piercings and personhood

Last week, I woke up to an extra hole in my face that suspiciously was not there the night before.

My eyebrow piercing had fallen out.

I experienced what felt like 17 stages of grief in about 10 seconds. I had spent $60 on getting it pierced, and now it was gone — I was hurt, especially after it healed so fast that I had initially assumed this might’ve been the one of the best decisions I would make in my early twenties.

And then the eleventh second passed, and I was over it. I didn’t tear apart my room looking for it, nor did I immediately book a re-piercing appointment to mitigate the issue. I just left it, and moved on.

I’m still kind of confused as to why I stopped caring. My Nigerian mother objected to the piercing heavily (and yes, I still got it — more on disobeying African parents soon), we argued about it, I even took it out for her 50th birthday and went to the trouble of putting it back in afterwards, and yet: her prayers were being answered, whilst mine were apparently being ignored.

I think I saw my piercing as a physical manifestation of figuring out who I am; of exploring my identity and my interests, and seeing what works and what doesn’t. Also, doing it outside of the opinions of my friends was super important to me (several of them advised against it, and I got it anyway. The same people were elated to find out that my piercing is no longer with us). As I grow older and prepare to leave undergrad, I need to gain a better idea of my personhood, and that can really only happen through trying new things — especially when it’s uncomfortable or uncertain.

Sometimes it takes losing $60 and an extra hole in your face to get closer to finding yourself. I now know 25-year-old Tolu will probably not have any more facial piercings, and that is more than okay.

(Don’t ask me how I’m applying this as far as gainful employment after undergrad. Baby steps.)