For some reason, the only place I can write without filtering my mind is here. I think I've created a type of attachment to this environment. Whenever I see this white box, my mind unlocks itself.

 

Behind this new haircut is a heartache burning. It's something I had toyed with and at times yearned for, knowing the change would be welcome, but I was too scared ot do it myself. So, after listening to me complain, debate, declare the hour I would cut my hair, my mom finally got fed up with me and took me to the haircuttery in Taiwan and I said, what the hell, I don't want to argue with her in public, so I sat my butt in the chair.

 

It's as if as I was still deciding, he had already finished cutting.

 

You know how that one item you have, that one haircut, that one whatever, makes you feel like a different person? I felt this way after. I envisioned new outfits, new styles that I was too scared to try out before, outfits that would be fit for neck baring.

 

 

All this weight, all this... hiding, false comfort, that I held on to behind my hair, it's gone.

It was rather sad, and as I looked at the hair on the floor, I wanted to glue it back to my head for a moment but I looked in the mirror and understood that there was nothing I could do about it, and change is good.

I had dyed my hair jet black in November of 2012, my first time dying my hair. Obviously, coloring it at all ruins the texture of it. But since cutting it, I've let go of those destroyed roots.

 

And in time, it'll grow back... in time.

 

 

Obviously, my posts revolve around a lot more than what is literally presented. Hair, is just hair. Fear, confidence, deception, beauty, hope, trust, those are real.

 

Going along with that, I wasn't sad at first that Xanga is coming to an end, but as I write this and as life propels forward with its turmoils and rainbows, and as I look back to the memories I've had with so many of you that I never thought I'd meet in this fashion, it makes my heart tear a little.

 

For some reason, I have never felt more open writing anywhere else... this was my sanctuary when I was still using old screennames back in middle school/elementary school. But now, now I won't be able to write without feeling too exposed.

 

It's funny that these events occur simultaneously. I've been forced out of comfort, emotionally, in many ways. But it's good, I have to set my sights somewhere... and let loose, dried ends go...and breathe.

 

But like hair, I hope they grow back even more nurtured.
Unlike hair, however, it is up to God... unless some idiot comes at me with scissors and just HAS to cut my hair.

 

(PS: There's still amonth left so I might still write here once or twice, but I'll be moving here

victoriamisu.blogspot.com

I'm going to try to turn that into this blog, going to try to make it personal. )

 Pictures shot by justin chen