Have you ever been blue? Have you ever been kicked when you’re down? Have you ever felt inadequate? Have you ever felt like your greatest effort will never compare to what is expected of you? I have and it feels like hell.
It started out innocently enough. Just a haircut that’s been long overdue. I hate haircuts. They make me nervous and uneasy. Plus, they never turn out the way I want it to. I’ve been to several salons but they were all closed due to the national holiday. My mind was set on the fact that tomorrow, I had to go to UST to layout the paper. I finally decided to go to SM North to do my business. I figured, you guys are in the mall! How bad could it be?
We went to this gawd-awful place called Gwapong Ricky Reyes and at first, the haircut looked good until it started looking like my hair in high school. It was horrible and they made it stand on one end. I wanted to die. I wanted to crawl under my bed. I wanted to turn back time and make it my hair the way it was before. Dark, careless, wicked... it made me look dark and smart and creative. I am a writer.
They stuck me with this haircut that was so horrible, it could’ve been Satan’s. It’s long and short in all the wrong places! I just want to kill myself. All my fears came to life when Teppy, Carlo, and Francis could not express how they felt. They were fumbling, trying to come up with the right words. The first few minutes of my hair were greeted with gasps and bursts of laughter. I wanted to die. I seriously wanted to run back to the salon and shave my head.
When I got home, I told Jenny I was going to take a bath before layouting since she was using the laptop. I told her I was going to play with my new hair with the new hair wax I bought. I wanted to find my angle… my look. She told me not to because it would make me gay. If I didn’t style it, I’d look like a fucking dork but noooooo, I had to leave it be if I didn’t want to be a stinking homosexual. I was left with nothing. All I had was my hair. I felt like Samson. All my strength was out. I lay in bed in complete silence until Teppy came and I had to tell her about it. I was a bit upset with her laughing at first but at least she wasn’t mean like Jenny. She genuinely made me feel better. I told her everything. Everything I was ashamed to mention. Everything I thought of but could not say. How do you think I feel when people tell me I look so different from my sisters? How do you think I feel when people call me fat or ugly or when I’m likened to Allan K? How do you think I feel when people call me dark or pug-nosed? How do you think I feel knowing that I’ve got the worst of both parents. I’m dark and I’ve got a bulbous nose. All I had vying for me was my careless hair and now that it’s gone... I don’t know what to do anymore. I am weak. I am afraid. I am ashamed. I am suicidal.
It’s just hair but what is hair really? Just a bunch of stuff at the top of your head? It defines you. It makes you you. I don’t think this new hair expresses the kind of person I am inside and if I wanted to at least make my situation just a liiiitle bit better, I’d be gay for trying. Damn, this is complicated.
To make me feel better, Teppy showed me something from her sorority. One of her sisters said that I was cute. In a small way, I did feel better. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m not ugly. Maybe I’m still that awkward duckling. While I’m waiting for the transformation, I guess I’ll just have to content myself to wallowing and fight off these suicidal tendencies.