And here I am, bearing it all.
Hair is somehow a very sentimental thing to people, to us.
It always feel as though it is a monumental moment to make a drastic change in our hair styles. It’s more often than not spoke of in relation to being reborn, renew.
And here comes the third time I’m reborn.
Maybe it’s the shredding of a layer where we usually hide from; maybe it’s the act of getting go of something we are so accustomed to.
I’ve been eyeing this buzzcut, this change for a while now. It feels necessary, it feels as though the longer I postpone and push off changing, the more urgently I need change.
It’s like spending all your saving on a long trip around the world; it’s like putting all your eggs in the basket that making a life, move, career change is going to work. It’s a gamble, it’s a risk. But god does it feel good to have that leap. It doesn’t even have to be a rainbow at the end of it; or even a silver lining to whatever is beyond, but the leap itself feels good. It feels cleansing, rebirthing.
Perhaps it’s the ritualistic part of transformation; perhaps it’s the change in the weight you feel in the head and neck; perhaps it is just having no fuss, no disturbance from the breeze to the hair to the face; perhaps it is the adrenaline of making a drastic change, of wowing people. There is something very monumental, celebratory, and exhilarating about the simple move of cutting one’s hair.
I remember the first time I made this cut, from long to short, I hated it so much. It’s like my femininity is suddenly gone, that I can see my angular face, my pronounce jaws. All the imperfections that I didn’t even realise I thought I had were coming right at me, every time I looked into the mirror.
But it is like a practice.
And I did it again, and again.
The change is just as monumental.
In the Chinese language, hair is sometimes also referred to as the threads of worries. And in some way, this is also so accurate.
You know how in science fiction movies, it is often depicted that people in the future will all have buzz cuts, because seemingly, at one point of humanity, hair wouldn’t matter anymore.
But with a constantly growing and becoming fossil dead threads of cells, it somehow is so damn important, ridiculously important.
Look at the thousand of millions of dollars that goes into researching hair grown products every year.
Logically it makes no sense that little things that sticks out from our scalp should have any impact to our identity, but it does.
And is it because we have so thin self esteem? Is it because we like to hide and camouflage even from ourselves? And why is being angular in the facial features (in my case), perhaps having mono lids, having thin hair somehow make us feel inferior to others.
If we do understand our truth identity, from beyond the external realm, beyond the hair, the muscle tone, the pants we wear, the way we portrait ourselves to other people, why should dead little threads of proteins growing from our follicles matter to us at all?
And yet here I am, feeling vulnerable, naked, and feeling great.