literature

My Moment

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carynne0's avatar
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Literature Text

It's a Monday night, and I had no classes today. Perhaps I'll write.

Who am I? I'm not really sure yet. I'm only sixteen, so I guess it's normal that I haven't "found" myself. But I'm here to write about myself. That would probably be difficult for someone who doesn't know herself.

Well, I'll tell you one thing first. I'm a horrible person. I have a short temper and I pick fights with my closest friends. There are days when I'm inexplicably depressed, and there are days when I would starve myself. But no, those descriptions don't quite capture my essence. Capturing one's essence—what does that even mean?

How about this—hair? Well, you wouldn't understand what I'm saying unless I explain it, right? For most of my life, I've had long hair. The first time anyone cut my hair was when I was two. After that, I refused to let anyone cut it. I didn't have bangs. My hair reached past my waist. I always kept it tied up or pulled back.

When I was in the sixth grade, I caught typhoid fever, and they (the adults) said that my fever "burned" my hair. Surely enough, my long hair became frizzy and unruly, and I had to keep it in braids everyday. I felt bad since I couldn't keep it like other girls would. In my eyes, untied hair meant freedom. For years, that was how I felt.

When I was in high school, my mother promised to have my hair straightened. I waited and waited and waited—but she fulfill her promise. I also noticed that people didn't quite take me seriously because my hair was always in a braid. Somehow, it made me look childish. There were days when I would cry while combing my hair because the knots were so difficult to untangle. Maybe to other people, it was a shallow reason to cry. I suppose it was, but it hurt that I couldn't have something so simple that everyone else seemed to have—manageable hair.

One day, when I was already in college, I told my mom that I wanted to cut my hair. I wanted short hair. She said that I couldn't cut my hair short because it would look weird, because it was frizzy. Now I'm a bit of a spoiled brat, so I started tearing up but I refused to tell her why, even when we were in the mall. Of course I did, because she had promised me so long ago that I would have normal hair. That was the only promise I held onto. I suppose she took the hint and took me to a salon to have my haircut. They didn't cut my hair as short as I wanted it, but my mother said that we would have it straightened the following day. Thankfully, she kept her promise.

Finally, short hair…

Interestingly, the weekend after, she took me out again. She brought me to a different salon and had my hair shampooed and blow-dried. After that, she let me have a haircut. Now my hair, in a short bob, barely reaches past my chin. Somehow, I feel as though I've found a part of myself. Perhaps the weight of my long hair held me back. You know, I even feel like trying to be a better person.
This is an entry for a challenge in #YouArePart. I don't normally join these things, but for some reason, I just wanted to.

I know you guys are probably sick to death of my journals. :rofl: Here, this time it's not in my journal. :icontrollfaceplz:

Okay, how obvious is it that I have nothing to say about this? :/
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larah131313's avatar
Crying over shallow things proves you haven't abandoned your childhood ^^