Why I Cut My Long Hair

“My long, shiny, silky smooth hair!”

That is what you always hear on shampoo and hair treatment commercials. Almost all of them promote their wares for glorious, video-edited, demigoddess hair that never tangles, breaks, frizzes or falls out. And for a time, that is what I tried to have.

And I got tired of it. So I went from this:


To this:

DSC_2751eTo this:

DSC_2827eWhen I was young, one of my greatest frustrations was getting long hair. My mother would always tell the parlorista to give me a really short, ugly bob. I was a tomboy growing up, so I wasn’t fond of combing my hair unlike my younger sister, who was daintier than me and was granted the privilege. Still, I wanted the long hair because I wanted to be a princess, even if it’s a warrior princess. Annie from Shaider had long curly hair, and she still kicked ass.

It wasn’t until I was old enough to get what I wanted that I got to grow my hair long.

As I grew older my mom would try to get haircuts for me that looked more feminine and yet was still short. Going into sixth grade my mom wanted to get me wavy hair, and a salon employee forgot to take me out of curlers and rinse out my hair. My hair became really dry and kinky, and coming back from a summer beach trip I got a really dark tan. The kids from school would call me an Aeta. And it hurt. (Kids including me were racist bastards. There is nothing wrong in being an Aeta.) Our childish vision of beauty have always been the Disney princess: dainty, rosy-skinned, long-haired thing that fluttered around in gowns being chased by princes. No one considered me to be like that, and that meant that I wasn’t beautiful.

I swore to myself that when I get to grow my hair out, I would never get short hair again.

Yet I have wanted to get Catherine Zeta Jones’ bob in Chicago, or Natalie Portman’s pixie cut. Or even shave my head ala Demi Moore’s G.I.Jane. But that would mean that I wouldn’t look like everyone else.

Will people like the way I looked? Will I look professional? Will clients respect me? Will I still be attractive? Will I still be beautiful?

Fear was a hard bastard to fight. In a span of two months I spent Php3500++ on my hair, having it cut layered to just over my shoulders, then having it sheared straight to shoulder length, then the final Velma Kelly haircut.

I cut my hair because I realized that if I am going to let my fear win over the simple decision of how I have my hair then I will never get anywhere.

Life is short. Most of the things that we do, that we think are so important have no impact on the grander scale of things. Remember: