When I was young, I had really curly hair. Looking back, it resembled the twister fries McDonald's occasionally sells, only dark and thin. The weird thing is, I don't know who I inherited it from, really. The weirder thing is, it didn't stay that way as I grew up.
Lately my relatives compare my hair to a Persian rug. As it gets longer, it gets more tangled, and it gets less manageable. Well, I never really brushed my hair that often, but when it gets really long, I feel compelled to put some gel on it and fix it up a bit, if only to keep it steady as I go through my classes. I don't have my own bottle of hair gel, so I end up using what's there, because, let's face it, I don't always have to do it, especially after a hair cut.
Today, however, was something for serendipity, or just plain coincidence. I usually use soft hold gel, but today I picked up the strong hold one. I did feel my hair growing beyond my comfort, so I decided to put more than I usually do. I applied it to my hair and realizes that, heck, I put on too much. I think it took so long for it to dry, and I have to thank the extra-strong airconditioning on the bus I was today - it was pointed straight to my head, and I didn't get a headache.
I was actually relieved that it dried up, but it felt unusual. It wasn't spiky - it never fit me - but it is solid. Strands of hair, clumped together by some mysterious substance, supposed to make me look good. When I was younger, I tried to acquire the habit of using hair gel, and gave up after five days, because it just never worked for me. Today, it did.
I went to school early for a supposed audition for thesis, although again, it never pushed through. Before everything fell out of place - and after - I was merely floating across the campus, and if I wasn't adjusting for my dissolved LEAP class, I was just hanging out at the editing bay, taking photos and taking care not to disturb classes. And my hair's nicely holding into place.
Then Misha - who decided against tying her hair today - comes in and comments about my hair.
The words escape me - something that's peculiar in this state of affairs - but she did comment on my hair. Apparently, she thinks it's a hew hairdo, although all it amounts to is extra shiny hair, brushed up to keep it neat. That's what I always do, actually, but the moment I reach school - even if the airconditioning's a blower rather than a cooler - it's soggy. I had to reiterate that it isn't really something new, but oh well, who am I to bother insisting? She actually thought it was a new hair cut, although my hair's still bursting from my scalp.
Sure, it does look different, but the funnier thing is, I might've interpreted it as something else. I can only remember she - and Nadia, later on, thanks to Misha still - pointing out the difference, and as far as I can recall nothing was said about it looking good. Some part of me says it did happen at the editing bay, but by then I would've blushed to death, and still I think that really was the case. I might've walked the streets with a bit more confidence today.
The question remains, though. Is it coincidence, or serendipity? Yesterday I said I believed strongly in it. What was merely a routine became, well, something a bit more surprising, but still as complicated as my Persian rug hair. If anything's definite, it's the haircut.
And, since things didn't really go my way today, I might as well tell you that the secret is out, as it is supposed to be.