The receptionist had wild, uncombed hair, thick eyebrows, and a contagious smile that revealed nearly all her teeth at once. I’ll never forget how warm and welcome she made me feel.

Coiled calmly around her neck and shoulders like an elaborate necklace was a snake—an actual, living snake—a gorgeous yellow Burmese python. I love snakes, having been born in the Year of the Snake. The python shifted a golden eye toward me, serenely acknowledging my presence.

She wore slouchy, traditional Thai-style fisherman pants in the brightest, fiery orange, paired with a tiny black tube top stretched snugly over her petite frame. Her arms were adorned with bold, swirling bands of black ink, and glittery gold bangles were stacked high on her tattooed forearms. She was, without a doubt, the coolest person I had ever seen.

The shop was called “Pumpkin Studio”—the first tattoo shop I had ever stepped foot in.

Unfortunately, my appearance at the time didn’t exactly match the dazzling aesthetic of the shop or its striking receptionist. I stood awkwardly at the counter, my box-dyed brown bangs glued to my forehead with sweat. Beads of perspiration gathered on my upper lip as I scrambled to think of something to say.

After 30 days of backpacking through Thailand, the relentless humidity and spicy food had left me perpetually pink, salty, and sticky.

The studio was decorated to the max in a quirky, Southeast Asian take on Halloween. Garlands of plastic bats and fake, bloody eyeballs swayed above me, while small fans struggled valiantly—and unsuccessfully—to create a cool breeze. The air was thick with incense and a unique scent I couldn’t place at first—a clean, slightly floral, medicinal aroma I would later come to know as green soap. That iconic combination of green soap and incense would forever become the smell of home for me, and this was the first time I’d experienced it.

The sporadic buzzing of tattoo machines rattled from the other room, blending with fast conversations in Thai, bursts of laughter, and the hum of TV static.

My Mom and I had stumbled upon this magical place by accident while navigating the famous Khao San Road during the last few days of our trip, gathering last-minute souvenirs before our flight home to Oregon. What a wild place it was! Khaosan Road had all the vibrancy and color that my small, gray, coastal hometown lacked—a highly stimulating tourist mecca where anything and everything could be ingested, experienced, or purchased at any time of day, all at once. It was pure chaos. It was my Disneyland.

I was 16 years old, and the moment I walked into the shop, it was as if I had metaphorically jumped out of an airplane. I was completely captivated—enchanted, even—by the sounds, the smells, and the sheer energy of the environment. I was definitely getting my first tattoo. The first of many, many tattoos, I had decided.

“How can I help you?” the receptionist asked with a thick Thai accent, her big smile urging me forward.