In Which I Actually Shed Tears of Pain but Consider it Worth the Results

I have a lot of questions about life. Especially here. Especially now. But despite the metaphysical ponderings, one question rises above all the others, begging to be resolved:

How, I wonder, does one go about picking one's nose with a nose piercing?

I guess that question has been on my mind more than usual in the past 48 hours: On Wednesday I got my nose pierced. Connor drove me in Little Stu, his Toyota, and on the way we ate dark chocolate because he was in a mood for driving around and eating dark chocolate. And I was pretty much in the mood to get my nose pierced, though I was trying not to give myself time to think about it too much.

I have thought about it, off and on, for about four years. But since the strained phone call between me in India and Mom and Dad at home in which I asked their blessing to pierce my nose and was met with mildly appalled and incredulous responses, I left the idea dormant.

But it was always there, and I guess I hinted a little that since I was going away and Dad wouldn't have to look at my face anymore, it might not be such despicable thing. He didn't answer. But on Wednesday, he came into my room where I was sitting on the floor, surrounded by cardboard boxes, sorting clothes and notebooks and things.

Later I realized that he had that look on his face that feels like he's hugging me, the look he gets when I'm going somewhere for a long time. Because we were talking about something, and then suddenly, he handed me some money and told me I could take it and get my nose pierced. Which, in that moment, showed me how much my dad loves me because that was a lot of money to give someone to do something that you personally think is disgusting, especially when that someone is your oldest daughter. It was totally a sacrificial gift. Not to mention a surprise.

So naturally, there was no going back on it. And I really still wanted to do it. So I wheedled Connor into going with me. I just wanted someone to stand there while I got punctured. Cause wow, it hurt. I knew it was going to hurt, but I thought it would be really quick, like getting your ears pierced...just shoot it and you're done, and it just stings for a little while.

But instead of a quick little shot, Tattoo Man grabbed the inside of my nose with a clamp (not too big of a deal) and then put the needle through it (a much bigger deal). And it wasn't quick. Their was a major piercing moment, and then I thought Tattoo Man was going to let go, but he didn't. Just sat there with the needle in my nostril while the tears squeezed out of my eyes.

I wasn't trying to cry and I never expected to cry, but suddenly, there they were, warm, fresh tears popping right out and rolling down my cheeks. Two to three seconds felt more like twenty minutes. "Aw, you're crying," Tattoo Man said. "Yeah, it hurts." I said. "I want my mom." Somehow I figured my mom wouldn't have much sympathy for me at that moment.

But I sat up, dried my eyes, and looked in the mirror, and there it was, a sort of bloodied sparkle sitting on my nose, reminding me of Queen Esther and Agra, India at sunset and a little girl named Jaya.

And now, I am happy with it. I must say it presents a few challenges on the practical side of things (hence the all-important question of nose-picking). But who am I, after all, if I can't embrace a few challenges for the sake of something beautiful and meaningful to me? Let it be a reminder for the future, I tell myself, that there's always a price to pay for the things I really want. And may a little clear crystal in my nose be a symbol of always wanting the good things, the true things, the eternal things that really cost you something in blood, sweat, and tears.