// she's only happy in the sun.
Aug 10

the post wherein i admit to not owning a brush. or comb for that matter.

my hair is so long that i only have 2 options – wear it out and succumb to the tangled mess. or tame in a side ponytail.

if i was coordinated, i’d braid it. but that takes patience and my hair is unruly and doesn’t even like to separate into 3 equal segments, let alone be persuaded to stay in a braid.

the truth is, i don’t own a brush. or comb. or any kind of straightening serum. or alas, any expensive product. so my hair gets a bit forgotten about. it’s there. doing its thing. falling out when i’m stressed. and generally, getting in the way. sometimes, i’ll swear there is a spider crawling along my arm, only to find a stray hair that is lingering around being annoying. at least 2 times a week, dev will pull a strand of my hair out of his mouth. i know that’s gross. but it’s true. that’s HOW invasive my hair is.

here’s my brief hair history from random photos i found on facebook:

me, age 3, holding a very large knife with wanton abandon. hair was already overtaking the world.

me and my brother in spain. i’m all for america and matching my red hair ribbons to my skirt accents.

me and my family posing with lit candles, as you do. i was around 8 and still rocking the super thick bangs. my dad’s chops have a force field all of their own.

this is me and my little sister, anisa in the 90’s. anisa had gotten a bit carried away with pink lipstick. i guess i was too busy having the thinnest, creepiest bangs in history, to notice.

there is nothing much more awkward than being posed by your mother amidst the foliage. (note how i’m still rocking the red/white/blue even though i’d never set foot in the USA at this point. it was always my destiny.)

i don’t have the photos from my highschool glory days but there were some really interesting experiments – like the one time i henna’d my hair into orange oblivion. and the time i cut it all off to 2 inches because i wanted to be winona ryder in reality bites.

in 2006 i went to auckland and had my friend nina take me to her stylist, james. he gave me one of my all-time favorite haircuts.

in june 2007, i had enough of most aspects of my life and chopped it all off. the hair i mean. i felt so much lighter and freer. (is freer a real word?)

last summer, i went to nyc and got myself some heavy duty bangs at a barber shop. the whole experience was terrifying. there was no hair washing, or consultation. there was just a barber with huge scissors that grabbed a chunk of my hair and chopped it off.

the annoying thing about bangs is that they grow out in 3 days and so i had to walk around with this nonsense going on until they were long enough to blend into the rest of my hair:

lately i’ve been having struggles with the part. i want a center part. my hair refuses. so i’m thinking of resorting to this:

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4 comments on “the post wherein i admit to not owning a brush. or comb for that matter.”

  1. Shereen Says:

    This entry was much enjoyed by me.

  2. chupatinja Says:

    A wonderful story about hair :) made me remember all the hairstyles i have had. Thank You, made me smile :)

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