By Alyssa Tran
“I just don’t understand why you enjoy hurting yourself,” my mother says as I check into the shop.
It smells too clean in here, much like a hospital would. I’ve been to the same piercing shop thirteen times, and you could say that I’ve become addicted to this place. The people, the thrill, and the beauty of getting shiny silver jewelry makes me feel so powerful, like I have control over my body.
My mother insisted on coming with me this time even though she hates looking at needles.
But hurting myself? I never thought about it that way. It’s hard to respond right now, because she isn’t allowed past the waiting area and the piercing chair.
I’m laying back on the cold leather as the first prick lands on the inner flesh of my ear, breathing in and exhaling slowly with a wince. She doesn’t have to know how badly they pinch sometimes, but I always lie and promise her it didn’t.
But I can promise that my worries disappear when I see her: a Tylenol in hand and her nervous eyes, a reminder of her care that I’ll never take for granted.
Alyssa Tran (she/her) ’27 is a finance & information management and technology major. Although her majors are very technical, she has a deep passion for English and creative writing. She loves to crochet and bake for her friends.
