09.30.24 | virgo waning crescent
“a DIY manicure has always felt like a bandaid when I’ve got a broken leg.” - Elyse Myers. I’ve lost track of the number of times Elyse has shared something so relatable that tears could not be stopped from falling out of my eyeballs. Another thing I’ve lost track of? The number of times I’ve been told by doctors, coaches, and therapists that I need to “prioritize some self-care practices.” Self-care on social media is always portrayed as extravagant and glamorous acts that 1. I don’t have the financial means to do, 2. I don’t deserve to do because I didn’t earn it, and 3. actually have seemingly little to no impact on my mental health anyway. As Elyse said, a bandaid is pretty darn pointless on a broken leg. It’s like handing me a straw to breathe out of when I’m drowning. Useless.
I had to start reframing my ideas around what self-care actually is, because I know, somewhere deep down, they’re right. I do need me some self-care. So I started with small things like carving out time to read a book, just for fun. Throwing on my noise-canceling headphones or Loops to block out the extremely overwhelming, overstimulating world. Finding small joys in various fidgets. Allowing myself to learn what stims and movements feel good in my body and allow me to get regulated. One thing I realized was that I actually like the feeling/sound of my nails clacking on various surfaces. So, as a cost-effective version of going to the nail salon every other week, I decided to get the basics for nail and cuticle care and start doing my own at-home manicures. Will it cure my anxiety? Will it drive away intrusive thoughts? Maybe not. But it’s at least another embodied, creative outlet that allows me to learn more about who unmasked Keila is.
As my focus has come more and more to my hands, I’ve also been more aware of my hajichi and its significance (personally and culturally). The poem below is an excerpt from something I wrote during our “Creative Voices for Palestine” event.
these hands hold my pain.
they hold my grief, my fears, and my rage.
but these hands also hold onto hope.
they hold my dreams
my courage
my joy.
these hands hold privilege,
while still weighed down by oppression.
these hands fight for a world
where we can use our hands for more
than simply
reaching
for the bare
minimum.
We held the event back in January of this year, and my hajichi was still healing. The beauty and pain had me contemplating the many ways I experience two or more seemingly conflicting experiences or emotions at a time. It also had me thinking about how one thing can be used in two very different ways. It had me thinking about our ancestors. Community. Autism. Suicidal ideation and intrusive thoughts. Chronic and dynamic illness. Motherhood. Genderfluidity. My kiddos. Rituals. Ethnic cleansing and genocide. Yes, my healing hajichi had me thinking about all of those things. My AuDHD brain had me thinking about them all at once, and pingpong-ing from one half-baked thought to the next. But what do all these topics have to do with my hajichi? Great question, I’d love to tell you… after I first tell you how I chose the design for my hajichi.
For those of you who aren’t familiar with this beautiful, Indigenous tattoo style, let me explain it to you. Hajichi is a traditional tattoo specific to the Ryukyuan people. They were originally done in a stick-and-poke technique by women, for women as a form of ritualistic celebration of important life events and were also thought to be a form of spiritual protection and connection to ancestors and community. Today, it’s going through quite a special revitalization after these hand tattoos were nearly wiped from existence due to art, language, and culture bans. Many people are sticking to the traditional designs assigned to each island or family lineage. However, there are also many efforts to modernize the practice and add new or stylized elements.
For me, I already had the two tattoos that I knew we’d be incorporating into my hajichi design (my finger quote “you have turned my mourning into dancing” and the cross on my right wrist). While they’re not “traditional” hajichi elements, I am still proud to wear them because it signifies the first intuitive decision I ever made (I felt strongly that I wanted my tattoos to be on my hands/wrist, even before I knew anything of hajichi!). My cross was a source of comfort, but as my relationship with religion in general shifted, I realized that the “comfort” that I thought it was providing me was really just a constant reminder of how much guilt and shame I should be feeling. Sure, it helped me through tough times. But was it by gently making space and holding any emotions that came through? Nope. It was by nudging me into toxic positivity, spiritual bypassing, and highlighting my internalized ableism. So, I knew I wanted that cross to evolve into the start of my more traditional hajichi journey with Ava Chiru @chiruu_tattuu. They helped transform it into a Minna-jima style amamu/aman symbol (signifying new beginnings, creation, and connection to earth, home, and ancestry).
