studio. Mom researched and decided on a spot on the upper part of her arm.
A lot was happening then. Mom realized tattoos could be a way to engage with the world instead of shunning it.
It took about an hour, maybe even less. Mom barely felt anything and was surprised by how pleasant the whole experience was. She found a sense of tranquility in the process, reflecting on her dear friends, her kids, and all of us over the years.
At that moment, Mom felt it. She thought tattoos for me weren’t a sign of rejection but a way to connect with the world. After living in another state for so long, she declared that distance would never come between us again.
Now she understands that tattoos aren’t some reckless habit, but a true form of creative expression. She’s even toying with the idea of adding color, though she hasn’t yet. To this day, she’s proud of the rich story woven into the delicate lines of her tattoo.
