My shirt has a hole in it, but I don’t mind. I can see this hole so clearly, the light in my room shining like a star from above. Only one thing could cause this. I look up, the silhouette of a dark moth visible in front of the brightness. I am in awe. It is beautiful, and time stands still. I can see the moth and the moth can see me, and we are both looking towards the light with ambition and peace and unrest, excited and ready to stay still and bask in the glory of being alone with each other. My eyes start to burn from the light, the bug so astonishing that I cannot stand to avoid its steady, fluttering wings, nor its colors and shadows. I can see the world the way one with real eyes can see it. And I begin to understand something. I look away, and it is quiet.

Years pass, and I decided that I am getting a tattoo. This decision has been followed with many reactions— excitement, fear, and even disgust— but nothing will change my decision. When I was younger, my mom always pointed out and ridiculed them as a way to scare me into not getting one. Even though this was the case, I have always wanted to get a tattoo. I want to get a small tattoo of a moth on my arm. I have always loved moths, and ever since I saved one from drowning in water when I was a kid, I have allowed them to represent me and my future. They look towards the light and are focused on what they want. They are bugs, a hated species that gave me a job— to love the unloved.

Back in my room, in a world where passion is seen as destructive and togetherness is lonely, I stand alone with a bug. Something seen as a pest. No one wants to be alongside bugs, they fail to see their helpfulness and see them as creatures of horror. But I can see past this artificial definition of a bug. I can see past the hateful stereotypes of a simplicity that we all encounter. Such hypocrisy with humanity, is there not? We do not want to define people with labels, yet labels are important and can be helpful. We do not want to judge people, yet prejudice exists. We cannot wear clothes with holes in them, we cannot chew with our mouth open, and we cannot forget to wash our hair, but we can hate. We can hate bugs and passion and labels and other people. And we use this hate to bond. How disgusting! The true pest of life, the hate we all encounter, the hate we all feed into, rules as all. We want to squash pests, yet we feed hate so we can use it to our advantage. The truest form of dehumanization is hate. 

I am not getting a tattoo of a bug because people hate bugs. I am getting a tattoo of a bug because I love them, and because a moth represents what I am and what I want to be. I want to go towards the light, I want to focus on my dreams, and I want to be myself. A moth represents these needs, and even if my needs change one day, and my current story morphs into a new narrative, a moth will always represent me at this point in my life. I will always be able to look back at my arm and not only be motivated to move forward in this part of my life, but be reminded of the strength I had at that point and will continue to have in the future.

So what if my shirt has a hole in it? I can sew it, I can leave it, I can let it be. I have so many options outside of being angry, and a simple hole gives me so many chances to see the light. The light that a moth can see and be attracted to and adore. The light that we are all attracted to, but often give up on trying to reach. This light can guide us to reality, can lead us out of conformity, and can aid our personal journeys through life. The light that is hope . The light that is love and compassion. We can make it out of the hateful ways of life, we can escape to our individualized worlds of love.