Before cancer I was a rebel who didn’t want to fit in. Being like everyone else was such a negative in my eyes. I was afraid if I was just like everyone else I would blend into the background and disappear. So I forged my own path, swam in my own ocean, and made sure the grass in my garden was technicolour instead of green or greener. I tattooed my skin, covered it in my life’s story. The ink was my peace of mind that I would never fade away into the beige of everybody else. Then I got cancer, and I realised my body is nothing, it’s just a body. It’s an empty vessel that carries the true essence of who I am... my soul. And my soul is no different than anybody else’s...and it can’t be because I now know we are all one. If you waved a magic wand that made all our bodies disappear we would be one beautiful universal life force. So now my tattoos don’t make so much sense to me. I don’t need to be different to you; you are all beautiful and we are all one and the same. I wasted years fighting such a remarkable truth. A truth that has finally freed me from my chosen separateness and isolation. I don’t regret my tattoos...regret is pointless and soul destroying. I look at them as ornaments, trinkets and treasures indelibly inked on my skin. Like the magical colourful decorations on a Christmas tree; they embellish it’s exterior to the physical eye but the trees true beauty lies within its trunk and deep in its roots where it’s soul shines.