Too much, too little or a little too much?

I can handle it, can’t I? Of course I can, says a part of me. The other part, more dominant, is doubtful. I’m the kind of person who can do whatever is thrown towards her. But at the same time, I’m the kind of person who tends to forget that sometimes. I’m the kind of person who, if she makes up her mind to do something, does it well. But at the same time I’m also the kind of person whose time management skills suck. This is a time in my life when I’ve taken on a lot of things. None on which are unnecessary. Fortunate, you might say. At least I’m not wasting my time. Yes? But then, stop to think. Is it really so fortunate? My plate is overflowing with the delights of my favourite language, the wonders of being financially independent with the help of a job that I actually enjoy, the prospects of a better future with a higher qualification degree, the love and company of friends. How do I choose, if I have to?

“Stop changing. Stop being someone you’re not.” – Just a little something, someone said to me a few nights ago. While I didn’t have a response then, I have one now. And what I have to say is this: Why the hell? I like the person I’ve become. I’ve changed, but I’m essentially still me. The girl I see in the mirror is composed, focused, a little stoic and most importantly, doesn’t hurt easily. She’s still as random as random can be, she still loves with all her heart – that thankfully hasn’t changed. But she’s a lot more careful about who she’s random with, and who/what she loves with all her heart. For now, it’s the language that’s made her weak in the knees since the 8th grade. It’s the job that she didn’t ever see herself doing, but enjoys quite a bit. It’s basking in a sliver of hopefully fast-growing independence. It’s the professor she thought was never going to teach her again. It’s the hippie girl who feels more his than hers, but is still more hers than his. It’s the chai, and sometimes the god-awful coffee from the machine. It’s a warm and fuzzy feeling, which stems from looking at photographs of a bird. It's scrounging for time so she can keep diaryfaceness alive. It’s blogging at 5am on a weekday, when she could have slept till 7am. It’s all of that, and a lot more. I just hope it’s not too much.

Hair today, gone tomorrow.

“As each strand falls I watch it drift to the ground. My head feels lighter. The hairdresser hands me my ponytail. I refuse to take my hair in my hands. Every inch of that hair was from a moment that has now gone. Thoughts, wishes, hopes, desires, dreams that are no longer. I want a new start. A new head of hair. Snip, snip, snip.” – Joyce Conway in Cecilia Ahern’s “Thanks for the Memories”


People keep asking me what made me get my new look. This is all I have to say to them – I wanted change, I needed change, so I got change. That’s it. I wish I had a more eloquent piece to write about it, but Cecilia Ahern was eloquent enough for me. Even though Joyce Conway was a woman with bigger problems than mine, a woman who had just lost her unborn baby in a traumatic mishap, as compared to my seemingly trivial troubles, and was probably more justified in feeling the way she did, what she felt and thought is exactly what I felt and thought when I decided to do what I did. The book had nothing to do with it, it’s just the way I am, and it’s just what I do. To make an emotional change, I make a physical change. It’s a road I’ve taken before, when I pierced my nose four years ago. It’s not new territory. So yes, Lou and Diaryface may have spent many chai sessions convincing me to chop off all my hair for their own reasons, and I may have spent many hours telling them my reservations about going so drastically short. But the ultimate decision of getting change was taken after the realization that I wanted change, I needed change. That’s it.