I have two tattoos. I had them done in the downtown of my college town at the age of 24, several months apart.
The first one, a Christian Fish on my lower back, was a very simple design I had found on the internet. It symbolized my dedication to my faith. It was simple, bold, and I could show it off without much trouble. And it hurt a lot, but I did it for me and only me.
My second tattoo happened on a whim. With my move to the east coast imminent, I felt the need to do something crazy before leaving my home. And so, I got a biohazard symbol tattooed on my left hip joint. It’s small, about the size of a quarter, and it’s swirled with blue and green pigment. I received a medical degree from the college I attended and was knee deep in a medical career at the time I got it. It just seemed fitting. I have no plans to ever touch it up – I’ll let the sun, age, and time do it’s thing. I still love it. It reminds me to be crazy once in awhile.
Well, more crazy than my normal level of crazy.
The ink sums me up well: I am a biohazardous follower of Jesus and am labeled as such.