Erika

You said you feel hot. Elaborate on this feeling.
Yeah, so, it’s the first summer since I’m cancer-free. My hemoglobin was so low I had to do three blood transfusions. For the past two years, I was always feeling cold. But now I’m back to feeling normal weather, so I feel hot. And that’s good. Really good. Because now the weather feels appropriate.

If I were a child, how would you describe the feeling of hot?
Sticky, she laughed. You know, because you’re sweating, so you’re always sticky and everything sticks to you. You’re the child, so you always have your hands sticky with something, even if there’s no jam around.

Would you like to have kids?
While I was going through removing my uterus, my friend in Italy had a boy, and I’m included in their family album as aunty. I never really wanted to have kids, but… also, now I’m 37 and the chances are slim. One thing is leaving the door open—you may not use it, but there’s a door there, you could cross it and have kids. But also you can decide not to use it. In my case, if I open it, I most likely die. So I find it unfair that I don’t have the choice to be a mother biologically. And I don’t know if I want to have kids now. I need to process this.

Do you have a dream?
To have kids?
In general.
No, she paused. Yes, she laughed. Wait. I used to have dreams. Then, the past two years—completely black hole. All my energy was sucked into what we later discovered was a mass of ten centimeters in my uterus, which went undetected for eight years. ‘Just painful periods. It’s okay. Just take a Doliprane.’ So for years, everything was absorbed by that. And then I had to work on the fear of death. I’m not scared of it—it’s the only certain thing in life, and I find it consoling. But still, I had to work with that, because I had invasive surgery. And then I woke up, and cancer was gone. I had back my energy, my life. And I was like, okay… how do I live now? That’s still the feeling. So I’m cutting out certain people who were very toxic. I don’t speak with family because they were not there for me. All these years I was sick, I was told I should just lose weight. And I started dating—or, fucking is more accurate.

What’s the difference?
It’s twofold. First, before I was diagnosed, I got a promotion to the headquarters of my company in London. I was supposed to leave on the 6th of January. I had surgery on the 15th. So I decided to stay in France. I’ll still move to London—they just postponed it. I’m not dating because I’m leaving. France is my fourth country of living. The UK will be the fifth. So I know the deal—I can’t put more than friendship on the plate. So… we fuck. Also, I haven’t been intimate with anyone for eight years, because the symptoms of my cancer were constant bleeding. And when I say constant bleeding, I mean every day. Including hemorrhagic episodes. So it was impossible for me to even think about intimacy. Now I thought, okay—we removed the problem, let’s be intimate with someone. So I’m not dating those people. We just meet at each other’s places. And what’s interesting is, from one side I got what I wanted—a man who’s interested in my physical type. I was born in a little village near Venice, she sighed, where fat-phobia is a must. So I had people saying, You should go with this guy because he likes you—you don’t have a choice, not many people will find you attractive. And now I’m on this app where lots of people find me attractive, sexy. And one guy, he said something that stuck in my brain like a flash. He was on a bed, I was doing my stuff, and he just looked at me and said: Tu es toujours trop habillée. Like, you’re still wearing too much. And this pierced my brain so much.

Why?
Because no one ever told me anything like that. Literally no one. And I felt like, fuck, feels nice. But also, fuck, how sad my life was—to reach almost 40 and never feel like anybody thought you might be desirable. So we’re doing this until I leave, and that’s fine. It opened other doors of overthinking, but we’re working on that in therapy. Working on letting go. That’s also why I’m here—I need to let go.

To let go of what?
I’m constantly thinking about what other people think of me. My head is full of this friend who said really bad things about me. She unleashed everything. I probably frustrated her, but she was mean. And it doesn’t matter how many times my other friends told me it’s not like that—her opinion weighs more than ten thousand positive ones, you know? Doesn’t matter how many times people say, you look better naked. Am I making sense to you?

Yes. Do you have moments when you feel attractive?
I don’t. I never felt attractive.
Even when the man said ‘Tu es toujours trop habillée’?
Yeah. I don’t believe them. Like, are you sure? But it feels good though. I don’t know. It’s mixed.

What about love?
Once I’m in London, this kind of dating will not apply anymore. Because I realized—I need someone who’s there for me regardless. I love you regardless you snore, you know? I love you regardless you’re annoying. All those regardless. So when I move to London, I’ll date to love. Because I need it. My friends did great. Without them, I would have quit. At some point, they were even coming to my house to cook, because I was not eating. But always in the back of my mind, I felt like I was bothering them. Like, they have their own life. So I need someone I can count on. Someone who shares the life with me. A companion. With whom you share your life… regardless.

What do you believe in?
I believe that things should be fair. And good. I believe in kindness. We should be kind. It comes from my grandfather. He used to say, Kindness doesn’t cost a thing.

What is kindness?
Being soft to others. Smiling. Bringing flowers. Or when you see someone lost in the street and you tell them which way to go. Kindness is caring about others.

Doesn’t it cost time?
It doesn’t matter. Being kind is never a waste of time. And it feels good to be there for others. Not because you benefit… well yes, your soul benefits. Is it heavy sometimes? Yes. But it still feels good.

What is a soul?
Soul is everything we’ve learned. Mistakes, lessons, pain. What happens to it when we leave? I don’t know. Maybe it becomes a wave. Goes back to the ocean. Becomes a star, like Pumbaa and Timon were saying.

What’s the most important lesson life has taught you?
I really don’t want to say the first thing that came to mind—it’s very depressing. But it’s: you should walk alone.

Why is it depressing?
Because we’re never really alone. And we shouldn’t walk alone.

How do you feel about the word ‘regardless’ for your tattoo?
I feel good. Really, really good about it. I would never have thought of this word for a tattoo. You’re g-o-o-d. I was really anxious but you’re doing a good job—you put people at ease.
I was silent.
It was a compliment, she laughed. I don’t know if it passed through.

No worries. I just don’t take compliments personally.
What do you mean?
This is what I mean. You expressed how you feel about me. But it’s YOU who felt that. I could behave the same way with someone else, and it would leave a totally different impression. It’s YOUR perception of me—it has little to do with who I really am.
So you don’t believe in compliments?
It’s not that I don’t believe in them. They do boost my ego sometimes. But I’m more into eliminating it instead of boosting it.
So you’re trying not to rely on others’ approval.
Yeah. Also not on my own approval of myself.
I agree and disagree. Hmm. That’s good food for thought. See? Now I’m saying you gave me good food for thought. But this is how I feel—ha!!—I get what you’re doing there!

Shall we move on to the tattoo bed?
Yeah.
Great. Just give me a moment.
May I ask, where are you based?
Nowhere. Well, I guess wherever my dog is. And now she’s in Serbia. Please, go up.
Oh no, I’m gonna crash that.
What’s your weight?
120.
Let me check if there’s any info… nope, nothing.
Okay—we could hear the crack!
Only the middle is fragile. Start from the edge where the legs are, and crawl forward.

She climbed onto it, laughing. Oh well, if I’m not weird, it’s not me. My dignity is non-existent.

The bed did not collapse.