My first creating writing assignment..

“For Identity”

I stepped into the room. An oddly chilly cubicle. It could be the air-conditioner that was causing the chill, or my nerves. Was I supposed to be prepared for this? I wasn’t sure. I started to wonder if anyone could be sure about this matter. I mean, it would be an impact that would last forever? Would it not? This would be an imprint that almost nothing could erase. I had to think this over. Is this another one of my impulsive saga? One that would leave me with much regrets during the later days? Having to think this over for 24 hours might not have been enough. A lifetime of regret seemed too much to handle, but I’ve been dreaming of today for too long already. I need to put this in action, dreaming alone cannot describe what I would feel in the next few hours or so. This is something I want, a desire that has been burning up a hole in me.

There’s no turning back now. He gestured for me to take a seat on a comfy sofa. Sofa? But won’t I get to lie down on some silk sheets in comfort? Satin, then, if silk is too expensive. But no, sofa it was and sofa I had. I tried to numb all feelings of pessimism but cold sweat trickled down my forehead. My palms were slightly damped too. Silly girl, you are ready. It was the angel in me trying to soothe my mashed up nerves yet tauntingly, the devil was suggesting otherwise. Oh shut up please. With what I’m about to do, who takes which side? This is something only I could psych myself through.

He smiles and asked if I was ready. I nodded. Words were stuck in my belly, together with the butterflies that were dancing around. Am I supposed to feel nauseous before all this? His hands were cold as he guided me to bend over. I lost contact with skin as rubber took over. It wasn’t exactly rough, not sticky too – just not skin. I closed my eyes, I tried to envision pain in its worse form. I sucked a deep breath so hard my body shuddered as though I was punched. And it happened.

The piercing through multiple layers of skin brought a sharp penetration that was both pleasurable and painful. Unable to resist, I wondered if the fact that losing two loved ones this year has driven me to this decision. Emotional pain seemed so much more superior in comparison to this physical action of hurt. Endlessly the contact of skin and blade brought a stinging in my eyes. I wasn’t crying. I’m too grown up to cry through an ordeal that I brought upon myself but pain isn’t one that I packaged to such heights with this experience. Denial of pain would cause so much more.

For an hour and a half, I endured. He wasn’t rough, he was actually very gentle and professional in his movements. I am sure that he has performed this act a million of times to be so good at it but when he told me that it was done, relief swept past and happiness settled.

It is done. The worse (or perhaps not) is over. My skin has lost its virginity. Under blood and bodily fluids lies an identity of where I am from, an impressionist design of an eggplant flower, one which my skin will house for the rest of my life.