When I was 16, I visited LA for the first time. I was supposed to be enrolled in a summer program at UCLA studying chemistry of all things, but I think I went to class three times max. This explains my middling performance in AP chemistry, which I took when I returned to school that fall. I think my mind exploded at the concept of mole and never recovered from then.

That summer was an expansive one in many respects. My best friend was a rebellious girl from Miami named Julie. She has a tough girl vibe but came from a prominent and wealthy family. She was stunningly beautiful with short, spiky, dyed black hair and soulful light-light blue eyes. Her normal attire included striped button-down shirts, chokers, and long shorts with a chain hanging off on one side. There was the remnant of a gunshot scar on one of her upper arms. I’m not sure I ever got the full story on that. She was way too cool to be in my program.

I was from boarding school and came from a strict Korean family. I was desperate to not live by those constraints – I wanted to be free. I wore candy necklaces that I’d periodically nibble on. Sometimes a silver choker that looked sort of like a DNA helix. I had a nose ring and two ears full of piercings to the top. My hair was sometimes big and poofy and other times up in a braided princess Leia type construction.

We immediately gravitated towards each other. We spent our days skipping classes and getting into trouble. We took photos on real camera rolls and waited to develop the film. We wandered the hot streets laughing like crazy and ordered endless smoothies (or at least I did). Sometimes we would go visit her girlfriend (yes, in the lesbian sense) who was a lead character on a popular network TV show. She lived in an upscale, minimalist–lonely–apartment. We would watch her reel and hang out with unstable midriff-showing models with an Avril Lavigne type of vibe.

I was wilder and freer then – not in the slightest bit serious like the way I’ve become as an adult. I broke rules, pushed the boundaries, and had no hesitation about approaching people and accosting them. I had several boyfriends that summer who were attending UCLA. There was Ricky, who was tall, black, and took me to raves and college parties. We would make out in closets and telephone booths. There was also someone else whose name I don’t remember…he worked security at my building. Looking back, this was really incredibly shady on the part of these guys ha.

One day, I was an Venice Beach with a crew and decided to get a tattoo. Venice was rougher and grittier in those days. I don’t remember the fancy shops that exist today. The beach was lined with performers, skaters, and a mix of LA types.

I walked from tattoo parlor to tattoo parlor. “Do you have an ID?” The thing is that I think I did have an ID, but no one was buying the Maryland ID plastered with holograms of keys.

After some searching, I walked down an alley and into a musty and dark room/shop. I walked in there with a bunch of fascinated girls. I realized that there was something I got from shock value and pushing the envelope in all that I did.

It was only there that I was able to find someone who was willing to permanently dye my skin without ID requirements. It was an old Chinese lady. I was suspicious as she stuck me with the rumbling of needles, but I went with it for the experience.

For the longest time after that day, I was convinced that I had somehow likely contracted HIV or some horrible disease. I put off taking an HIV test for many years because of this conviction.

“What do you want a tattoo of?” asked the old Chinese lady.

“A butterfly.”

We sketched out a few options and colors, and I decided to go with one in profile and in flight. Green and in flight.

As cheesy and cliche as it would come to be, for me there was a deep significance in the theme of metamorphosis. It fascinated me that a caterpillar could become a butterfly, and I always sought that sense of transformation and identity. I was always looking to shed my skin and fly.