nebody who knos me knos that i have a peculiar bunch of hair......they have a particular style of arranging themselves from the day they started to exist....i like calling it the hagrid style.....or the bird's nest style....n every body agrees that these r apt names for them.....they r independent people of todays india.....they hate each other....and r capable of finding infinite directions to fly wen there is wind...(or wen they just feel like). no rubberband dictator or hairband politician can tame them....they have a voice....a dignity......and the ability to protest against my repeated attempts to make them adhere to each other......
so one day.....after using up half a bottle of serum......when 40% of my hair got stuck to my sclap.....and the othe 60 % started a sepoy mutiny......i decided that its tym to go and staighten these hulligans........so with a fat purse and my beloved hair i visited a salon and after 4 hrs of rigorous battle i got a new branch of half dead glossy hair.....incredibly beaiutiful and tame......so sleek so elegant that i almost cried out of joy......
but....after 2 hours wen i tried to scratch my head i understood what mistake i head done.....wat i have lost......my sleek sexy hair does not allow me to touch it the way i used to touch the crazy hippies......i can caress my mane......but i cannot scratch it....i cannot put it back my ear....i cannot bundle it up in a bun when i m about to fight (i always thought that activity maked me look scary)......i cannot twirl it with my fingers while flirting with the handsome guy i like......i can admire it.....love it.....be proud of it....but cannot own it....its like i have given my whole scull on rent......i love this hair.....but i hate this hair.......i hated my ex hair.....but i loved them...
i guess that is the story of our lives....we have the shabby things for ourselves and we always long for the glossy ones.....but we do not realise its better to have a faulty thing that you can own....than to have a perfect thing that dsnt belong to you.....i m imprfect....my hair is imprfct....i like to scratch it...play eith it.....curse it.....comb it.....love it......this hair.......i can just admire from a distance
so one day.....after using up half a bottle of serum......when 40% of my hair got stuck to my sclap.....and the othe 60 % started a sepoy mutiny......i decided that its tym to go and staighten these hulligans........so with a fat purse and my beloved hair i visited a salon and after 4 hrs of rigorous battle i got a new branch of half dead glossy hair.....incredibly beaiutiful and tame......so sleek so elegant that i almost cried out of joy......
but....after 2 hours wen i tried to scratch my head i understood what mistake i head done.....wat i have lost......my sleek sexy hair does not allow me to touch it the way i used to touch the crazy hippies......i can caress my mane......but i cannot scratch it....i cannot put it back my ear....i cannot bundle it up in a bun when i m about to fight (i always thought that activity maked me look scary)......i cannot twirl it with my fingers while flirting with the handsome guy i like......i can admire it.....love it.....be proud of it....but cannot own it....its like i have given my whole scull on rent......i love this hair.....but i hate this hair.......i hated my ex hair.....but i loved them...
i guess that is the story of our lives....we have the shabby things for ourselves and we always long for the glossy ones.....but we do not realise its better to have a faulty thing that you can own....than to have a perfect thing that dsnt belong to you.....i m imprfect....my hair is imprfct....i like to scratch it...play eith it.....curse it.....comb it.....love it......this hair.......i can just admire from a distance
no comments . perhaps i love imperfect myself.
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