I got a haircut.
If one were to obscure my upper body, the absence of ten inch worth of hair would easily be overlooked, but the snipping of scissors and severing of ends this time around was more symbolic than aesthetic -- though the parting with a look that has stuck around for six years was a relieving and long overdue one.
The idea of chopping off the locks has been in mind for quite some time now, but I was reluctant to part with my dip-dyed hair, a part of me grown over six years that I as well as many others have associated with my identity.
My hair was black at first, -- like it's always been -- a reflection of my life's eternal state of boredom. Quiet. Inconspicuous. Hushed. May was still May, the nervous, fearful child. A little bit desperate, somewhat annoying but always fearful.
Then, a whirlwind hit my life at the end of twenty-fourteen that splashed colours into my life like I had never known. Blue, at first, like oceans that refresh and waves that sent me reeling to islands of volcanic eruptions. Then green like bliss and shaded forest reserves, yellow like the sun and meadows of dandelions, red like the fire that set my life ablaze, and then it was back to blue, though this time subdued and frozen.
Locks of hair through years of wear collect tear and frays on ends, and colours -- colours? Colours fade.
My hair is now ten inches shorter but healthier than it's ever been. I cut the faded colours away and all of the memories that came with it. I was back to black, but that was just for a little while. I contemplated going back to ombre -- a visual signature of mine if you must -- but decided to just dye an entire section of my head instead. I am back to red, back to fire, back to passion and back to paint my world alive.
P.S // Due to the weight of university, I may be changing up the blogging schedule on The Mayden, cutting down posts to 5 times a month instead of the usual 7 or 8. Confirmation on Twitter or Instagram soon.