My hair is really curly and it doesn’t grow more than a certain silly height. Leaving it to grow in this rough and jungle way has never really been my preference. I think my preference has just been to leave it the way it is; not doing anything about it. I comb it from time to time, but it never makes me feel any different about it. It’s just there.
The power of the tongue. I remember at one time, I used to say that the state of my hair reflected the state of my mind, body and soul. I guess it has always been true. It’s like living twenty-two years and finding out in your twenty-second year that your name is truly your name. The state of my hair does reflect the state of my life. Just there. Curly. Tangled. No breathing space. An abandoned jungle of protein.
I’m tired of having life. It is such a feeble intangible wisp of an idea. Fleeting. Yet it is such a burden. Suicidal people complain and complain and they want to take action. They wanna fix things. They wanna take their lives. I’m past that stage. I don’t even have the strength to wanna take my life anymore. I’m just there.
I really don’t know what to do. I have no idea. Everybody has an idea about what I should do; what path I should take. Everybody seems to know what’s best for me. Everybody can point out the mistakes I’ve made. The right moves I’ve made. Everybody can tell me about myself. It’s like they feel the need to remind me of these things so I don’t forget; so I don’t forget about myself.
This ‘me’ is never gonna marry. This ‘me’ is never gonna have children. This ‘me’ is never gonna be a functional member of society. This ‘me’ might get a good job, and be an effective member of the labour force, but obviously, and I will not say why it is obvious, that’s not really hard to do. A mad man on the streets of Lagos can easily refine himself and become the dude you ask for a loan for your dead-end society-defined entrepreneurship business. It’s not that hard.
I don’t know what to do with myself, and I guess it shows in the way I carry myself, and in the way I walk, and talk, and relate with people. I have never met anyone who was not inclined to give me advice. I guess it’s a sign of weakness to show fallibility, and to show uncertainty. However, I think it’s the only way I can cope with this life. Accepting the characteristics of my life, extreme fallibility, uncertainty, and failure, and living them. It would cause me to be extremely deranged and insane to try and cover it up, and lie to myself.
So in light of these things, I have come to the conclusion that I should consider cutting my hair.
