Hair and writing have more in common than people think, particularly as it concerns their difficulties.
I stand looking at my reflection with scissors in my hands. I stare at the reflection’s long hair, which is frayed, and damaged. After years of neglecting to care for it, the ends are uneven and snapped. I could cut it, but would the regrowth process be any different? If I don’t cut it my hair could grow incredibly thin. What if I start taking care of it now? There was an advertisement on tv that said it can restore your hair. Thinking about losing my years of progress causes me to hold my breath.
My thought process is similar to when I’m working on an assignment. The process of writing is tiring. I write and I write, make a few edits but in the end, I still believe it’s damaged beyond repair. Similar to when I’m contemplating chopping off the frayed hair, I sit there ready to highlight the whole essay and press delete. As much as it pains me to read my own work, I put so much time and effort into the monstrosity. Sometimes I may decide that I’m tired of stressing and press the submit button. The same way I get tired of stressing about my hair and will just walk out of the house. Sometimes I’ll write nonsense and put a couple fancy words hoping it’ll distract the teacher on how messy it is, the same way that I can let my hair grow tangled and hope the bright pastel bows will take the focus off the rat’s nest.
My hair was fried, and it didn’t fit me. It reminds me sometimes teachers will completely rewrite in their own style.
People may wonder, why don’t I just cut off the dead parts? I remember walking into the hair salon in hopes of finding help of cutting my hair professionally and finding a style that may fit me. I walked out in tears. Before that day, I tried to cut my own hair but chickened out. There were random strands of hair that were cut, and she asked, “Who did this to your hair?” I knew it looked bad, so I wanted to say, “I came here expecting your help without judgement,” But instead, I said “I don’t know.” Of course, not all hairdressers are like that, but the experience perfectly explains my anxiety of asking for help in my essays. I’m terrified of being told “What were you thinking?” Although hurtful, that experience is not the reason I walked out crying.
She showed me the final product and I developed a lump in my throat. I forced myself to smile and said, “I like it.” I called my mom in tears explaining how she ruined my hair. My hair was fried, and it didn’t fit me. It reminds me sometimes teachers will completely rewrite in their own style. You stand there feeling tears well up telling them you’re thankful, when in reality, what they wrote doesn’t convey what you wanted to write. Sometimes they’ll berate you, telling you to use more academic words or to use less complicated words. Accessorize your hair! Enjoy your natural beauty! All this excessive criticism when I only wanted help having beautiful healthy hair.
Yes, I understand the contrast in my desires. Do I want help, or do I want to do it alone? People may call me picky, but they can’t tell me they haven’t been through similar experiences. It would be much easier if I knew how to cut my own hair or edit my own work. Unfortunately, no matter what, I’m still standing in front of the mirror ready to chop it all off because it still looks like a shit show. Even now I’m rereading this essay wanting to completely restart. Again, the problem comes up of not wanting to lose my progress. There’s a certain validation that comes with writing a lot or having long hair. If I don’t observe too closely, I won’t start to endlessly point out all the imperfections.
I deeply desire to have long healthy hair.
I deeply desire to have long healthy hair. Many may become frustrated with me saying to just chop it off. Sure, that would rid of all the imperfections, but the regrowth process is exhausting. Do I really want to go through the awkward stages again? Would I even learn from my past mistakes? I really don’t want to go through the long process of years and years of growing it out. I don’t want to rewrite my essay from scratch, maybe I’m considered lazy.
Maybe I could just leave it be, like I always have. That’s what I thought, until it started to thin out and break off when I try to brush it. The essay continues, I write, and I write pretending the parts I don’t like aren’t there and will randomly disappear. I let it grow damaged and fragile. The essay may not even make sense anymore. I write and I write, I grow, and I grow. The broken parts aren’t there. It doesn’t matter, I only care if my hair is long. But again, I stare into the mirror with the thinned and stringy strands. Even if I edit it or trim the split ends, I won’t be able to look at it without feeling dejected. Reluctantly, I place my hair between the blades.
Image: A bundle of cut hair with scissors on a white background. Haircut, change concept by Marco Verch on Flickr
The Pine Needle 