Cut Short

by Kayla Agcaoili

My head feels a lot lighter. As she moves the front pieces of my hair to fall behind my ears, I am staring into my own eyes. Parts of my heart sink as I do not recognize the person in the mirror. The long locks of hair with split ends and blonde strands were now on the ground. Social media always says that hair holds memories, but there is something about me that is changing. I look in the mirror and see my natural hair for the first time in years.

*

Image credit: Nastia Petruk on Unsplash

The song Irreplaceable by Beyonce let me know that I had ten seconds to get to the living room for my mom to brush my hair. My mom used this song as a timer for me. Once the song was done, I would have been free. As I sat on the ground, my hair was peeling out of my scalp. I felt the bristles of the brush battling my hair. The barrier that my hair was creating to not let the brush in and break apart what they had created.  My mom had grabbed the spray, and as the cold particles hit my head, the barrier of hair started to break.

*

At the end of my freshman year of college, I looked in the mirror and decided that I could not stay this way. There was not one part of myself that I had loved. I saw myself and all I could hear in the background was a monstrous voice.

“Go and be the slut you’ve always dreamed about.”

“You’re an attention seeking whore.”

“You’re the reason why I cheated.”

Those words that were said left an imprint on my brain. I had started hating myself for years because those words had stayed in my mind. I had heard them every time I glanced in the mirror. I needed a change. So, I dyed my hair a light brown.

 *

It was November of my sophomore year of college, and I was in an intense on-and-off relationship with my then-boyfriend. Throughout this time, I had to start playing with my appearance. There was a constant of me trying new makeup, new skin care and a new style of clothes but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. Next thing I knew I was convinced to get highlights. I felt the bleach sink into my scalp. Maybe if I had some blonde pieces, I would be more tolerable. My hairdresser toned the horrendous results of the bleach. Now it was a normal brownish blonde, but it was very different from my natural hair. This was exactly what I needed.

May of my sophomore year of college. I grabbed my phone to call him.

“Hello,” he sounded cold.

“Hi, is there any way you can come get me from school today?” I asked.

“I can’t, I’m with my friends right now.”

“It doesn’t have to be right, now maybe a little later? I am supposed to go to the funeral tomorrow.”

“Why can’t I ever do things on my own? Why do you always need me to do something for you?” he asked, but it didn’t sound like the person I knew.

“Oh, if you can’t, I will just take the train home, it’s not a big deal.”

“No, you are not allowed to go on the train this late in the day.”

“What do you expect me to do then?” I asked him.

“I am sick of you constantly relying on me for everything.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I just think I need time for myself,” he hung up the phone. I had no idea how it got to this point. I called him again. No answer. I called my mom. She answered. I started to cry. I relived the moment he broke up with me. A part of me wanted my mom to feel how I had felt, but then my roommate walked in. I released my mom from my pain while my roommate stood at the foot of my bed with her arms open. I sank right into them. I couldn’t do this. I immediately called my hairdresser and demanded more highlights. So once again, I saw myself plant my body in the same place I was in November. I wanted more, and not only that, but I wanted to chop my hair and so I did. Two hours later, I saw a new person whose hair wasn’t cut evenly, and now I had blonde hair all over my head. I wasn’t myself anymore, and maybe this person will be better than who I was before. Once I saw myself, I had decided that this was going to be my year. I was going to have as much fun as my heart desired. All my friends had told me to download some dating apps just to get myself out there, and so I did.

I scrolled through all these names but none of them made my heart skip a beat. I had stopped checking the apps every day and slowly started to give up. I saw a message pop up from one of the apps and clicked on it. I was greeted by his light brown hair and his icy blue eyes. He started the conversation by asking if he knew me from somewhere. I had no recollection of who this guy was. He said he knew me from classes. He remembered where I had sat and a few pieces I had written and shared with the class. He asked me to go on a date with him and so we went on a picnic.

*

Image credit: Anastasia Pivnenko on Unsplash

Junior year, the previous summer was spent with the people who mattered the most. Not only was I building stronger relationships with my friends, but I believed I was building something with someone I had class with. My junior year was lively. I was spending a lot of time with this guy, who I couldn’t believe remembered me. With my new hair, I had thought I could have completely changed overnight. Parts of me did, I was no longer quiet and instead of people telling me to speak up, I was now being hushed. I was becoming a new person. I was so sick of the girl who let some guy make her insecure. I was tired of showing others that I was good enough. I was done forcing people to like me.

 *

Going into my senior year, I was sick of seeing these highlights. I wanted to grow it out to get rid of it. What if all the work I did on myself also went away?  Hair holds memories; it holds onto all the work that I have done on myself. It holds on to every good memory I had over this long year. Am I supposed to just cut that off and leave it in the past? I wasn’t ready for the blonde to disappear because it made me bold. There had been a major shift in my life and who I thought I was. I didn’t want to cut short what I had from the year before. I danced with the battle for months. I couldn’t decide whether to leave my hair long and blonde or cut it short.

  “Do you like it?” my new hairdresser asks me as I sit in her chair scared. “Yes,” I say while I am looking into my own eyes. I am in awe of the person I am facing. I am not saying anything. She probably thought I would hate it, but I didn’t. I realize that I was back to someone whom I am proud to be. The blonde strands and split ends were on the ground. Every damaged piece of hair was gone. I was falling in love with the girl in the mirror. “To be loved is to be known,” a quote from Thomas Keller that has been told repeatedly. Now that I have gotten to unveil who I am, I have begun to love myself. Hair is often known as a form of self-expression. Everyone goes through different phases with their hair and that is completely okay. For some people hair is an outlet for their emotions and how they view themselves. Experimenting with hair is a part of life. Seeing my new hair, I knew that I was making the right choice.

***

Kayla Agcaoili

Kayla Agcaoili is a writer based in Boston Massachusetts. She enjoys writing about her journey in finding herself and challenges she faces as a young adult. She reflects on her life throughout her writing.