Indulgence

I ain't seeing her in heaven

texted to me by my Dad
Life is a dance, we learn as we go. Sometimes we lead, sometimes we follow. Don't worry about what we don't know. What's important is we learn as we go.

I've been growing my hair since February now. It was a decision to do as my Dad has adviced. I would like to say that I always followed my Dad's advice but that would be a lie; that is not the case at all. And most of the time, I think things would've been much better for me had I followed his advice. But that's the way the cookie crumbles, you know? I'm the kind of person who has to make that mistake to learn from it. This was just my hair so I thought it didn't have much life consequences should I decide not to grow it for him.

He's been asking me to grow it since I was 16 and I refused. Fast-forward 10 years later and I'm finally sick and tired of short hair. I wanted to feel different and look different so I start growing my hair. My hair is now a product of having not gone to a stylist or a barber since February. What's that? 10 months? At first, I hated it. Now, I kinda like it. I like the choatic randomness it presents itself when I wake up. I like it that it's not a fixed thing, even with gel or wax or whatever I put on my hair. After an hour or two, it does not look the same as when I first fixed it up. My Dad calls it my "artist's hair." I just think it's great that when I bang my head dancing or just feeling the rock music, something up there moves along with it, you know?

For my cousin's wedding, I went to Vertu, a salon in Bacolod. I was with my brother, Jubal, who has long hair as well and we both needed to have it styled for the wedding. As usual, I left it to the lady to do it. I just told her I was going to a wedding, play with it, make it presentable for a wedding. She straightened my hair. At first, I was really scared at how it looked. I liked it but I was afraid that it made me look... I don't know... too pop? Gay? Too much like Hero Angeles? I wasn't sure. So I went to my Dad for advice and stuff and he said I looked great. He liked it. So I got comfortable with it and sported it happily.

My grandmother hated it, though. I saw her coming down from her car and I ran to her to help her and say hi and she took one look at me and said "you're not going to the wedding with that hair are you?" I laughed and thought to myself oh no! she hates it... And I made a joke about just letting the stylist play with it and she did and she said it's horrible! I smiled and helped her into the church and quickly made my exit.

During the family picture taking at the church, my Grandmother said it aloud for everyone to hear. She said I looked terrible, then again at the reception. I was beginning to lose my temper and I really wanted to fight back. My brother was telling me to just let it go. I couldn't. I've always tried my best to be someone my Grandmother could be proud of but for the simplest things in the world -- I don't go to church every Sunday, I am now sporting this hair or for whatever simple reason, she doesn't like me. She doesn't care that I'm basically, generally a good person and that I work hard and that I'm doing all I can to help my family. She doesn't care about those things, apparently.

I remember a few years back, my parents asked me to pick her up from the airport. She was going to live with us for a few days because she had an event she had to attend here in Manila. So off I went to fetch her at the airport and we were talking. I was telling her about my experiences teaching (I think I was teaching at that time) and she was telling me how there was no more emphasis on Geography anymore. Then we had quieted down and then she said, Wanggo, I don't know why I'm even getting to know you since I won't see you in Heaven. I just looked at her and I just couldn't think of anything to say. She thinks I'm a God-less person. My family laughs at that and says she was probably joking or something. But I was there, looking at her and she was sitting at the back seat, looking straight at me with some form of... I don't know... indignation? Self-righteous glory? Pity?

I decided to keep quiet. What would be the point in trying to impress her, make her like me for the person I turned out to be? After all, she won't see me when she's in Heaven. Hell, I'd probably sport the same kind of hair that pissed her off; she probably wouldn't want to see me anyway.

Before, I was sad, during the wedding I was pissed off. Now, I don't feel anything. I'm not going to see her when she's in Heaven anyway...

posted by wanggo @ 5:08 AM