The Day we Raged Against the Machine 

Words by:  Sasha Ofole 
Art by:  Natasha Aldred

We’ve never quite said the words it’s not a phase mum, but defiance comes in many forms of teenage rebellion, especially when it’s as simple as show don’t tell.

Sometimes, it’s a prominent piece of jewellery that alters the way your face reads and makes boomers clutch their pearls and parents scoff at its bovine nature. In those moments, the words come out a different way.

I’m 16, and a blue COVID-19 mask covers my face. In Melbourne just off Swanston St, I take a left onto Collins Street and the bright yellow logo of Off Ya Tree catches my eye. In a split-second decision, I decide that it is time. I no longer need a parental signature to pierce holes in my skin in the name of defiance and the world becomes mine for the taking.

They tell me as I walk through the door and down the purple, carpet-clad stairs that regulations have lifted. I can lower my mask without the fear of the prosecution that plagued the year 2020. The forms have been signed, the jewellery chosen and the money paid. There’s no turning back now. I lie there, trapped on the operating table under the fluorescent light of an alternative coup d’état. And, as the needle inevitably pierces my skin, I experience some of the worst pain of my life. 

Yet, when I walk up the purple stairs and emerge from the depths, I am cool now. 

We aren’t supposed to have facial piercings in high school, but I have one anyway. 

We aren’t supposed to have facial piercings at work, but I have one anyway. 

I’ve defied.

My mum loves it. My mum is cool; she supports the art of societal defiance. 

My dad, however, has a different opinion. He isn’t privy to a glimpse of my new look until days later. He sees my face, it’s familiar, but something’s…different. His eyes widen as he takes it in and realises his 16-year-old daughter will never be the same again. 

He says to me, horrified, “Why have you turned into a bull cow?”

Coupled with the knowledge of my taste in metal music, which he classifies as unlistenable screaming garbage, I’ve officially crossed over to the dark side. 

All of this to say, I hadn’t even gotten my first tattoo yet. Now, with six to my name, I am still screaming my defiance to this day.