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GETTING PIERCED



"Sometimes, first impressions are characterised by an utter absence of emotion, as if the capacity for judgement had vanished. She could not tell what she was actually feeling, she just let another version of herself emerge."

By Federica Rossi

COPYRIGHT © 2002, 3 A.M. MAGAZINE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


I've contemplated the idea long enough. Now I'm sure I want to go through with it. I will get pierced.

Suddenly trapped in the Proustian ambush of remembrances, I see that seventeen-year-old girl who, assaulted by doubts, was wondering about how right and moral her decision was. At that time she still believed in morality…

She was walking to her companion's home, exactly as I'm walking now to the piercing shop.

The days before she kept on asking her friends for advice although she had already made up her mind.

It was her first time and it is my first piercing.

Uncertainty and fear, curiosity and trepidation are grazing my smile and similar emotions were stirring her most intimate thoughts. I don't know what I will think in few hours; she didn't know what to expect.

I'm sitting here in an armchair, curiously observing the preliminary manoeuvres of the man in front of me. He is approaching his hands and my eyes half-closed beg for delicacy: I know I can't go back.

Lying on her back, she was completely engulfed by the yearning sway of the boy who was moving on top of her. She realised the moment had come. She closed her eyes, whispering to him to be gentle.

I feel something going through a part of my body, but it is just a sterile and unemotional sensation. All my fears are instantly dissolved in a drop of warm blood that glides gently from my lip. Her first lover's sweat had the same taste when he introduced her to a new languorous dimension…

Sometimes, first impressions are characterised by an utter absence of emotion, as if the capacity for judgement had vanished. She could not tell what she was actually feeling, she just let another version of herself emerge.

Any act of penetration is an outburst of woe and wellbeing that erases consciousness of self, a shudder that sweeps through body and soul, the unfathomable, infinite sensation of being inhabited.

Now, I'm looking at myself in the mirror, to be sure that I like my new piercing. The image of that girl arises again. I smile: trying to catch changes on her face, she started to call herself a woman.




ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Federica Rossi, 23, was born in Foligno (Italy). She moved to Paris at the age of 19 to study at the Sorbonne University. She is now an exchange student in Liverpool. She considers writing as a cathartic process to purge her fears and as a way of exploring her other dimensions. She will never stop travelling and living in different countries.





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