A trip to the salon is not something one would frequently find in my planner. This is probably the reason why I am fascinated with girls who always manage to look like they just finished an appointment with a hair stylist. I cannot help but admire them because I believe that a visit to the salon is an exercise in patience. Patience learned from regular visits to the salon is something that I have been meaning to teach myself. I think that it entails a lot of patience to wait for the stylist to finish whatever it is that s/he is doing to put even a semblance of style to my hair.
Unfortunately, I seldom get the chance to learn it since I reserve said visits to what I call a need-to basis, which I categorize into the following two (2) possible reasons:
- My hair is so dry it would put those Baguio walis to shame.
- A spur of the moment desire to have my hair cut.
The urge to get a haircut is something that just happens. Munen muso at its best. No thought, no conception. All I know is I like the feel of the scissors cutting my hair. The longer the length of hair being cut, the better. There is a sense of power mixed with ruthlessness in seeing something that has been part of me being cut like that. There is a quiet finality in that moment. And it is in that quiet finality that a sense of utter lightness and freedom begins.
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