I am desperate to sneeze, why is it that my body likes to betray me at the most in opportune moments. To my left is a smiley man with an ink stained tshirt folding tissue. I'm sat in a temple called Wat Bang Prah and I'm facing a monk named Luang who is brandishing a tattoo gun. The bones in my feet are digging into the hard floor and it's almost deadly silent, apart from the sounds of my sneezing and two thai girls suppressing giggles. Luang, a monk sits a few feet away from me stone faced and concentrating while he tattoes with a machine. I came here for bamboo but I'm not gonna argue. The folding man has just replaced luangs latest piece of work, he is covered in sak yants and they are beautiful it puts me at ease. Now my nose is streaming, the pile of neatly folded tissues is almost taunting me. I feel strangly at peace I suppose I won't feel like that in a couple of hours. If each peace of work takes 15 minutes then I've calculated by the amount of people Ben that my wait time. I'm concerned I have too much cleavage on show. Wil he turn me away, ah my nose!
In my head I practice the bow, so scared if get it wrong and offend him. Hands to the floor head down, head up hands in prayer repeat x2. Even in my head my hands went up at the wrong time. This was now my main concern. I studied people one by one, til Dave was up, my tat partner in crime. Then I was just a matter of time. I had worn a dress over leggings with a kimono making sure to cover all my bits, cleverly I thought I would just spin my kimono around so that when it came to tat time I wouldn't tempt monk with my female flesh.
When it was my turn I fumbled up, no one had motioned for me toget up like they did for the males. I held out the envelope for what seemed an age before Luang picked up the silver pot. I popped it in and down I went for now number one, and off fell my kimono, slid off my shoulders like a water off a cliff. Damn!! 3 times get it over with. I settled on the cushion, he put the stencil on my shoulder, I was getting the 5 spiers, like every other female. Suddenly he tapped me with his white board pen indicating to turn so I did, picking up the pillow to hug he moved my arm down and then pushed my neck to the pillow while another man essentially held me down. There's a method I enjoy when getting tattooed and that is breathing deeply and counting the breaths. Not happening here, endure, the dragging sharpness instantly brought back memories of tattooed of the past. Oh dear. Try and breathe, it'll be over soon. The pain always feels misplaced slightly, it felt as though the needle was dragging up to my neck, that wasn't good. It shouldn't be there surely.
About 5 minutes later and it stopped, I caught him cleaning his needle and then lovingly he wiped away the ink and blew the raw skin, lightly whispering unheard words and blowing gently. Maybe he was alright with me after all. I'm on a crazy mental party bus heading away now with the stinging reminder just itching to clean it and admire it but it won't be mine to look at often.
Happy 30th Birthday to me, tattoo courtesy of Luang the forceful gently happy monk. Thank you Thailand
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