Woah its been a while. Lets just jump right in with the good and the bad shall we?
* I have a new computer (finally)! With a fully functioning keyboard! No more futile attempts at blogging on my phone that end in head banging frustration! Hooray!
* My December schedule is amazing here in Buengkan…I don’t think I have a full week of teaching for the whole month.
* I spent a few days in Cambodia over one of our breaks which was really fun! Met some new people, accidentally ended up on a date with an old French ladyboy, and feasted on some rather unusual cuisine.
* It’s finally “winter” here so it’s cooled down to the point where I no longer sweat when I am at work. Amaaazing! However, last night it did get down to 16 degrees Celsius and I was absolutely freezing. And then I felt a little embarrassed for myself when realized that 16 C is really 60 F which is cold….but not as cold as I felt. I’m going to struggle next time I find myself in real winter.
*There is really only one bad, to be honest, and that would be my recent haircut. I know I can be quite vain about my hair but I guess I didn’t really realize how deep that vanity runs. My hair used to go almost halfway down my back. I didn’t want to cut it, but I realized that it hadn’t been cut in the last year and a half or so and, well, it needed a trim to say the least.
With that in mind I set out grimly to find a suitable hair salon. Emma had gone to one near our house that is owned by a woman whose son she tutors and she had done a good job, so I went there. The woman wasn’t there but this man was working instead.
Now, I have only ever let one man before this one touch my hair with scissors and it. was. a. disaster. To be fair my hair itself wasn’t a disaster, just….me and my apparently delicate psyche. I was maybe 15 years old and, believe it or not, much more vain about my luscious locks than I am now. He cut my hair maybe an inch and a half shorter than my specific demands and I lost it. I’m sure my trembling scowl gave away my displeasure but at least I managed to hold back the floodgates until my mother and I were down the stairs and out the salon door. I couldn’t help it, hot tears leaked from my eyes as threw my hair back into a ponytail and stomped towards the car, my poor mother trailing behind. “It’s so short! I hate it!” were I think the first words out of my mouth, and I refused to listen to my mom’s words of consolation as we drove home. Once home, I immediately ran to the computer and began googling what to eat and how else to naturally make my hair grow faster. I’m pretty sure I even made my mom a grocery list. I was absolutely miserable and vowed then and there to never let another man touch my hair again.
So you can imagine my trepidation, nearly 10 years later, as I lowered myself into that cushioned chopping block before the mirror, squinting suspiciously at the flamboyant little Thai man’s reflection while he surveyed
my hair his canvas. I explained to him as best I could in broken Thai and English that I knew the ends were bad but I only wanted a little bit cut off. “nid noy” I must have repeated about 10 times, all while showing him with my fingers grasping my hair exactly how much I wanted gone. He nodded in understanding and repeated the gesture, holding up a slightly longer bit of hair to sacrifice but I said ok because my hair probably needed it anyway. Besides, I am an adult now and I will not succumb to fits if my hair is a little bit shorter than my exceedingly exact desires.
Oh my Lord it took all my best efforts not to scream. I felt akin to Sampson finding out his strength was gone as my Delilah, that asshole hairdresser, lopped of SEVEN INCHES. I mouth fell open for half a second before I snapped it shut again into a grim little line of determination. If I had kept it open I am pretty sure I would have screamed, “My hair!!! My long, beautiful hair! What the f%!# have you done!!!” His cut was nowhere near his estimation just seconds before. In fact, even as his ran his fingers down and stopped at the cut line I considered saying something but decided against it, and that’s when he cut well ABOVE where his fingers stopped. Who does that?! By now it was too late to do anything other than try to keep my face as neutral as possible and think to myself, “It’s only hair. It’s only hair. It’s only hair.” My attempt at calming myself with this thought turned into a desperate mantra as I watched him snip gleefully away at the source of my beauty. (Ok, maybe that was a teensy bit of an exaggeration, but I used to get a lot of compliments about my long hair and to be honest I think I became quite proud of it.)
Once it was all over I grudgingly paid for my torture session and trudged out the door. I didn’t say a word on the way home and it took a lot of willpower not to actually cry. Sound pathetic? Maybe, but I told you earlier that vanity vein runs deep. As soon as I got back home I knocked on Nabila’s door. Fortunately she knew I was going to get my hair cut, because she opened the door and the first words to spill out of my mouth were, “It’s so SHORT! I HATE IT!!”
So you see, history repeats itself.
To be completely fair, he did a great job of layering it and styling it. If I didn’t currently hate him so much I would let him style it every day! As it is, if I see him again I might punch him. My hair hasn’t ben this short since I was 12..I know this because my brother recently posted an old yearbook photo of me on facebook and my hair is the same length then as it is now. So I look like a freaking 12 year old. Sigh.
I do have one small consolation, even if it is at another person’s expense. I went to work and asked my friend if he had gotten his hair cut. He snapped back with, “No, Kayla, my head got run over by a lawn mower” and after a moment’s pause he continued with, “I told him what I wanted and showed him a picture and….it’s too short.” I couldn’t even feel all that bad because misery loves its company and I was happy that someone else was just as displeased with their hair as I was with mine. Plus, his hair looked fine.
Summary of this long rant, I have renewed my vows to not let another man cut my hair ever again.
*For the record, it’s been well over a week and I still hate my hair.
**Especially when its curly, oh my gosh it’s hideous.