“Oh my god, I love your ears!” is usually one of the top three statements that bursts from the mouths of people I newly encounter these days.

For the most part, I love it. As far as young Sadé, still very freshly uprooted from Montserratian soil, was concerned, this is what she would have one day: a row of piercings in each ear too numerous to count and continuously admired.

“How many are there?” is usually one of the questions that follow. Well, for your benefit dear reader, I presently have 25 piercings. But I’ve been pierced 35 times and stretched seven of those piercings. (I’ve also been tattooed eight times). If this were a job enquiring after my years of experience, on and off I’ve likely spent a collective third of my thirty-three years piercing and healing something.