Behind every tattoo is a story. So, here is mine:
It was my first week in London. I was miserable. I had left my family and friends to study abroad, thousands of miles away from home, not knowing a soul. But I needed to do this for myself. To prove to that I could be independent, and maybe discover a little bit more about myself along the way. However, needless to say I was lonely and crying to parents that I wanted to come home the first night I got there. I didn’t know how I was going to survive and be happy for the four months that I was there. But I knew I needed to suck it up and try to make the best of the situation. I mean, I was living in one of the most famous and amazing cities in the world! Not to mention I was only an hour’s train ride away from Jane Austen’s house in Chawton. All I needed to do was to get out and occupy myself in order to make the most of this experience.
Every day that week the study abroad group that I was with had something planned for us to do, until the weekend. During the nights that I just couldn’t sleep, because I was either too lonely or the goons upstairs were playing loud techno music, I would go online and look up places that I wanted to visit and how to get there (public transportation being pretty easy in the UK). I knew that once Saturday came I needed to get out and do something and the Jane Austen House was where I wanted to go. Saturday came and words cannot describe how excited I was to see where my favorite author lived and wrote some of the world’s greatest novels. I was finally going to one of the places I had dreamed about visiting for a long time. In some ways going to the Jane Austen House was like a pilgrimage for me. Thus, to say that I am obsessed with Jane Austen is an understatement.
I took a train from London to Alton, and I got a cab from the train station to the Jane Austen House. After reading about Jane Austen’s life and seeing pictures of her home, I was finally there and it was beautiful and better than I had imagined. It was just amazing to be in the same room and witness the same desk that Jane wrote Emma, Mansfield Park and Persuasion. I didn’t want to leave. But of course I had to in order to make sure I didn’t miss the train back to London. Instead of taking 
a cab back to the train station, I decided to walk through the town of Alton. Along my walk through the town I spotted cute little shops including a second hand bookstore with Jane books displayed in the window. Since, I had already spent a lot of money at the Jane Austen House gift shop, I decided to skip going into the bookstore. However, a few minutes later I spotted a place where I just might spend the rest of my money. A small building with a sign labeled “Tattoo.”
I stood in front of the tattoo parlor contemplating, “To get a tattoo or not to get a tattoo.” I opened my wallet to check how much money I had left. If I was going to get a tattoo it would just be a small one so it wouldn’t cost that much, would it? I stepped into the parlor and asked one of the tattoo artists how much they charged. Fifty pounds per hour. Not bad. I told him I was interested in getting a tattoo that day and that I knew what I wanted to get. The silhouette portrait of Jane Austen. He asked me if I had a picture and I said no, but that I could definitely find one on the internet. Unfortunately, the parlor didn’t have internet connection. So, I thought my journey of getting a tattoo was over; but for some reason I was determined. I remembered on my walk through the town passing the second hand bookstore. I figured they must have a Jane Austen book with the silhouette portrait that I wanted to get. And, believe it or not, they had just what I was looking for. The silhouette was pictured on the back cover of Lord David Cecil’s biography of Jane Austen. With book in hand, I triumphantly walked back to the tattoo parlor to get my tattoo. Lucky for me, the tattoo artist had just enough time to fit me in before another appointment.
I was nervous and excited. I couldn’t believe that I was doing this. The tattoo artist asked me where I wanted it and so I picked my upper back, by my shoulder blade on the right side. Once I sat in the chair there was no turning back. I wasn’t sure how much it was going to hurt and braced myself for pain. But, once he started, it wasn’t as painful as I was expecting. So, here I was, in England, less than a mile away from Jane Austen’s house getting a tattoo of her silhouette on my back, something that would be on my skin forever. A permanent souvenir. A memorial and homage to a woman that is my hero and who I truly admire.
