I wrote this last Sunday, and on the same day I told my mom about my new piercing. She wasn’t exactly thrilled, but she said she’d be more tolerant about my piercings if I quit smoking–which I plan to do over the sem break
When people get depressed, they either go drinking or smoke. But after realizing that my thesis is going bad and that cigarettes just weren’t cutting it for me anymore, I thought I’d deal with the stress some other way.
I got an industrial piercing.
Lately I’ve been looking at a lot of piercings and body modifications that people have done, so i thought I’d blog about the more interesting ones I’ve seen.
Apparently, you can get surgery done to make your ears look like this:
It’s called ear pointing and from what I gather, it hurts like a bitch, takes ages to heal, and there’s no a guarantee that your ears will end up looking that flawless. I’m not sure I’d want that done on me because it’s too freaking permanent and twenty years from now, the elf thing may not be so cool anymore. Do I think it looks awesome? Hell yeah. If somebody paid for the surgery, aftercare, and the trip to the US and back, would I get my ears pointed? Probably. *coughcough*
This, by far, is the coolest piercing I have ever seen:
I’m pretty sure that’s not permanent, but I guess if he keeps the piericng open with a shorter barbel it might last. I have no idea why people are giving him so much crap for his piercing, though. I think it’s fucking awesome and if I could, I would get that done and spend an entire week camwhoring and cosplaying X-23. I’d probably win first place too. I mean, who can beat implanted claws?
Lastly, a picture that always makes me feel warm and fuzzy every time I look at it.
I want a new piercing, damnit.
For more pictures of hot girls, hot guys, not-so-hot girls, not-so-hot guys, adorable kids, and unusual, awesome, or disgusting piercings, check out the Mod Blog at BMEZine.
My parents have been on my case about my smoking ever since they stepped into my room one evening and inhaled the cloying stench of Gudang wafting in the air. They’ve known that I’ve been smoking for years now but each time they caught me, I made some lame promise about I’m going to stop. Since then, my parents and I have grown up a lot and now they no longer yell at me for my nicotine addiction. They’re more concerned about my health because I don’t exactly have the strongest lungs in the world. When I was a child, I would always get these really horrible asthma attacks that inevitably ended up with me in the hospital getting steroids pumped into my system. Now that I’m about to graduate from college, my mom in particular is very worried that my asthma will recur and I’ll die. Or worse, end up in the hospital with millions worth of hospital bills to pay.
So this afternoon, my mom and I finally got around to having The Smoking Talk. At first, I was in a very chipper mood because I just woke up from 12 hours of sweet, uninterrupted sleep. However, my mood turned a little sour when the late lunch conversation finally turned towards Why I Should Quit Smoking.
Denial
“Just because I smoke doesn’t mean I have a problem,” I protested. I’d been saving up that line for some time in the hopes that it would convince my mom that hey–I’m a functional human being. Cigarettes isn’t keeping me from doing my schoolwork, KATIPUNAN work, or writing. In fact, it calms me down and puts me in a better, more productive state of mind.
“That’s not my point,” my mom said, and she went on and on about my health.
Anger
I wasn’t angry so much as irritated. Why can’t she understand that smoking is pretty much the only damn thing that can calm me down during stressful moments, happy moments, and social moments?
Bargaining
“When are you going to stop smoking?” my mom asked.
“When I’m thirty,” I replied immediately. “I read in an article somewhere that if I quit by the time I’m thirty, I can reduce the harmful long-term effects of smoking.”
“Don’t listen to that,” she said. “Those people who wrote that article probably don’t have a history of asthma like you do.”
I paused. “Okay. Make that when I’m twenty-five.”
“How about when you’re twenty-one?”
“But Moooooom!” I wailed. “That’s six months away!”
Depression
At this point in the conversation, I started to long for a cigarette. Will I get to smoke one at any point during this day? This conversation is really stressing me out.
And what if my mom does have a point? What if I really am dying inside, and the only thing that can save my life is kicking my nicotine habit?
Noooooooooo!
Acceptance
After some more talking and arguing and me trying to convince mom why she should just let me smoke (which didn’t work), we both agreed that I’m going to get my lungs checked. Not just get an x-ray, but have an appointment with a lung specialist and see if there’s anything wrong with my lungs and ask for advice about what to do if I get another asthma attack again.
I sure hope my lungs check out okay. I’m far from ready to smoke my last stick. Cigarettes are more than just cigarettes to me; no matter how shitty life gets, I’m always assured that they’ll me there to sedate me and help me get through the day. I don’t intend on smoking forever, and I really do plan on quitting when I’m thirty. But not while I’m suffering from a lot of existential angst and about to enter the real world naked and unprepared.
I wonder if my mom will ever reach the stage of acceptance any time soon. Maybe I should accept that she never will. She is my mother after all.