I have stood countless times in the medical office or laboratory of a hospital, nervous and internally quivering about the opportunity torch that has been passed to me.

As a pre-medical student, job shadowing, research, and volunteer work is a make or break on your professional school application.

Ever since high school, and my decision to pursue medicine as a profession, my teachers and fellow mentors have encouraged me and told me that with my intelligence, leadership, and enthusiasm for the field of medicine that I will fall naturally in line. But as I've grown older, I have felt the eyes come down on me like a steel gavel and I know exactly why sometimes my peers are allowed up front and I stand behind trying to glimpse over shoulders.

My tattoos do not define me.

I know you see them when I wear my calf length skirt and yet you do not know that there are more under my blazer's right sleeve.

I know you see them when I wear my short sleeve blouse and yet you do not know there are more under my trouser's left pant leg.

I know you see my minimal nose stud tuck in deep to blend in with my skin but you do not know what lies under my jacket and socks.

Self expression is mighty in the era of millennials. Self expression is mighty in the era of Generation X and the Baby Boomers. So why do I matter if we are all trying to be stand out individuals? Why does it matter that the black stain permanently embedded in my skin in remembrance of my childhood dog is showing? It is a memorial.

Why does it matter when the raven and flowers peek from under my shirt and sprawl down my arm?

I am a walking work of art and this does not define my ability to detect heart murmurs or provide patient care to a level that most 19 year olds cannot give. It does not define my ability to give back to the poor and homeless. It does not define my ability to do a Punnet Square or calculate recombinant values. It does not define my ability to become a great surgeon. If medical school is a true competition, why am I expected to fail because of the angler fish on my left calf?

It is an embarrassment to be asked to apply makeup onto my arms and legs or to be asked to put on a jacket for holiday parties or morning rounds. Not an embarrassment that I have tattoos but embarrassment for the other who has the nerve to ask me in front of my professionals and mentors. Ancient tribes in Africa and Central America, centuries back, used tattoos as a symbol of royalty and importance. So why am I a model of shame and rebellion or lack of intelligence and kindness?

We live in an ever changing world and global community. No longer is America the singular melting pot of the world. Our planet is a melting pot. So why do my tattoos define me if you and I are both human?