an older photo of Keila's first tattoo (cross) on their right wrist, hand signing ASL letter 'K' with paint all over their hand
Traditional Indigenous Ainu Sinuye style tattoos
In addition to my Indigenous Ryukyuan ancestry, I also have some Ainu ancestors on my paternal grandmother’s side, so I wanted to add elements of traditional Ainu sinuye as well. They are typically bolder and more geometric in their designs, so I added the two rectangular stripes on my thumb, and will probably add more on at least one other finger later. I love that I can see the embodiment of both Ryukyan and Ainu ancestry come together in a modernized hajichi/sinyue approach.
Finally, I wanted to add my two marubushi circles on the back of my hands. Traditionally, they are filled in all the way, but I chose to have them partially filled to resemble the moon phases on the dates my two kiddos were born—one waxing crescent and one waning gibbous. These symbols were initially supposed to be my celebration of motherhood and of my babies… but they ended up being so much more.
So… now we’re back to questioning… what do all those topics I mentioned earlier have to do with my hajichi? Some of them may be more obvious than others after sharing the meaning behind my tattoos. But some of them may require a little more of your time for me to share. I won’t get into each topic in detail now, but I will share that it was the moons of my hajichi that got my gears turning. It always seems to come back to the moon for me. The moons on my hands reminded me of the natural ebb and flow of life. They reminded me that fluidity and change is found all around us. Everything is on a spectrum. These beautiful elements of my hajichi highlighted the many times that I felt insecure and invalidated simply for changing my mind or feeling something for just a fleeting moment. These moons reminded me that no matter how dark or uncertain the phase, I remain whole. It made me think of the phrase “it’s just a phase,” and the common retort in the LGBTQIA+ community, “it’s NOT a phase.” I understand that the response comes from years and lifetimes of gaslighting people out of their own lived experiences simply because they claimed that their gayness or transness was “just a phase” that they would eventually outgrow. The impermanence of “the phase” was used as a way to discredit or invalidate their experience. And to that, I say: so what if it is just a phase? It doesn’t (well, I should say, it shouldn’t) make it any less valid or worthy of acceptance.
"just a phase, just as valid" design featured in my Bonfire Apparel Shop
We are coming to the end of September, the end of Suicide Prevention Month. I have been sharing resources all month to my feed and my stories. And now it’s time I share a bit about my own story. About why queerness, mental health, disability, and suicide prevention and awareness are so central to everything I talk about and create. I’ve experienced various levels of suicidal ideation for as long as I can remember… so it was no surprise to receive an anxiety, depression, and panic disorder diagnosis when I finally saw some mental health practitioners at the start of my time at university and began facing some major physical health challenges. It took over a decade for my docs to figure out that there were still some very central aspects of my diagnosis missing. Learning more about my AuDHD this past year has been crucial to my journey towards self-acceptance… and realizing that self-care isn’t something that needs to be earned. I would constantly get lost in comparisons… “They have it worse, who am I to be complaining? Who am I to ask for help when there are people around the world dealing with bombings and fearing for their lives and the lives of their loved ones? Who am I to ask for help through a hotline when there are people with much more ‘severe’ experiences with actual active suicidal intent?”
It took me a while, but I eventually came to understand that I am allowed to ask for and receive help without feeling guilty that other people may need it more than I do. I realized that comparisons aren’t doing anyone any good because as long as I am not receiving the help that I need, how will I be able to be part of the effective change and action in getting other people the help that they need?
Once I made that realization, I crumbled down and reached out for help and ended up with a terrible ER experience where I was treated so poorly, it made me fear for the mental health treatment of people, especially disabled, queer, BIPOC folks in this country. I’ll share more about that experience another time. Luckily, I was able to have a better experience more recently with a handful of people supporting me (yes, including my neurodivergent, queer, Asian therapist).
For now, the message I want to leave you with at the end of Suicide Prevention and Awareness Month is this:
You are not a burden. Your feelings are valid. Even if your feelings seem to come and go. Every phase you move through is valid. You are always deserving of the love and support that you need to thrive. I’m so grateful that you’re still here.
Lots of love,
ksachi