my entire personality was my nose ring

"what's your favorite thing about yourself?"

when i was seventeen, i went on a class trip to israel. for weeks before the trip, i begged my mom relentlessly for one thing: a nose piercing.

quite obviously, the answer the first few hundred times was a resounding "no." but i couldn't take that as an answer.

in my seventeen-year-old-brain, the only thing that could help me feel any better about who i was and where i was, was a nose piercing.

when zits dotted my face, i would tell myself that the nose ring would distract from them.

when i'd run out of things to talk about (which barely ever happened) i could tell people about my nose ring.

when there was nothing, absolutely nothing about myself that was cool, or special, or interesting, i had one thing. i had my nose piercing.

after a hike up masada, and down masada, a convincing enough argument (if you hate it when i land, i'll take it off in the middle of the SFO terminal), i ended up in a random tattoo-shop in ben yehuda with my best friend at the time, the idf soldier all the boys had fallen in love with during the trip, and the man who was going to stick a needle in my nose and solve all my problems.

when the piercing was over, i was buzzing with excitement. i practically ran out of the shop with my friend, tapping my classmates on their shoulders and showing them what i'd done. and, i got everything i could have ever asked for.

me hard launching the nose piercing on instagram

"woah! you actually got your nose pierced?!"

"did it hurt?"

"that's so cool, where'd you do it? maybe i can get my ears pierced."

"are you sure that was the right side to get pierced? that's not your good side."

it's funny how just a few words can send you toppling down.

when there was nothing, absolutely nothing about myself that was cool, or special, or interesting, i had one thing. i had my nose piercing.

i did everything i possibly could do in high school to feel cool.

i started things off by being myself, which, in hindsight, was a rookie mistake. i introduced myself to everyone. i spoke up when i wanted to. i laughed loudly, and talked loudly, and i'd get caught up laughing when the joke was already over.

i very quickly was told to shut the fuck up.

i made a group of friends. they didn't like me very much.

i dumped all my friends and moved to new ones.

when i fucked up with those friends, i dumped them and went back to my old friends.

i even did theater.

i was clearly a very good actress.

i didn't really understand the deep, underlying fervor and passion that propelled my cast mates through weekend rehearsals, i didn't know the fine line between being quirky and being cringe (i'd always teeter over to "cringe") and i didn't understand Hamilton.

i was constantly on the outside of one, huge inside joke, desperately trying to peer inside and be part of it. be part of anything.

i needed something to hold on to, to define me, to characterize me, because i didn't know who i was. i didn't know who i wanted to be. and, it sucked when i'd get put on the spot and be asked "give us three words to describe yourself!"

back then, every answer to me was a wrong answer. i couldn't say funny, because what if only i thought i was funny? i couldn't say smart. i couldn't say pretty. or kind. or happy. i had no credentials to back any of those claims up.

i was seventeen, about to enter my senior year of high school, and i had no basis to my identity, no clear idea of who i was.

i love telling this one story from when i was a sophomore and i wanted to write a d'var torah for our class trip to utah. the whole overarching theme of this trip was "taking your mask off and being your true self." after launching into a rant about how i had no clue who i was or whether i really was wearing a mask, my teacher stopped me and said "i think you're having an existential crisis."

i probably was, at the time. and i definitely continued having one throughout high school, then through college, and even through post-college life. but, one thing never changed. i had a really cool nose ring, and an even cooler story to back it up.

i was constantly on the outside of one, huge inside joke, desperately trying to peer inside and be part of it. be part of anything.

in college, a teacher asked us to do a fun exercise. open up our journals and write something we love about ourselves. i was fresh off the heels of a breakup with a guy i was obsessed with and i couldn't find a single quality about myself that i loved. because how could there be something lovable about me if this boy had just ended things? what was it about me that wasn't enough?

after a painfully long amount of time trying to write something, anything down, i just scribbled nothing, sorry and closed my notebook. then she told us to turn to the person next to us and share what we had chosen. of course, the guy i was next to was the cutest guy in class. he told me what he loved about himself and then asked me. i couldn't tell him the truth, because then i'd sound like a loser. so, i said the next best thing.

"i really like my nose ring."

"your nose ring? that's like the only thing that isn't actually you."

i choked back tears and shrugged. he turned away, unsatisfied with my answer, and i felt like i was on another planet of humiliation. but he was right. i had chosen the one thing about myself that wasn't actually me, but i'd cemented my whole identity being the girl who got her nose pierced on a school trip.

i relished in the moments after revealing to all the teachers that we'd done it right under their noses (pun intended), when they all gasped with surprise and tried to convince us that we'd had our nose pierced all along, which was not true. i took that story and wove it into gold. i put it on dating profiles, i used it in ice breakers, i told it to new friends and old friends. maybe it was nothing contributing to who i really, truly was, but to me, it was everything.

absolutely thrilled after i'd swapped the stud to a ring

i moved to los angeles 6 months after graduating college. i found the best job ever, packed up my life, and drove 6.5 hours to my new, studio apartment in hollywood (see: how to grow up for the full story).

having a nose ring as a 23 year old going into the office for a 9-6 felt weird. it felt weird when we'd go to professional work dinners and i'd dress up, wear a nice dress and heels, say hi to important people, while awkwardly fidgeting with my nose ring. but, a part of me couldn't imagine who i'd be without that little piece of jewelry. what parts of me i'd be letting go if i took it out, once and for all.

in high school, when it would get snagged on clothing, i'd run into the bathroom and twist it back in, choking back tears from how painful it was.

in college, it would fall out, but i'd immediately log onto etsy and overnight a new one to replace it, using tweezers and brute force to regain that little part of my personality that i couldn't, under any circumstances, lose.

i was fresh off the heels of a breakup with a guy i was obsessed with and i couldn't find a single quality about myself that i loved. because how could there be something lovable about me if this boy had just ended things? what was it about me that wasn't enough?

a few months ago when i was doing my makeup, my nose piercing got caught on my ring (which i haven't taken off in 5 years) and i accidentally yanked it out. one of the hinges got warped and it was past the point of fixing, especially because i was already late for work. for the rest of the day, i remarked how weird it felt not having a nose ring. my coworker craned his head to look at my naked nose and he said "you had a nose ring?"

on facetime with mitchell the same night, he said the same thing. "no matter how many times you bring up having a nose ring, i just can't imagine you with one. i'm starting to think you're gaslighting me."

what did this mean about me, if the people i saw the most for the past few years didn't even realize i had a nose ring?

mourning

also, before we get into the whole point of this post, i need to tell you all how freeing it is to not have a nose ring.

i can wash my face without it getting caught on anything. i can do my makeup normally. i'm not fidgeting with my nose anymore and telling people "no, i'm not picking my nose, my piercing is just being weird."

the only drawback is i can't remember my goddamn rights and lefts. my nose ring was my anchor. i could see it twinkling in the periphery of my left vision, so i knew i was going the correct way. now? all hope is lost. good luck to the other drivers in the road.

and before you tell me to do the two "Ls" thing, it won't work. i forget what an L looks like as soon as i put up my two hands.

i like to say i got my nose pierced for that reason, so i could remember my right and left, but we all know by now that that's just not true.

i did it because, at the core of everything, i hated the way i looked and i wanted something to love when i looked in the mirror.

now that it's gone, i really understand the part of me that needed it so badly.

and i want to tell her a few things.

that she's more than her nose ring. and the story that came with it. she's everything before, during, and after.

that she's going to love herself without a silly piece of jewelry that anchored her self worth.

and that i love her.

nice sappy ending, right?

love always,

maya (writeslotsofstuff)