I hate my hair, and other metaphors

"I hate my hair!" I told M.

"...why?"

"It's a metaphor for my life," I said, tongue-in-cheek. "And, well, also I have split ends and need a trim."

The thing is: my hair totally is a metaphor for my life. Let me explain.

It's getting long and straggly; I am getting old and fraying at the edges. Whatever style it used to have, it has grown out of and I have no idea what the hell it's doing now except growing longer; I have no idea what I'm doing with my life but am stumbling forward without a plan all the same because, well, objects in motions tend to stay in motion. My hair is like an object in motion. Metaphorically!

The red from the dye has long faded and is now a dirty, diseased brown color with roots growing out on top. There are three options: 1) let it grow out bi-colored; 2) re-dye the entire thing a color that doesn't make my skin look ridiculously sallow; or 3) re-dye the entire thing black so the roots can grow out in peace and secret.

The issues with options 2 and 3, however, mostly revolve around cost. Dyeing is not generally a cheap venture; even with Asian stylists who don't charge an arm and leg like salons do, it's upward of $60+. (And that was my great St. Louis deal! I miss you, David from Hong Kong. He gave me custom color jobs.)

The metaphor here: the little luxuries in life have to be put on the back-burner when one is jobless and only dreaming of a steady income. Don't spend what you don't have; hell, don't spend what you have, at least not on things you can afford to live without. It's practical, logical, reasonable - and it's depressing, isn't it?

I don't love a lot about my body but my hair came closest to being my vanity. I joked around in high school of doing shampoo commercials when I grew up. I had strong, healthy, shiny, soft hair. I could scrub shampoo through it and make orgasmic noises with the best of them! My future back-up plan was set.

It's superficial (so superficial, I know) but I look at my hair these days and say, only half-joking, "I hate my hair." I wouldn't go so far to say it's painful, but it's certainly disappointing.

I suppose I really mean, I am dissatisfied with something I used to take vain pride in and am frustrated that it was pointless and that there doesn't seem to be any way for me to fix that at the moment.

Like I said: I have split ends and I need a trim.

this nebulous in-between place

• How Men Change


• One exam left to go! If only I were motivated to study...


• so terrified i could cry, and so pointlessly scared

i'll be everything you need

S is getting married. It seems like so long ago that I've seen him, that he's been an active, integral part of my life. I'm so happy for him. I'm fond, too, and nostalgic. I remember the way he used to be, and the way I used to be. It seems like so much has changed.

Sometimes it feels like the world is moving on and leaving me behind. Or sometimes it feels like the world is changing constantly and I'm swept up in it, breathless, not quite sure where I am (who I am) or what to do.

There are times I really wish I were older - not in terms of calendar years, necessarily, just wiser and more mature. I wish I knew better what I wanted and how to go after it. I wish confidence, assurance, certainty, responsibility, capability for myself. It's hard to be satisfied with who I am, because there is always room for improvement and for growth.

I feel painfully young sometimes. L is right: I still have a lot to experience, a lot to learn, a lot to discover out of life.

On a different note, I went shopping and found good deals on cute clothes. And this may make me a girl, but it makes me happy.

(a material girl) living in a material world

So I've recently realized that I'm one of Those Girls Female Main Characters Hate. You know how female main characters, heroines, are usually Different? How they're typically not popular (though not always a total outcast), and have all these atypical or underappreciated traits that make them just unique enough or different enough from the crowd to be special? So special that few people recognize just how special they are, until the Right Friend or Right Romantic Interest comes along?

These heroines: they're typically headstrong, or like sports, or just don't get femininity, or have suffered some sort of great loss, or just have some perspective on life that sets them apart. Maybe they love the planet; maybe they're horribly jaded; maybe they're just incredibly smart or thoughtful or profound in ways that makes the rest of the world seem shallow and superficial.

These girls are compared to the minor female characters, one type who's girly, superficial, somewhat frivolous. These characters are not necessarily stupid or bad people: they're just less deep, more shallow, usually caring and good-hearted, just not different enough from the rest of the world to be a main character type. These minor characters are girly girls who like pink and dressing up and make-up; they're the characters who care about fashion and fix up the main character; they're the characters who can walk in heels while the main character can only look on enviously. They're the characters who are somewhat flaky, who don't have a passionate world cause (crusading for human rights or the environment, for instance), who like sappy romantic comedies, not cult films or off-the-beat comedy or bloodbath action.

