Rebonded Hair

Salon trips for special occassions

Contrary to the rebonded hair epidemic gripping the women of the country for the past 10 years or so, I am still quite happy with my big, monstrous, wildly layered colored hair even if it looks like I borrowed it from Simba and when I wake up it's like I'm Chuckie the doll who rose from the grave. What I lack in excitement, my hair makes up for it. Sure it's not slippery, frizz-free, but it has a lot of character and perks me up.

My hair before any invasive treatment

My first time to color

Salon trips for special occassions

This must be my 8th rebond

People are starting to look the same far too long. No offense to those who love their rebonded hair, I have a great number of friends you used to hate their Hermione hair and their confidence has definitely improved after a trip to Going Straight. I am actually a late bloomer, I didn't touch my hair until I got out of my parents' house because I was trying to fit in the "simple girl" club. I wanted something like what the popular girls in school had, which looked very pretty and all the boys wanted to be your boyfriend. So after my first few paychecks, I braved my first foray into the expensive side of the salon menu. I was ecstatic with the results and felt like a thousand bucks, even though I got two thousand bucks poorer.

I think we should finally say goodbye to this fad, explore other options with our hair than conform with shampoo commercials. I think what went wrong here was when Lucy Torres with the "mirror finish 100 brush strokes" hair "captivated" Richard Gomez, everybody started thinking the same? Or when Kim Chiu's hair magically never went out of place even if she was racing a god damn scooter, teenage girls started wanting something like it. Rebonded hair doesn't equate social status anymore. It will not even guarantee you a date with your crush. Everywhere I look, rebonded, rebonded, rebonded. Going Straight still has good business. Even the vendors in divisoria have rebonded hair. You practically look the same everywhere you go, the only thing that changes is the background. The 80's had their fashionable beehives, and now we're showing a completely flat, unmoving and indestructable hairstyle known as rebonded. Or banshee. Or those dolls people use in voodoo. 

Rebonded again. Oopsie, this isn't me.

And let me tell you it doesn't look good on everyone. But if you really feel so strongly about your rebonded hair and it makes you feel beautiful, then by all means keep it. It's what your hair is for after all, your crown of glory. 

He thinks it's porn-ish

My Simba Hair (Current)

I just want to save all of you from making excuses to your grandkids why everyone had banshee hair and all you can say is, "it was THE hairstyle back in the day, you know." I know I shouldn't make up some twisted psychology about hairstyles but I do believe there's a reason why people choose to wear specific clothes each day, how the color they wear somehow shows what they feel and think of and why they choose to have their hair a certain way. We all have something to say. 

Random Moments

Today was a day not like quite any other. I felt like I was in a silent movie. I am trying to figure out why four random events tugged at my chest. It was like I froze for a second like catatonic acting which I hate so much.

This morning, my husband and 1 year old were playing in the bedroom. The little one was trying to bite his nose and they were laughing and hugging and kissing. My husband, usually not the one to show too much emotion, was totally occupied by Mateo, who I believe is the most affectionate little man. Unlike his brothers, who now hates being cuddled by their dad. I froze for a moment, marveled at the guy I married. It dawned on me that he was a perfect dad. And he had the perfect love a father could give a child. I thought, my sons are so loved by their dad. I couldn't help but thank God for the gift of having a loving father for my children.

I went about my afternoon and headed to the market to re-stock on vegetables. While on queue to buy snacks from a popular eatery, I was approached by a slow-moving old lady who was begging for some money. She kept on poking me, making "kalabit" and I am a little privy to touch by people I don't really know. You can talk to me, just don't touch me. So it set me a bit off. I moved a few steps back, I bet it appeared like I was disgusted. Like I was revolted by germs or flying cockroach of something. I don't know if I'm only imagining things but when she looked at me, boy did she look like she was hurt and rejected.

When I got back to my seat, I was stunned-- stunned at my behavior. I felt ashamed and ungrateful. Beggars are human beings, I am not above them and they are not lesser of me. My everyday troubles are nothing, nothing compared to what they have to put up with life everyday just to survive. On a normal day, I would have invited this person to join me, buy her a nice bowl of goto and a cola. I would have asked how her day was and where she lives. I have asked many beggars to share my meals, even let some street children come into my home for supper after getting the "kalakal" I set aside for them every week. I busied myself with helping my firstborn mix his palabok. I told him, "Don't talk to strangers, honey."

