Tattoos Are Virtuous

With my eight tattoos, a common question — from friends and strangers — is: “Why did you get that?” I end up in conversation with people who wax dreamily about how they’ve always wanted to get inked but haven’t. “It doesn’t feel right,” is the general sentiment, driven perhaps by preemptive social criticism. This soft self-censure has hardened in recent months as the administration deported migrants with prominent tattoos. A Palestinian friend, casually discussing potential ink, recently said to me, “Getting a tattoo these days is practically a ticket to arrest.” I think about this often, even as I write this, while the poppies on my outstretched forearm move in concert with my typing hands. The three flowers and two buds symbolize remembrance and remind me of those I’ve loved and lost: my mother, my grandparents, a best friend. As prominently as their red blooms on my exposed skin, I say tattoos are virtuous.