Finally!

Ever since I fancied long-haired people—not necessarily girls for that matter—I always grow my hair to a length that my family members somehow disapprove to the idea of me having my locks grown so lengthy. I remember, I was only able to grow my hair up to shoulder length when I was on my freshman year in college.

Sad thing was, I had to cut it down to a crew cut because I had ROTC then. But it was just a waste of time since I quit after the first day of training. Why? I would have to admit I was so naïve back then. Everytime I do something wrong, I would break down and cry. But before I actually cry, I hide the “wrong” things that I did from them (my family) and wait for them to find out for themselves what those things are; and that is the time that I would cry.

Anyways, going back; the main reason why I quit ROTC was because I lost my first phone ever. It was snatched from me and there was nothing I can do about it. So yeah, that’s why it was useless to cut my hair down because I had to quit and I quitted because I lost my phone—on the first day of ROTC training.

I know it sounds so pathetic but, hey! I was young back then. I felt rebellious towards the things that makes my life even more miserable than it already is—and still, up until now, I hate those instances wherein something gets in my way and I feel totally rebellious about it that at times, I would just have to ignore it to get rid of it—the one thing that I never regretted learning from all of the mistakes I have done, ignoring things that gets in the way and go on with life before it was messed up.

Oh my, I am blabbing again!!

Anyways, I am not posting this because of that stupid training or losing my phone or because of my life getting messed up. It’s totally the other way around.

This morning, when I got home from the city after sending my cousin to the airport, my father asked me—more like demanded me to have my hair cut off because from their point of view, I look like a military rebel. Why did they think of that? Because my hair was sticking out in all directions! I have to admit, the one thing I hate about my hair is that they can’t seem to be controlled. When I wake up in the morning and face the mirror, I am always in a shock of my life.

Going back, I answered my father back that I would be happy if they would just lay-off with the whole haircut thing because as far as I can remember, my hair are not snakes like medusa’s and they don’t have a life of their own and my hair is just minding its own business, busying itself to grow fast enough before my brothers come to their senses again and start nagging to me and try to reel me in to cutting my hair off.

But I was in the shock of my life when my 2^nd eldest brother came in the kitchen doors (and sounded in a not-so-approving-voice-but-had-no-choice kind of voice) and told my dad to lay me off.

I got the impression that he was just making that one up. First, he is one of the few people in my household that utterly despises how I look with my long hair; and Second, he usually is the first person to tell me off to go have my hair cut—even when they are still 3” tall. I waited for a couple of minutes when the conversation when to a pause because he might take back what he said and would ask me right then and there to have my hair cut or else he will cut it himself—but he didn’t make any more remarks about it.

One thing that I liked about what he said was he told my father to lay me off because I was old enough to make my own decisions. Inside, I could have sworn to answer back: “its about time…”.

I mean, for crying out loud! For the past 22 years of my life, I have done everything that they have asked me and never even listened to anything that I say or ask of them. Somehow, deep inside my guts, I am happy that they have finally realized that I am somehow capable of making my own decisions—whether they were stupid enough to make me fall to my knees and beg them to help me out or wise ones that I could benefit from.

Right now, I am happy about two things. One is that I can finally grow my hair to the length I want—I know, its childish but let me be—and the thought of my family members realizing that I am old enough to make my own decisions, no matter what the outcome may be. Hmpf…does that mean I can get another tattoo? *just kidding!*


*ROTC- Reserved Officer's Training Corps.