The
first time I discovered white hair was when I was twenty-five years old. Even
though I did not think so at the time, the world was less complex. Life was
going in the direction, I always planned. I had a good boyfriend who spoke of
getting married soon, my first full-time job in the field I studied for in
college, and I rented my first room that wasn't in a dorm.
I was petrified of turning a quarter of a century old and
finding a single white hair was a traumatic experience. I mean, let’s face some
facts, I had the perfect hair until this time. It was silky, smooth, dark
brown, with “come heather and you could run your fingers through it” look. Yes,
it was perfectly natural. No hair spray, no get, not even mousse and I did even
blow-dry it even in winter. When I washed it, it would dry perfectly into a
style. I would get it trimmed religiously every month. After all, a good hair
cut works as a frame to one’s face. Now, how many times have you seen in beauty
magazines how a square-shaped face can look oval with the right cut. Let me
tell you if it wasn’t for my “bob cut” you would defiantly never miss my square
jaws that resembles something like Batman’s face. This would have been
attractive for a man but not for a woman.
One single white hair was a striking contrast to my dark
auburn hair color. Being that white hair is brittle; it would stick up against
the norm. No matter what, when I used to tame it, I could not keep it hidden.
It would stick up like Alfalfa’s famous hairdo from the Little Rascals.
I know what everyone is thinking: “Why did she not just pull it out?” The
answer is simple because everyone knows if you pull one white hair two will
grow in its place. I was not about to take that chance.
Shortly after my dilemma, my life started to turn into a
direction I wasn’t so sure where it would take me. My promising boyfriend of
two years has a change of heart and we soon broke up. But I still had the same
job. They generously gave me a promotion and a rise of five hundred dollars a
year. And I live in the same room, but I could no longer overlook the fact that
my backyard was a railroad track. So, after a hard look at my life, I finally
took the chance and pull out my single white hair from its roots. Yes, I was
going to take control and not let the situation take control of me.
This started a revelation. I started to experiment with
different cuts, perms, hair dyes, styling sprays, and blow dries. Then before I
know it, five years had passed and now I have a total of five hairs on my scalp
that are white. Now at thirty, I look in the mirror and realized what I have
done. My hair has lost its original luster.
I learned that at mid-twenty, I mapped out my life was
going to live like my hair; perfect. I planned that I was going to meet my
prince and marry him by twenty-seven. Have children at thirty with a thriving
career. And I was going to move into a townhouse in Manhattan. But life had
other plans for me. One by one, my life like my single white hair, it would
stick out against my shining future. So not able to cope with changes, I cover
it up with Clairol’s black cherry dye and among other things. My fears are no
longer about the color of my hair or when I’ll get married. Thus, my perfect
hair was an illustration at the time. The real issue was about being afraid of
change. Of course, my hair would fall right into place after having the same
style for nearly twenty-five years. When I finally could not keep it the same.
It forces me to try different things.
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