December 13, 2011 § 4 Comments

To rid oneself of one’s head hair is an oddly liberating act; its significance overlooked until experienced. All concern for appearance is removed with its removal, especially when done so in a land wherein women’s beauty is defined by long, luscious hair.

In this settled town, the familiar is often taken for granted resulting in many misunderstandings when asked politely if my going bald would be a possibility. With time, much convincing and a zero blade razor, I was free to feel the weather and world on my head. The following days, shock hit people first. I managed to unabashedly drop jaws, reduce words to silences and provide instant amusement to children who openly pointed and laughed. Not knowing who I was, these reactions seemed more to be directed at the reality that there was a bald girl in these hills. This in itself proved to be far more interesting and engaging an experience, as opposed to going bald in a city of familiar faces.

Now, a month later, everyone seems to have recovered from these various bout and my odd appearance has been normalised. The only reminder that remains is that of a little girl who cannot go a day without asking to feel my head.


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