TRACING THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF MY HAIR

People might think that long hair with women is like a common gender package, but that isn’t relevant to my case. Never had I grew long hair until very recently. For the past thirty years of my life, I felt that I didn’t “know” my hair at all. It’s only when my hair can’t help molesting my shoulder that I begin to “look into” my own hair. No, they are not my “own.” They are only growing out of my body, and then they are on their own. I never have any control over those hairs except cutting them off. Then they grow back. What a luxury! I know I’m lucky to say that. But my point isn’t about this. It’s about my hair. The longer they become, the more I feel like they are invading my surrounding. They are everywhere. Like my own shadow; Like a silent part of me and yet isn’t really me.

“How do women deal with this?”; “Why do women want to deal with this?” “Is having a long hair really worth the cleaning and everything?” Those questions popped out in my non-traditional mind from time to time.

Every morning when I jump into the shower, I see my some of my hair fell onto the shining white bath tub. The existence of my fallen black hairs is so obvious that I couldn’t take my eye away from them. I would start counting: one, two,…come on, where is number three? Oh yes, it’s coming, as it’s swimming through the warm water all the way from my body to my feet and then reach the surface of the bath tub, and yet, it doesn’t stop moving. It starts dancing instead. And I am like a voyeur who is stalking at my-but-not-mine-anymore hair. Maybe that’s why Hemingway is obsessed with hair, as it can trigger your sexual drive. But I’m not going that path now! Back to the story. So my hairs cuddle with one another before getting pushed into the sink by the pressure of water.

Just when I thought I have gotten rid of them, some others show up on the ground while I am drying my hair with a towel. They are like never-ending sky-divers. When I blow my hair, some got sticked on the wall behind me. Rock climbers! Impressive isn’t it? When I comb my hair, some fell down onto the face-wash sink. I’m like: “Really? How many of you wanna die?” But I like staring at them, as though hairs were actually fallen angels. Kind of attractive in their own ways.

Hope you enjoy reading my current odd relationship with my hair. Have a wonderful day! You and your hair.