Sunday, July 15, 2007

Sunday Scribblings #11 - Hair (unconditional love)

Hair and unconditional love. How could they possibly be related?

I offer you some examples.

1. One day, not so long ago, I was testing edges
I was going through a rebellious 'in your face' phase
Well, not a phase really.
Describing it as a phase doesn't honour the importance of that time.
It was more like a plea to be noticed.
To be recognized.
Most of all to be accepted, no holds barred.

On this particular day (I was 32, I think, and it was probably a Saturday), I was at my mom's place.
Understand, dear reader, that even at the best of times being with family can be implosive.
So that day, in the desparate and needy state I was in, I was more likely than ever to be set off.

I was helping in the kitchen.
Challenging my mom, I asked "what would you think if I dyed my hair blue?"

I so wanted to do this. I also wanted to shave my head and wear unusual clothing.

"Well", she said with a look of disapproval "I wouldn't be happy".

My mom, although not British, said those words with the sterness of a proper English lady.
I looked out the window expecting to see the Thames or Big Ben on the skyline.

My filter turned those words into "I don't accept you if you don't fit into a certain mould."

And then we had tea and scones and pretended nothing was wrong.
That was familiar.
The silent tears salted my tea.
I didn't like it that way.

2. Early one morning, after a run, I cut my hair off.

Big clumps of it.

I had this solid technique.
It involved grabbing a fistful and wedging the scissors between my hand and my scalp. Wherever the scissors landed was where I cut.
As the scissors crunched through chunks, I watched the bathroom sink turn brown. I was annoyed by the random bits that stuck to my sweaty skin.

It was an impulsive and franctically executed haircut. It was one of those self destructive urges that I had quite regularly back then. Anger was seething through me, and this felt like the right way to express it.

Paul was away at the time.
What I remember about his return home was that what I'd done didn't matter one bit.
There was no big reaction, no drama about the drastic makeover.

Just love.
Only love.


  1. Very interesting post... and good for Paul!

  2. He saw you as the person you are not that hair.

    Lucky you. Lucky him.

  3. I can so relate to your story about your Mom. I can see the connections between hair and unconditional love very well.