Brown Hair

I’m in a much happier place now, I think.

No wait, scrap that. I know I’m in a much happier place, because when I picked my toothbrush up to brush my teeth this morning, I glanced in the mirror and realized that my hair’s actually a lot browner than it was a month ago. Like, when I pulled a lock out and held it against the glow of the fluorescent bathroom light, it actually beamed back at me in satisfaction; it did a little happy dance and winked in my direction when I lifted it against the sunlight too.

That was pretty much when I knew that I am definitely going to be okay. Maybe even better than okay–I’m sitting in the front seat of the train to Happy Land, it seems, with my brown hair flying gleefully (and hopefully majestically) behind me 🙂 *puts sunglasses on and stares at the sky, a small smile on my face, an hour-long audio loop of Britney Spears declaring “It’s Britney, bitch” in the background*

Right.

I know it sounds pretty ridiculous reaching that conclusion on the basis of my hair colour and all, but hey, the little things do matter. I mean, I remember complaining about how my hair was losing its shade of brown from time to time and not knowing why. I’m pretty sure it was due to stress, but I figured it was academic stress, since I was stuffing my face with a lot of snacks (and ice cream) because of the niggling voice at the back of my head telling me to do something about the pile of papers on my desk. I’d clearly overlooked another major source.

It’s a good thing I took these rose-tinted glasses off before I drove off this cliff, I think.  Like I feel quite bad for a number of reasons; I’d spent a lot of time and money on them, trying to paint the rims with pretty flowers and mini Lumpy Space Princesses and stuff, for one. Which evidently turned out to be a huge waste of my time.

To be fair, it’s not that I never liked them. I did enjoy looking at the world in pink and only pink, it made me feel like the Pink Panther somehow (if the Pink Panther ever chowed down enough ice cream to warrant a jiggly friend like Sara). And hey, I did try to keep them in the glass cabinet, you know, as a way of preserving them for memory’s sake and all that jazz… but they were just too pretty… so I threw them on the ground, watched them smash into a million pieces, and then stomped on them a couple of times for added effect. Maybe even thirty-seven times, I don’t know.

I’m not very good with numbers. *takes a long sip from my teacup as I glance at the broken calculator under the sofa*

In any case, pretty much everyone I know has been congratulating me, and it was kinda like when half of the entire world heaved a sigh of relief when Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez officially called it quits or something. Which was pretty awkward, since I had no idea my decision led to so much fuss and stuff. But for what it’s worth, I’m very grateful for everybody’s support (and the sudden explosions of “We tried to tell you!” and “Finally!” in both my ears–that was very confusing and surprising for me too), for all the hugs I’ve received, and for all the pints of ice cream in the supermarket in my neighbourhood. Also, lasagna, for existing. 🙂

Walking away had always seemed terrifying for me, probably because (and this is going to sound incredibly cliché, but it is what it is) I was already so dependent on another person for my own happiness, and after some time I just got used to feeling that way, I think. And I mean sure, it wasn’t the healthiest of choices, but I never quite liked vegetables anyway, I’m still learning to enjoy tolerate the taste of crunchy green leaves in my mouth (ils sont trés gross, how bout that), so perhaps it makes sense not feeling the kick to the gut until it’s a little too late.

Not that I blame anyone else for this of course; you live and you learn… then you leave, if you have to. I’d pat your back at this point, but I’m sure you have somebody else stroking it (and your ego) for you, so that’s fine.

I’m not the best, I have a bunch of flaws (trying to end blog posts in a cute manner being one of them), but at the end of the day, I’m pretty Beyoncé (yes I know, I’m using her name as an adjective and I am not backing down). I can’t believe it took me so long to actually genuinely believe that.

Fuck. *flips my hair over my shoulders* Yes, I’m definitely in a much happier place right now.

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