Then it dawned on me. I am losing my faith in people. I am learning not to be too trusting. This is a good thing, right? I got nothing to watch my back but me. If you got kids in toll, you can't be too careful.  I've been scammed twice this month all while with family members present and I wouldn't risk safety over a few hundred pesos. But this event with the market Lola put things in perspective. It wouldn't hurt to strike a balance, not everyone out there is as bad as I think.

On the jeep on the way back, I sat beside two women having a conversation loud enough for the half the vehicle to hear. The other admitted to her friend that she couldn't keep a straight lie to her husband, and how her recent sins are causing problems in her home. The rest I didn't catch since it's really none of my business. After they changed the subject, I took a glance at them. Both of them, including the unfaithful wife, were well-dressed and bejeweled, looked like working women, in their mid-30s and were rather attractive. I thought, how much of yourself would you have to trade to have a happy home? What would you have to give up? She was a made woman, and she certainly looks like she didn't let herself go. Yet why is she unhappy? The eureka moment was, I am TRYING my best. I pray to God everyday to help me do my best. I drag myself day to day and force myself to the most mundane of tasks and He helps me hold the fort. For my marriage and my children. Sure I had to sacrifice a few things, but it will have its time. For now, I must learn. Even if it takes me years to do it. I am learning to love myself. I thanked God again for taking care of everything.

While at the parking lot of the village grocery, there was a really romantic scene where this guy in his 30s surprises a bouquet of stargazers-- my favorite flower-- to his lady. They must be having a little celebration. It wasn't entirely private but there weren't too many people around, she put her arms around him and kissed him on the lips. She looked sincerely happy and she loved the flowers. She gave the guy something in two little boxes, he didn't look as thrilled but made a likewise gesture to the girl. They got in the nice new black car, I saw the car start, but they didn't leave just yet. They just stayed there. My eureka moment was, how nice it would be for any girl to have a man who makes life comfortable. And not a living hell. One who takes pains to remember an anniversary or even the silly monthsaries. Or flowers, just because there's no occassion. One who acts respectful towards a girl, hold out the door for her and all those silly people hardly do anymore. And I love it when a man prepares himself to have a life with her, including housing her, giving her vacations, cars, providing for his future family. Not just have a girlfriend because he's of that age when he's supposed to have a girlfriend or he's a total loser. Or has a girlfriend because it feels strange not to have one. A woman is not for your convenience only. She is your partner for life. And she needs just as much affirmation that you love her just as much as you need sex everyday. (And the same goes for gays and lesbians.)

For all the things that happened today, I'm glad.

When at the beach...

Since we're going to Boracay, I am suddenly reminded of how things are now in Bora. We keep coming back for the beautiful beach, for the parties.  But the trash drives me crazy. With that many shops on such a small strip of land, the rate at how fast the trash keeps piling up drives me crazy. You can just imagine how many fruit shake cups, styrofoam disposables, plastic packaging makes it to the island's dumpsite (they have a dumpsite, in the island, no less). And the sewage problem has been a concern for so many. There is just no way a small island can keep it together for long without a well-designed sewage system.

I can still remember how Boracay used to be from my childhood. And my teens. I miss that Boracay. I have been to better beaches but I still come back to Boracay for the memories. Beach fun used to be  bringing your own food, setting up a beach mat and picnic. When at ANY beach, at any rate, buy your food at the market and cook your own, use reusable utensils or go cowboy with banana leaves as plates and your hands instead of the usual spoon and fork. You're not at a fine-dine, for chrissake. Or wake up at dawn to catch the fisherman with the day's haul. Don't bring the junk you eat when at Manila like chips, instant noodles, hotdogs and sweets. Give your sodium-laden diet a break and buy from local sellers and help the community's economy. When at the beach, take advantage of what you'll find there.

When at the beach... keep it simple. And sweet. And green!