These are girls who are smart but not going anywhere with it. These are girls who just don't stand out. These are girls who are like so many other girls in the world.

And it's weird to realize that I'm one of these girls.

I think every girl always imagines she's the star of her life; if someone wrote a story, she'd be the main character: the special one, the different one, the one who matters and is somehow different from everyone else.

Sometimes, it's really just not that way. It's true that we're all different from everyone else, that we all have admirable qualities. Being mainstream and conformist and "just like everyone else" doesn't negate the sincerity of your emotions or lessen the importance of your beliefs. It just means...well, it means you're not a main character. You're not that special. You're pretty ordinary, pretty average.

That...I tell myself that doesn't have to be a bad thing. It's not. You are better able to relate to others when you have similar experiences. But it's still unsettling, uncomfortable, to come to terms with.

You're not that smart. You're not driven. You're not that profound. You're not that anything.

You love and you care and you worry and you try, just like everyone else. But you're a little ditzy, not as up-to-date on politics as you might like; you're a little shallow, because you like heels and skirts and the color pink; you're a little girly, because you cry at Disney movies and want to have someone to hold you and love you and grow old with you. You're not that independent, or that amazing, or that unique.

But, you think, you're still pretty special - because of all the people who know you and love, despite you not being that Unique and Different Heroine; and because of all the people you know and love in return.

No one is forgettable or replaceable, because of the relationships they've built around them.

So maybe I'm okay with being a material, typical, minor-character kind of girl.

It could be worse.

I could be the Unique Main Character with no friends.

好可笑啊

为什么喜欢上了你?

reconstructing this dream of identity

i'm not the type of girl who goes out and parties for fun. i'm not social enough. i'm not comfortable enough in my own skin. i'm not the type of girl who's the center of attention, who's aggressive or assertive, or the one who leads while everyone else follows.

i'm not the type of girl who turns heads, whether by looks or by wit. i don't like confrontations and i don't like to speak up just to draw attention to myself. i'm not the type of girl who has her pick of the boys, or even the type that has adults eating out of her hand by virtue of her capable efficiency. i'm not a good public speaker who can easily put anyone at ease. i'm not loud or reckless or daring.

i'm not the type of girl who likes to take risks or challenge the status quo. i'm not fierce or passionate or the type to leave that kind of lasting impression. i don't have a unique perspective on life, serene and at peace with being different from the world, knowing i am myself and that is enough.

i strive to fit in, to find a place to belong, to carve my niche and grow comfortable there. i just want to be able to smile and laugh and be happy enough. i don't need euphoria. i take what i can get. i don't demand more of the world. i just want to get by, to be secure, to do the best i can and provide the best i can for my parents and my children and my future. i am quiet and i prefer to stay in the background. i like to have friends and i like to be liked, but i am soft and easily persuaded. i am embarrassed and shamed, sometimes, but who i am and what i like, and shy away from making stances or speaking out. but i try to like who i am, and i try to be someone at least i can be happy with.

i'm not made to be a main character type of girl. maybe most people aren't. i think i'm okay with this.

i just need to stop dreaming about a prince charming if i'm not a cinderella.

the world is not colored for a romantic

Okay. I don't want to talk about anything. I read a stupidly long romance (no, not the Harlequin-esque) that was good and that also wrecked me, because now I'm sitting around pining for my One Great Romance and life doesn't work like that. I know that. Stupid romantic in me, would you just cease and desist already? Pragmatic cynic, o where art thou?

Instead of dwelling on how uselessly girly I feel, and how wistful I am about wanting to find that Soul Mate who will make my Happily Ever After (and I don't believe in happily-ever-afters, damn it) possible, I will instead go do something else.

I'm kind of terrified I'll screw up any meaningful relationship in my life because I'll expect the dramatic fireworks and epic romance sold to me by the media (and fanfiction, shit) and, well, life really doesn't work like that.

Still, if I had a choice, I would like a Zack Fair, please. (Edit: one who doesn't die.)