[IMPORTANT: Make this 4 times longer with much more detail]
Photos courtesy of Lyra Hale By lyrahale March 05, 2025 – 09:00 “If you get married to a woman, I’m not coming to your wedding.” Those were the first words my mother told me when I came out to her. As a Puerto Rican , I knew there was a chance that my mother would react like this if there was a drop of queerness in me. Growing up in a Pentecostal household where I was taught very young that my end game was to get married to a man and raise his children. But a part of me still hoped that my mother, the person who gave birth to me and raised me, would accept me. What followed was years of hiding who I was and catching stray side eyes and barbs from my mother about queer people and me not being married yet. Because if my mother didn’t accept me, who would? When I left home, I still hid. I thought that moving to New York City would help me liberate myself and connect to my queerness. It didn’t. I heard my mother’s voice on the daily during my waking moments and she bled into my nightmares. Time eventually did make her voice disappear. But her shadow remained lurking in my subconscious. Nevertheless, once I was in a new city, I started watching more queer movies and TV shows. I read queer romances and fantasies where Prince Charming saved the day, but he ended up falling for his guard while Snow White ran off to rule her kingdom. And I attended my first real Pride Parade. But I avoided anything that would instantly let others know that I was queer. No T-shirts with the rainbow flag on it and that Pride fan I used during Pride was instantly put away when I got home. That’s where Krystel Ivannie comes in. Stay connected! Subscribe now and get the latest on culture, empowerment, and more. SIGN ME UP! This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and Google Privacy Policy and the Terms of Service . Thank You! You are already subscribed to our newsletter Ivannie is a Boricua tattoo artist with over 58.k followers on Instagram whose work is about honoring Puerto Rican heritage. Her tattoos range from obvious designs like the Puerto Rican flag or icons like Roberto Clemente to modern takes on Taino culture. Out of all her work, one tattoo in particular caught my eye. It was a reimagining of Gustav Klimt’s iconic painting The Kiss . Using oil and gold leaf the original painting showed a man cradling a woman’s face as she kneeled in front of him. It’s one of my favorite paintings because of how intimate it looks but also the elaborate and organic look of the clothes and landscape. And here was Ivannie with a Puerto Rican version of it. Instead of wearing a floral robe or a checkered one, the tattoo was in the style of the jibaro. These were the farm workers and country folk in Puerto Rico. And to this day they represent a lot of what Puerto Rican identity or culture is grounded in. In Ivannie’s reimagining he was wearing a pava, it’s a traditional hat worn by farmworkers and it’s made out of straw. The woman, the jibara, is also seen holding a machete with a Flor de Maga, the official national flower of Puerto Rico, in her hair. And when I heard that Ivannie was coming to Puerto Rico for a residency, I jumped on the opportunity. I felt like I needed this piece on my body to join the growing collection of tattoos that represent my journey in life. But I wanted it with a twist. I wanted it to be two jibaras. And even though I was afraid, I trusted my gut and I took a leap of faith and I asked. The first time I saw the design that Ivannie made, I cried. I was in Viejo San Juan, Puerto Rico, soaking up the sun while also thinking about how much the island had changed since Hurricane Maria and the uptick of tourism. And then I got this beautiful sketch where two jibaras were sharing a tender moment. One of them was cradling the other’s face and giving her a soft kiss. Both of them had a blush on their cheeks and small smiles on their lips. Even their body language, it wasn’t two friends in an embrace. It was two lovers either greeting each other after a long day or saying see you later as one went off to work in the fields. And for me, I had never seen something queer when it came to my Puerto Rican identity. I also never imagined that it could feel like I was seeing what I had always wanted, what was missing. I sat in Ivannie’s chair for more than 10 hours. Throughout the process I didn’t think about the significance of the tattoo because of the pain. And even after it was done and we took photos and video, I was still a little bit disconnected from the experience. Again, because of the pain. It wasn’t until I was alone and in front of a mirror that it hit me. That thing that my mother told me I could never have, I don’t need her to validate it for me. It is me. It’s always been me. No matter what the media or society tries to tell you, queer people have always been here. And in my heart, I believed that once upon a time there were two jibaras like the ones in my tattoo who fell in love and lived their lives together. Right now, I’m a couple weeks into my healing for my Las Jibaritas tattoo. Everyday I get surprised by how big it is. But most importantly, I’m proud of past me who took a leap of faith and did the scary thing of getting something queer on my body. She did it for me and I know it’s not going to be easy. There will be days I’ll stumble and want to hide like my mother taught me. But then I will see this; a soft, delicate, and unapologetically queer Puerto Rican tattoo to remind myself of who I am and what I can have. 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