In Autumn 2018, I studied abroad in Prague with CHID. I chose to do this particular study abroad because I wanted a program that valued how to consciously enter foreign spaces. The CHID Prague program seemed to have exactly what I was looking for in that regard. We were taught by Czech-based professors, met with a multitude of NGOs, and learned extensive history about the places we were occupying. The classes encouraged students to analyze systems of power, investigate public space, and conceptualize Central Europe. Overall, the program embodied everything I wanted to get out of a study abroad.
The poem I chose to write for this journal is about a tattoo experience I had in Berlin, which altered my mental state for the remainder of the program. We went to Berlin as a class in October, and since I loved it so much, I decided to catch a bus back there in November. The city was so inspiring to me, and I think I wanted to physically mark my time there by spontaneously getting a tattoo. However, the process was uncomfortable and discouraging. I let the artist dictate the placement and size of his art on my body, which made me feel powerless and objectified. I was nervous to speak up for myself, so I just let the process happen. The following day I woke up feeling a mix of regret and shame. Every time I looked at my arm, I was reminded of how I failed to assert agency over my body. For the next three weeks of my program, I really struggled staying present because I was constantly reliving that day in my mind and wishing I had spoken up for myself. I’m still working on accepting the tattoo, but by writing openly and honestly about my experience I feel like I’m taking some agency back and allowing myself a space to heal.
I squinted my eyes at my reflection
analyzing the different faces on my arm,
“I think it should be bigger” he said—
“to go with your body.” I turned away
from the mirror to face him, “Yeah”
I said disappointedly, “I guess you’re right.”
My chest tightened and I wiped my sweaty
palms on my jeans. “You’re badass” he told me.
“Yeah” I replied, ashamed that he had to look
at me. The next morning, I awoke to my skin
burning. A mass of bleeding ink was stained
onto my forearm and to relieve the pain
I pressed a cold palm against it; feeling my pulse
beneath the scab. Riding the bus back to Prague,
my eyes stung from holding back tears
“I’m badass” I reminded myself.
Annie is a junior at the University of Washington who plans to double major in the Comparative History of Ideas, as well as Gender, Women, and Sexuality Studies. She’s currently curious about the structural means by which institutions exert control over bodies, as well as the politicization of public space. She also loves the smell of rain, drinking copious amounts of coffee, and cooking for her friends.
Comments are closed.