(What to do? What to do? my fingers tapping relentless on practically anything)
I
First, I thank my mother’s genes for not giving me all those grey hairs. Even my
dearly beloved Lola was in her 90s and had reasonable amount of greys. So I just saying, I’m a grateful Romero Arcinas and I’m not complaining.
Second, I am completely sold to the idea of growing old, in
a literal sense. I do not mind wrinkled skins,
sagging breasts, gaining weight (but a
bit scared of losing my hair tho). Any
dispute with nature is futile so I’d rather not get into that. In my twilight years, I hope to be healthy, clean and “fresh” with
age, busy growing my hobbies and
enjoying every single moment doing them, and will write and blog as much as I can.
And why not, get my hands dirty with my grandchildren (though this is
still far in my head at this time). And certainly, still be socially relevant,
family and country. Bottomline, I think it’s lovely to still be a rockstar at 70. ;-) #Audrey Hepburn #Brigitte Bardot
Having said that, when you’re 46 the sight of slowly fading locks
is not a welcome idea as yet. I get a few every now and then so I dye my hair blue black twice a year, max. In as a much as I want to be a brunette, oh
mayne, it just doesn’t work for me.
So one morning, before my usual dose of coffee, in the
ladies room, at the office, I was quietly working on my face, there they were
again, some strands of baby hairs (
Thank God I still grow ‘em alright, like there is still hope basking like sunshine
lol) and and and oh my, whitey –ish strands
sprouting like wild weeds just like what may be 10 days after my last hair dye?! These things they always have that funny way
of sneakin right there on the left side of
my hairline just above my forehead!
But then, it was a little different that morning. I was running my fingers through those greys,
and I felt that, those tiny pieces of silver, I like ‘em. Not that they look attractive but somehow at
the core of my thoughts, I realized, it
somehow, for some reason, beneath them,
I found more character in my face (or with much depth, (within), in me). Moments like that, they come into your consciousness,
like a flash, swiftly, very fast, yet very lingering. You reflect on it more with profoundness, it
becomes haunting. I am getting older by
the day, and I’ve got a growing body of
knowledge from experiences, relationships, moments, sounds crazy but that was what I saw that
morning , before my usual dose of coffee, in the ladies room, at the office,
while quietly working on my face. My
crowning glory, my journey, in silver linings.
So I let them be, left alone, to journey with me.
II
Last Wednesday, I cut ‘em short. The shortest I had for the last 10 years or
so that I’ve worn my hair long. It was a
stressful day at the office, and suddenly I was picking on my tresses, thin,
shapeless and all weighed down. They
say, and I agree, jusz too much hairs makes you
look older, juts like what heavy makeup does to you. There was a stomp on my chest seeing my hairstylist
collecting all my fallen tresses from the floor, my mind’s all made up. It’s just about time.
It weighs yuou down, you let it go.
Today, I’m sportin’
em in between my ear lobes and just above my neckline. I know the challenge with short medium
haircuts --- the flyaways. It’s hard to
tame ‘em, or you just can’t tame ‘em at all.
I tried though. In general, I always do, try first before sayin’ “ok, ‘nuff
done!”
The next day I got me
some keratin leave-ons and a rubber roller brush. Good judgment will tell you when to say, “OK,
‘nuff done! Next, please.” , not to mention the amount of patience I’ve
got is not really that much. So …
I need a second paradigm shift.
I decided to cut it short so I’ve got to live with that
decision for awhile.
I’ve got messy buns before like I’ve got untamed flyaways
now. I’ve got to love ‘em anyways.
And without any qualms.
I really do.
It is well with my soul.
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