May 16th, 2006
Three years ago I shaved my hair because my mom was sick. In the same year, I wanted to divorce my ex-husband who had married me in 2001 and who had brought me to the United States. I don't know if I feel even more empty now or in the years that we were married.
The day I got my citizenship and I was alone in that chair, I felt like crying. My mom wasn't there, he wasn't there. It seemed like I was starting all over, all alone.
I miss my hair. I miss that feeling of being wild and naive at the same time. I miss being in college, actually. I used to feel precious. I used to feel different. I was the one who didn't do anything everybody else did. I didn't do drugs, I didn't have sex, I didn't party. I worked and I waited to meet the right person. I was concerned with my future. I wanted to be a better person. I wanted to have it all.
I didn't write about my mom this year on May 16th. I did think about her that day as I always do. I didn't know what to say. I was breaking up with someone that day. Again. It seems like that's what I do: I break up. I do that because I rush into relationships with the wrong people. I don't give relationships time before I really know if I should invest my time on that person or not. I don't judge people at first. I do that after they give me some kind of (love?) and/or attention.
After her death, I've had no peace. It seems like her loss and his loss have brought me a sense of living everything at the same time. Everything urges. Everything hurts. Love hurts, lack of love hurts, words hurt. It's like being constantly in a hurry. Constantly in pain.
I am not my hair. I know that much. But when my hair was long and no one could touch it, I felt unique. I don't give a shit about my hair. I can shave it again, but I miss that innocence I had that made me believe I could come and live here (or anywhere) and be happy. And that my marriage was going to sustain itself and that my mom would live enough to see me growing old. I miss being quiet. I miss the days when baking and tea were everything I wanted. Because it seemed like I had everything else.
I didn't write about my mom this year on May 16th. I did think about her that day as I always do. I didn't know what to say. I was breaking up with someone that day. Again. It seems like that's what I do: I break up. I do that because I rush into relationships with the wrong people. I don't give relationships time before I really know if I should invest my time on that person or not. I don't judge people at first. I do that after they give me some kind of (love?) and/or attention.
After her death, I've had no peace. It seems like her loss and his loss have brought me a sense of living everything at the same time. Everything urges. Everything hurts. Love hurts, lack of love hurts, words hurt. It's like being constantly in a hurry. Constantly in pain.
I am not my hair. I know that much. But when my hair was long and no one could touch it, I felt unique. I don't give a shit about my hair. I can shave it again, but I miss that innocence I had that made me believe I could come and live here (or anywhere) and be happy. And that my marriage was going to sustain itself and that my mom would live enough to see me growing old. I miss being quiet. I miss the days when baking and tea were everything I wanted. Because it seemed like I had everything else.
Comments
Post a Comment