I once read that the first thing you’ll notice when you’re in L.A. is how white everyone’s smiles are. I never forgot it. Every time I watched a Hollywood film, I made sure to check out how bright their pearly whites are. Pair that with the recent boom in teeth whitening gadgets, I just had to get one for myself.
My fingers love to roam. Tugging on strands of hair and feeling for edges on blankets and pillows… Sometimes they are destructive and I feel nails against my skin, picking and scratching as though I can rub my skin new and smooth. But the more I do it, the worst it gets. It leaves behind scars and wounds. It’s the worst when my hands find my lips. Chapped from neglect and abused by my fingertips.
I have loved tattoos since I was 13. I knew that one day I was going to get one, but my family opposed so strongly and I was too afraid of the consequences for a little self expression so I hid my tattoos from my family until they found out. I can’t even remember how they realised. But they did. They still make occasional comments and get into debates about the implications of tattoos so here’s a blog post to end all discussion.