Every Tattoo Tells a Story

I was 19 years old; extremely disillusioned with the image obsessed, materialistic world I had fallen into as a dance student.

I would be in dance classes Monday-Friday, 9am-5pm, sometimes until 7pm. All weekend and at least one week night I would work in a restaurant. All of the money I earnt would go towards collage fees, clothes, hair extensions/ hair dye, make up, tanning, and gym memberships. Who knows how I found time to go to the gym, I suppose it was when all the other students were out socialising.

I went to college to become a dance teacher, however my very toxic first college had brainwashed me into believing that becoming a skinny professional dancer was the most important thing in life. The majority of students (and teachers) there were bulimic, at best it was ignored by the staff in charge, at worst it was encouraged. I was just 17 when I discovered this secret bulimia club. Once I realised one of the teachers was part of it I knew I needed to get away. I found this picture of one of the last shows I did at that college, less than 50% of us were over 18, this photo makes me feel sick!

Moving to Edinburgh, age 18 I found a much better college. The fees were much higher but I was so happy to get away from my old college where I felt suffocated by the pressure and close knit community.

Having the freedom to now figure out what was actually important in life I remembered why I went to dance college in the first place. After a rocky start, I moved into a flat with non dance students who taught me how to have fun.

I made friends for life at my restaurant, all much older than me, who taught me how to enjoy food, wine, and good company. I learnt so much about cooking and the importance of eating as a social activity, not just something you do as quickly as possible in front of a tv!

I became a happier person. I became a better person. I had changed so much, but my lifestyle remained the same. Working too many hours and wasting all of my money on things that I thought would make me feel better but never did.

I had built all of my hopes and dreams around dance, but I had completely fallen out of love with it. I kept waiting for that feeling to pass but without making a drastic change to my plans, I new it wouldn't. Borrowing my flatmate's laptop (these were the days before I had the internet permanently in my hand or pocket) I searched night and day for a way to shake my life up and fall in love with dance and life again.

I discovered Volunteer for the Visayans aka VFV. After a summer of emails to the Filipino charity and fundraising in Scotland, I was on my way to Tacloban where I would spend the next 4 months volunteering as a dance teacher in orphanages, community projects, schools, a juvenile detention centre and a protected home for abused girls.

Here is the website I created for people to follow my story and to donate online:
http://danceforthevisayans.weebly.com/

To say it was a life changing experience is putting it lightly. Although only 4 months, I learnt and experience more than I had done in years. 7 years later and I am still digesting some of the lessons.

Before I had even been in the Philippines long enough to call home I was taken to hospital in excruciating pain. I was told the next morning that I had appendicitis and my surgery was scheduled there and then.

I looked around at my hospital room, paint chips hanging off the wall, no toilet seat in my grimey private bathroom (of course no shower either), where food had been left on my side table there was a swarm of ants seizing their opportunity. The drip in my hand was taped to an old cereal package so that my wrist was kept still, the drip bag was hanging on a metal stand with no working wheels. The aircon unit had a thick black layer of dust, as did the bars on my bed. Despite dengue fever being a real threat in Tacloban, mosquitoes were free to come and go in this hospital, but so were my guests. Every volunteer working at VFV came to visit me for hours at a time, my honorary Filipino mum slept on the floor and my volunteer friend took turns sleeping overnight on the sofa in my room.

Everyone went above and beyond to make sure I was ok, but there wasn't a moment that I felt unfortunate. Infact I'd never felt so fortunate in my life. That hospital room was the best that money could buy in Tacloban. I was able to pay for my surgery and recovery knowing that my insurance company would pay me back. I was able to get on the operating table before my appendix burst!

My hospital was a private one, but had I gone public I would be lucky to get a bed to myself. My room would be shared with atleast 7 other beds and we would have all shared a fan, no aircon in public hospitals. I felt extremely blessed. This was the shake up I had been waiting for. My world perspective had completely changed. As they wheeled me towards the operating theatre all I could do was laugh at how surreal the whole experience was. A couple of months prior I would have been terrified at the thought of surgery, but here I was laughing and cracking jokes with the Dr's and nurses.

Later that week my surgeon asked if I wanted to talk about my options for getting rid of the scar. I said, "NO WAY, this is my battle wound, I'll want to show it to everyone". I decided and told him then and there that I would get a tattoo next to it that said "Bahala Na", he laughed and I'm sure didn't think I would do it.

"“Bahala na” is a philosophical expression Filipinos used when they are confronted with problems. They will say “Bahala Na”, meaning “come what may,” “whatever will be, will be,” ‘leave it to God’, like the Spanish word “que sera, sera”. "

A few months later I got the tattoo, a rainy day had forced my classes to be cancelled for the 3rd day in a row so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to track down the only tattoo studio in town and keep up my promise to my surgeon.

I had ignored his advice to rest for atleast 2 months by cracking on with my mission to set up at many free dance classes as I could fit into a week. It resulted in another surgery while I was there and a 3rd surgery two years later, but... Bahala Na!

I realised that my dance training had always been about fixing and improving my body, we were taught to self critique all the time, looking for imperfections in our dance technique and physique. I decided when I was lying in hospital too sore to move that I would teach my future students to celebrate their bodies and all they can do. That is still my number one ethos when I step into my dance classes. Dance should bring joy, not mental illness. I don't care if my students go on to dance professionally, I just want them to always associate dance with feeling amazing!