I’ve wanted a tattoo for a long time. Actually, a good number of tattoos.
The thing is, they’re expensive. And I don’t think being covered in them head-to-toe is totally my style. When you’re that covered in ink, I find it a bit more forgiving if one small part of it doesn’t quite capture everything you want. You can simply add another. But given my style and budget, I’ve known that I’d need to be selective around whatever ink goes on my skin for life.
Queue three or four years of overthinking it.
Second chances.
Finding God in all things.
Trees and an abundance of life.
Then a few years ago, I started to discover the rich role that tattoo art plays in Filipino culture.
The reality is, if the Philippines were never colonized, I would most likely be covered in full-body tattoos. And it wouldn’t just be an aesthetic thing, either. Tattoos were given as marks of beauty, status, and accomplishment in a community. Patterns and designs would depict your role in society and your point of belonging. They might also tell the story of things you’ve done in life, challenges you’ve overcome.
Of course, a lot of contemporary tattoos across different cultures also commemorate moments and accomplishments, but groups like the Kalinga and Igorot people made a whole thing out of it. I discovered online graphics that revealed the meanings and associations of commonly used patterns, and I started to think of these tattoos as a whole language with which you could tell a person’s story.
(I soon discovered that these were created by Ayla, an Ilonggo tattoo practitioner based out of Maryland. Her tattoos and infographics are both incredible, and her social media profiles are rich with informational materials about the art.)
I started to really want a tattoo done in this Filipino style. But what design?
I wanted a fair portion of my upper arm covered, just high enough where I could still roll up a long sleeve shirt and keep it concealed… I never know when my travels just might take me to a rare spot where tattoos are generally unwelcome. That’s a good amount of surface area, so I saved up the funds.
Getting a tattoo was written firmly on my “Before 30” list of things to do.
Then came the pandemic. Lockdown arrived in California roughly six weeks ahead of my 30th.
There’s no need to rehash all the details of what happened next, but my version of the experience was also conflated with the arrival of three kids in two years. My “Before 30” list would eventually evolve into a “Before 33 Maybe” list.
The tattoo went on the backburner for a little while. But you know what didn’t? My exploration of Filipino culture.
The ramp up of hate against Asian-American communities only made me value that part of me more. And the more I explored Filipino psychology, mythology, and history, the more I came to appreciate the richness and inner-diversity of it all. Best of all, I started to understand that this abundant culture was not just located in my family’s past or on the other side of the world, but deep within me.
Because of lockdown and all, a lot of this exploration was done online. I found videos about Apo Na Wang. I learned from historians like Kirby Araullo. And I discovered Brandon Tenedora’s tattoo studio.
Brandon knew the symbols and what they stood for pretty well. I loved the style of his tattoos. He managed to take this art, which was traditionally maximalist and give it clean, sharp lines and definition, rendering a more contemporary look. This added a boldness to it, and it seemed to be the perfect meeting ground of the ancestral world within, and the modern world around me.
I knew I wanted a tattoo, and now I knew who I wanted it from. Still, what tattoo should I get, exactly?
It turns out, I didn’t really need to overthink that. Traditionally, the tattoo wearer doesn’t decide. The artist would divine a design, incorporating that person’s life story into their interpretation. Brandon would let me share the parts of my story I’d like to capture, and freehand it into a design.
Brandon’s studio, Kapwa, is located on Oahu. So scheduling an appointment would take some planning. Back in the fall, he announced some availability, and I made sure to reserve a spot. I already had plans to take my family to the Philippines in early 2023, and I figured Hawaii would be a convenient stop-over to cut the flight in half. Plus, I could get some ink while there.
I showed up for my appointment. Brandon’s studio was clean, open, and sleek, matching the feel of his tattoo art. We got talking and he explained how the process would go.
Traditionally, the tattoo recipient would bring food for everybody, a feast for the community. The artist would then perform some chanting, fortune-telling, and prayer. While I didn’t bring any food, Brandon did want to keep some part of the tradition alive by starting with a silent prayer. In lieu of chanting? A Fugees playlist.
I told Brandon the parts of my story I wanted represented. The strength and encouragement I’ve found by working with farmers and nature around the world. Overcoming health challenges with my wife to become parents of three incredible kids. Finding my place in the world through travel and seeing life as a journey.
And then he got to work. Four hours later, and I found myself with a linear, diamond pattern on my arm stemming from a sun.
In my newest video below, I go a little bit deeper into how the patterns connect to my story. The design is somewhat simple, but it does a lot of heavy lifting. Each element carries so much meaning.
I’m extremely happy to have this ink on me now, for the rest of my life. I also immediately understood why people have a hard time stopping at just one tattoo. I can easily imagine this design being extended a little bit.
It’s easy to think of ancestry as something that’s back then. In the past. And if you’re a child of diaspora, it’s also easy to think of ancestry as something that’s over there. And yeah, in some ways it is. But also, it’s within us.