Hair in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

My hair is long. It has passed my shoulders. I’ve never felt like a man. I know that I am one simply because that’s how I’ve always identified myself, but I don’t do manly things. It has always made me separate from others. Even when I was a child. I wasn’t athletic. I shouldn’t say that. I could run. I exercised. I played soccer. I played volleyball. I played badminton. But those weren’t sports that boys played. My step-father played fastball. I never played one of his sports. And I never seemed to get the enjoyment out of them the way boys got enjoyment out of their sports.

My hair is long; longer than I ever thought it would be. Ironically, I feel more like myself, more like a man than I ever have before. People don’t treat me as they would a man. They treat me like an anomaly. That’s always how I’ve been treated. I think that is one of the reasons I enjoyed church so much; they treated me as they would treat a man because they only treat people as one of either two choices. There is no anomaly. But there would be friction whenever I would do something that would conflict with my label.

My hair is long and whenever it would be long around my church friends, which wasn’t even as long as it is now, they would “other” it. I didn’t look like a man; I looked like a rock star. While that might seem like a compliment to others, I knew what it really meant. Christians don’t see rock stars as a good thing. They are filled with excess. They don’t stay into those two boxes because they have the power culturally to shape their own existences. Maybe that is a compliment, just not as they intended it to be.

My hair is long. My first boyfriend had long hair. His mane was much longer than mine. For some reason, he made his long hair add to his masculinity. His hair said “Metallica.” My hair says “Reba.” He taught me that I was an anomaly. He helped me put my finger on it. He showed me that I had no choice but to embrace that part. So I did. I became louder and stranger than anyone else around me. It was the role I was chosen to fulfill.

My hair is long. It was just a bit less long than this while I spent my time in Paris. That’s where I met my Edgar. I don’t think he gets how much he empowered me. I spoke with him today and we both knew that we were something to each other. He says I helped him gain perspective beyond his years. But he showed me that someone could love an anomaly. I never truly believed that I would be loved. And he loved me. I’m sure of it. I don’t always think he knows it because time apart can sometimes dim the intensity of those feelings once we’ve let them go. I forget, too. But the minute we are around each other again, it’s like a candle burning at both ends. It’s like two separate wicks that are inexplicably connected.

My hair is long. People keep asking me how long I’m going to let it go, and I have to answer truthfully, “I haven’t thought about it.” I haven’t cut my hair in nearly two years. Each hair on my head has journeyed with me through these last two years as I met family, moved and started university, and gone on the ups and downs. I sometimes think my hair is like a tree; each ring of a tree tells a story and each strand on my head holds a secret to unlocking the mystery of these last two years.

My hair is long. It is also becoming very grey. Grey hair tells a story to the world that is completely different than the secrets my strands keep. I wonder what “other” I’ll be when all my strands are grey. Will I fall in love again? I’m not sure. Am I holding myself back? Probably, because I don’t want everything to come rushing out all at once until the time is right. That’s how I love. It’s like a dam that’s burst and the waves overwhelm. It takes someone strong to withstand it.