Some days ago, I woke up with the abrupt urge to cut my hair and prove to myself that I was no longer attached to it.
Lesson of that day: I was still very much attached to my hair.
Instead of zen, I was irritated. Irritated at the hairdresser who was just following instructions; irritated at my boyfriend who paused a second too long before saying “it looks good!”; irritated at every woman on the street who swished her hair at me.
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But as with baseball fields, haircuts abide by the same universal rule of the jungle: If you build it, they will come.
Lay that foundation, make that cut , and eventually the non-attachment will come.
I’m slowly getting there. I’m getting less and less emotional about my hair. If I wake up looking like a korean male pop star, fine. Like a tita of manila, fine. When i think about losing it all, I’m fine. … But ask me again in a few weeks.
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Side note: it helps to know that the oncological beauty industry has answers for everything! In the event that zen escapes me when my hair starts falling out and I emotionally implode, I was reassured that with a prosthesis, it IS absolutely possible never to have to see myself without hair.