The Allegory of Cutting My Own Hair
I cut three inches off my hair today. Yes, on my own. For the first time. Ever.
I'm very sensitive to my hair's weight and to our country's unbearable weather. More than a decade ago when I found a miracle of a hairdresser who can remove the bulk of my hair without messing with the length, I was hooked.
I let down my hair, literally, not figuratively for the first time. It also didn't hurt that same hairdresser knows her way around curly hair. She is the first stylist who ever told me that my hair was beautiful the way it was and did not offer to change it at all.
She only asked about my work, my morning routine, how much time I dedicate to "styling" my hair. I think I was 24 years old then.
It took all of 24 years to have the salon experience everyone with straight hair have always had. They ask what you like done.
"Oh, styling? I shampoo, rinse, wrap my hair in a towel while eating breakfast, and run for a tricycle ride with it dripping wet. By the time the trike reaches the main road, it's dry and I can tie it up because it's all puffy and heavy."
And she answers, "Ah, you like it wash and go?"
"Yes, I do!"
That was the start of my vow to commit to not hating the hair that I grew up with. Having someone like her validate that it just needs the right cut and I can leave it alone: I had more confidence to be me.
She came from prestigious salons and even worked abroad. Head trainer of all the stylists in a very well-known, posh salon up in the north of Manila which is featured in magazine spreads.
The only reason I could afford her when I met her was because she was branching out on her own.
***
Two weeks ago, I sent her a message saying my hair's weight is driving me crazy. Is there something I can do on my own?
She told my to buy good thinning salon scissors and helped me remember how she twisted my hair into two sections - the crown and the nape, and then proceed to cut around the twisted hair upwards.
So I did. I was happy for a while.
A very short while.
It's so hot. I want it chin length so I asked her again. What do I do for length? And she properly demurred, "it's going to be more difficult to do length on your own." Very sensible. So I told myself I was fine.
Then I started having dreams at night of going to the salon and just having the length off because it's always tied up anyway. Of course, that ponytail was heavy.
Ok, pros and cons, professionally cut short hair or death by pandemic? I was very unsettled. Surely, there must be some other way.
So, I woke up at 4 am today after having one of those salon dreams. Googled "how to cut wavy hair short at home" and proceeded to watch a very non-fuss, non-tutorial way of going about it. The pretty lady on the video with very, very curly hair was simply following the pattern of her hair by sections and cutting it dry.
She specifically said, "this isn't a tutorial because I know everyone will have my head at the comment section and tell me that this isn't the right way to cut curly hair but a lot of people ask how I do it and I'm due for a trim."
So I took the same thinning shears, looked at the hanging mirror, and started dry-cutting my hair by sections.
It's liberating. Only because I made this decision without asking anyone. I also know the possibility that it will turn out horrible but now that I will probably quarantine myself until there's a vaccine for covid-19 - no one is going to see that possible outcome up close.
And with this heat, I'll probably tie it up anyway, but with a lighter ponytail.
It dawned on me that I have to ration my decision-making energy accordingly. I cannot weigh the pros and cons of a haircut (in the middle of a global health crisis and a local slow death of democracy along with governing sanity) the same energy I would weigh the pros and cons of resigning from a job I've held for almost two years.
I used to. But now I realize I don't have to.
Also because I took the proverbial pair of scissors into my own hands. I have my own reasons for doing it even if I come out looking like a lost sheared sheep.
My hands. My decision. My work.
While cutting off inches carefully, section by section, I also reflected that this "owning my decision thing" can start spilling over to low stakes matters including but not limited to the clothes I wear, the shoes that make me comfortable, the size of glass frames I push up my nose, the amount of time I sleep, the movies I watch, the books I read, and the routine with which I go about my day.
Because, if I cannot own low stakes decisions without worrying myself sick (about how the people whose opinions I care about will view them) how can I go on confidently making the higher stakes ones without putting my own needs first?
Like the career paths, I will take, possible far-flung places I might move to, new people I decide to let into my life, stand on national issues, perspective on ethical dilemmas, values I adhere to, principles I live by, the moral compass I follow for my life.
I don't need to shout them out loud on some high horse. I only need to be content enough to make them and share about them when respectfully asked.
I believe the more I do this, the more respectful I can be of other people's decisions too without sticking my nose into them out of habit.
If I own and revel in my choices, I can give others to freedom to own theirs as well.
***
I don't know how the haircut looks like in real life yet. Meaning after it's been washed and dried. I don't even care (ok, fine, I care a little) because my head, and my heart has not been this light in years.
