Tattoos and Their Stories

The old and the new

Yesterday marked one year since I got my last tattoo. Last in chronological order, not because I’ve decided to stop getting tattooed. This most recent one, I can say, is among the most meaningful to me.

Many people who get tattoos have an issue when others — usually people without tattoos — ask about the meaning of the designs they chose to put on their bodies. They argue that, first, it’s nobody’s business except the person who is tattooed, and second, that not every tattoo needs to have a story behind it.

I disagree. I think tattoos are stories, feelings, stances, moments that we decide to mark on our skin. It’s as if a person chose to make a book of themselves — I even find that poetic…

I, myself, have five tattoos. Nothing very explicit, but all of them have a story to tell. My siblings, on the other hand, are what I might call two comic books with arms and backs covered with tattoos. And I know most of the stories behind each design. I even remember that my sister’s first tattoo was done outside Brazil, and I was there to authorize it as the older sister — she was underage — and to hold her hand.

I, as a proper older sister and a typical old-school person, got my first tattoo at 35. A little angel on my back. Lauviah, or Lala. I used to say he watched my back, and I would take care of the front. A good team. I’ve always been very interested in angels and all the mysticism surrounding these beings, but today I see that there was another intention behind it. I was in a relationship with someone who didn’t like tattoos, or who said women with tattoos were this or that. Deciding on that first tattoo, I now realize, was a way of asserting that this body is mine, and I am the only person who decides what will be marked on it or not.

After Lala, I decided to get two little stars on my leg: Orion and Cassiopeia. There wasn’t a deep reason behind those designs; it was more about the experience of doing something on the ankle — to test myself, since they said it hurt more — and to celebrate my relationship with my sister and my cousin, because, at that moment, my sister was getting another tattoo and my cousin recommended the tattoo artist. That time, I went along with the crowd and didn’t regret it. Everyone was getting tattooed, so I decided to be part of the clan too.

Patrick renewing husband’s “vows”

The third tattoo caused quite a social stir and brought to the surface all the hypocrisy of certain people and some religious and social institutions. My (now) husband and I decided to get married for practical reasons (a visa, so he could stay in Brazil), and we were deciding whether we would give in to the tradition of exchanging wedding rings. Neither of us wanted rings — I, because I always break rings, and he, because he must take them off to rock climb — but at the same time, since we weren’t doing anything very special, we wanted to carry a symbol of our commitment. That’s when I came across the idea of tattooed wedding bands. That was the most practical thing in the world for two people getting married for practical reasons. No one would need to take it off to wash dishes or go rock climbing; there would be no risk of losing it, nor would there be the expense of jewelry we didn’t value anyway. He had never gotten a tattoo before and was hesitant but agreed as long as it was a simple line, nothing elaborate. For me, it was fine either way. So, we got our “rings” tattooed on December 31, 2014, in Florianópolis, Santa Catarina.

When people found out that I had chosen a tattoo instead of a ring, I heard countless times:

— But tattoos are forever!

That comment usually came from married men who weren’t faithful — men who took off their rings to become someone else when away from their wives. I would reply:

— Well, didn’t you get married forever? Isn’t that exactly the promise we make when we get married?

I no longer had any illusion that marriages are forever — after all, this is my third husband -but I know very well that marriages are made by two people. And there I was, imprinting on my hand, on my finger, my commitment to do my part in cultivating that relationship. Somewhat unintentionally, exactly ten years later, we “renewed our vows” by redoing the ring design when I decided to get my most recent tattoo.

The second-to-last one is also related to angels: the sword of Saint Michael, designed by a fantastic artist from São Paulo who no longer tattoos. She even applied white ink to create the shine of the sword (anyone who tattoos knows that using white is challenging). The reason to get it? A not very explicit call, I felt I wanted to do it.

Now, the most recent tattoo took five years to finally come to life, and I can say that because of the combination of the meaning, the design, and who did it, it is my favorite of all time.

The EKG “lived” in a drawer for five years…

When my granddaughter was born in 2019, I was so, so, so happy that I knew I would get a tattoo to mark her arrival in this world. I didn’t know what to sketch, where on my body to get it, or who would do it. My son also thought about getting his first tattoo because of his daughter too, but the moment — or the design — hadn’t arrived yet. When I went to meet the little one in Panama, my daughter-in-law and my son gave me a printout of the last EKG taken while she was still in the womb. I thought that might be a good design for my tattoo, but I still wasn’t sure whether that should really be it, nor where on my body I would place it.

Time passed, the image stayed tucked away, and I researched how people tattoo heartbeats. Nothing convinced me, and living in the United States without knowing tattoo artists made everything more complicated.

Wearing the heart everywhere

Until one day, I went to my first orientation at the College of Communication at Boston University wearing a pendant made by Lena Muniz — a red ceramic heart. My dean walked by, pointed at the pendant, complimented it, and said:

— So, you can wear your heart on your sleeve…

I smiled and agreed, but I hadn’t understood the figurative meaning of the expression. When I got home, I looked it up and discovered it referred to people who are transparent, who show what they feel. Without a doubt, especially in a culture where everyone keeps their feelings locked away, I am very transparent. Too much so.

The heart on my sleeve

I reflected on this for a while and concluded that after my granddaughter was born, it became much easier to embrace the feelings that flood me and pass through me. It feels like I leveled up in the game of life and stopped caring so much about a lot of things, including other people’s judgment. But the most interesting part is that this expression I learned from my boss helped me decide where on my body I would draw my granddaughter’s “heart.” All that was missing then was finding the tattoo artist.

The planets aligned on December 30, 2024. Patrick, my dear friend of decades, who currently lives in Barcelona, had started tattooing. He would be in Brazil, in the same city as me, on the second-to-last day of the year. And so it was: after spending a few fantastic weeks with my granddaughter on the beaches of Florianópolis, I went to Curitiba to finally get the tattoo. It turned out beautifully, like everything Patrick does. Lily, my granddaughter, found out about the tattoo through video, since I came straight home. But I thought she wouldn’t really understand what it meant. Until July 2025, when I finally spent a vacation with her and could show it to her in person. I asked if she knew what it was. She broke lit up with the most beautiful smile in the world and said:

— My heart!

Yes, I melted. I wore my heart on my sleeve — along with hers, which would be there forever. But the most magical moment was when, while I was distracted, I felt her little fingers tracing the rises and falls of the design — a metaphor for life, as we know so well, full of ups and downs.

Life is made of ups and downs. Soon she will discover.