Bowing my head down as if someone might find out what I had done, I munched heavily on my cheeseburger, making sure that I do not remove my gaze on the unfortunate bun in case I accidentally catch eye contact with anyone I know who happen to drop by the fastfood. Imagination still eludes me as to what these people’s reactions will be when they find out what I had done. Guilt aside, I think above all persons in the Multiverse, the person who I owe an explanation to is myself.
Great tales from the past speak of people going beyond the conceivable and doing what we might have thought impossible. Moses, obeying the command of God and wielding His power, crossed the Red Sea by splitting it in half, racing against the tyrannical chariots of oppression and making way for the desolate people of Israel to continue their pilgrimage to the Promised Land. In Greek mythology, the ingenious Deidarus thought of a brilliant escape from the tower where he and his son were imprisoned. Gathering the feathers of birds who unwittingly pass by their window, he painstakingly designed wings to allow them to fly their way to freedom. Deidarus succeeded of course, and the sad thing about his son is, well, another story. It seems therefore that change, or the desire to change is the driving force towards great deeds. Advancements in technology illustrate this clearly...
Whatever.
All I’m trying to say is that it is perfectly reasonable, in whatever universe, for me to step into a salon and have my hair rebonded. Let’s be clear at that—my BIG, CURLY hair rebonded. That means that the days when I jump into a swimming pool and someone shouts “hey where’s the seasoning?” are over. My hair no longer cries for underwear, and like certain furniture, no longer wastes space. The name-calling days are not done with, though. Before, my board mate always points out that I look like Whitney Houston. Now, I tell him I look like Arnel Pineda.
This doesn't mean that I despise my big, curly hair. I have always liked hair with an attitude. My big, curly hair has one. In fact, it irks guards at the university and somehow convinces them that my hair is a threat to Philippine national safety and security. People hate it when I sit in front of the class because my big hair blocks their view of the blackboard (which is by the way, a great motivation to sit in front.) I definitely will miss the feeling of doubting whether I would fit inside a room, or the inexplicable feeling of acquaintances asking whether my hair is real or not and strangers throwing me a quizzical look wondering…guess what: whether my hair is real or not.
But it suffices to say that I have to experience things totally alien to me while I can. To tell you the truth, it was my first time to go to a salon and avail of their services. Before, I only accompany my aunts who wanted to get their hair done. So when they started using their salon’s weapons and artillery on my hair, putting what looked like alligator clips that made me wonder if I’m going to be the anode of a human electrochemical cell, I said to myself, so this is how it is. This is what it feels like. The years of reading books, a bachelor’s degree and a working knowledge of 3000 years of human thought haven’t prepared me for the pain of a piping-hot hair iron touching my scalp. Yet in a different kind of way, it felt good. Somehow, once in a while allowing yourself to detour from the usual, surprising yourself in the process, presents new revelations, new ways of looking at life. It might be as profound as a discovery of new capabilities or in my case, as shallow as shouting in English that the hair iron is frying my scalp.
As I continued my musings, oblivious to the cheeseburger now, I caught glimpse of a friend in the next table. She doesn’t seem to notice me. I raised my head and nothing happened. It occurred to me that I might have looked entirely different and probably beyond recognition. What then, is the point of hiding? Suddenly, Enrique Iglesias’ song played in my mind. The winds of change continue blowing/and everytime I try to stay/The winds of change continue blowing/And they just carry me away. In all pragmatism, if I want my curly hair, I could always grow it back. That is the beauty of a permanently encoded DNA pattern. Don’t worry old friend, this is only a see-you-later.
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