I had wanted a second one for symmetry. I wanted the other bookend to this particular chapter in my life. This one says הנני — here I am. It’s a very Old Testament thing to glom onto; Abraham and Moses both answer this way when God calls.
If you believe in the mythologies of the Old Testament, it’s a highly symbolic response. God calls, you answer, and you do what your God tells you to do. I mean, cool story, bro, but I’m an atheist and God seems like a jerk. Leave Job alone already, he’s doing the best he can. There’s a reason Sarah laughed. She had no time for that nonsense.
No matter, I like that this particular phrase ties all the way back to the establishment of the Jewish tribe, of which I am a part whether I believe in the book or not. It’s about responding when necessity or inspiration strikes. Maybe the Old Testament God calls you to set out for new lands and colonize the desert (you know there are people there already?) or sacrifice your beloved son (what the hell, God?) and you respond, wholeheartedly, “Here I am.”
That’s what happens in the Torah. But it’s not my personal, modernized interpretation. I like drawing the line back through history to acknowledge a people who are down for a ridiculous adventure, but I prefer to think of הנני as saying, “I am fucking here for this. I am all in. Bring it.”
I’d been kicking the can on the additional ink for a while, I knew I wanted to get it, I knew where it would go, I was just waiting for the right moment. When everything came together to make my script into a real live movie, it was clear the time had come. Nothing like the culmination of a creative project to make you feel like you could not be more in the game.
The first one says truth, אֱמֶ֑ת, and it healed badly. Red inks are known to be hard on you. I have toyed with the idea of having the fill redone but I also like the symbolism of imperfection. It hurt like hell, that first one. Applied not long after my divorce was final, I wonder if the pain was more from the divorce than the needle. Perhaps the ragged healing is par for the course for an injury that is still unresolved. If I have it repaired, it will lose its scar-like quality and I’m not sure I want that.
But the new one, it wasn’t half the pain of the old one, though it did still hurt. The artist was done in no time. I sat up after about half an hour, a little light-headed, a little shaky. This morning my arm looks, well, it looks great.
I like the grounding nature of the “you are here” arrow. I like the baked-in resilience of the Jewish people who, in spite of industrialized attempts to eliminate us, are still here. We can fall into a linguistics rabbit hole around the difference between here I am and I am here, but let’s skip that and just say that in these stupid, stupid times it is such an act of resistance to say “I am here.” I feel a certain “Fuck you, I exist,” along with everything else this particular phrase embodies.
It now says “Truth Here I Am” across my forearms. I didn’t connect the two words until I looked in the mirror at the second tattoo. I fucking love that. I look around, inventory my losses, acknowledge the scars, and see what I’ve done since.
Truth. Here I am.