I AM MY HAIR

Sometimes hair defines a person, or so it seems. A week ago, I cut my hair for various reasons. About two years ago, I had gone natural (no more chemicals relaxer to straighten it) and had grown it to about 12 inches long (shoulder length and wore it in braids all the time), but in a matter of days, I decided to shave it all off.

I usually make drastic changes (colour/cut) to my hair whenever I have a new direction in life. It could be a new significant other, a new or better job, a life style change, or an evolved personality. In this case it was an evolved personality. I had gone through too many changes in the last couple years that I felt I was not really the same person I was even two years ago.

I had graduated my fashion designs course and had worked on a collection for a career launch. I was going to pack up and leave Italy and start the new direction in a different environment (I had never worked formally in the fashion industry before so it would have been my first). Then I got an offer that would mean putting on hold the fashion thing and moving to a different city but still in Italy. I didn’t even blink twice before accepting the position.

Now it’s not because it was a once in a life time opportunity. But at least it was getting me out of Rapallo and for now that was my biggest ambition to get out of there. Arriving my new station proved to be a lot different than I had expected, the bunch I would be working with were cordial and accepting, but I was still the new kid on the block and I was keenly aware of that. I tried to settle in but I felt like the sore thumb and I couldn’t figure out why.

Being in a new town and trying to register my kid and I as new residents proved to be quite a challenge. The citizens were great but the procedure was too daunting and I had very little time to run around, but eventually, I had it done. I thought that should give me the feeling of settling down and maybe take away a bit of that new-kid-on-the-block feeling. It didn’t. That was when it eventually dawned on my that I was digging deep inside trying to find the Naan that was two years ago because in a weird way, I thought she would fit better in this new role. The Naan that is today is one with a bolder personality, hard to intimidate and one with specific and clear directions for what she wants out of life and especially HOW to get it.

For the life of me though, I don’t know why I thought she shouldn’t be put into this new situation. I suppose a part of me wanted the meek submissive Naan that was to be here to make for easier integration. Eventually, it occurred to me, that unless I present the Naan that I want to represent from now on, I would have a problem later on, so I thought, what is the one thing I want to say about me and hope it will sink in to anyone that meets me?

I want to be thought as the brave unconventional woman that is not afraid of being and especially looking different because deep down I AM DIFFERENT.

So the one quick way I thought I could portray that was to shave the head. It takes a lot of courage to be a skin head, especially because society defines a woman’s sexyness and femininity by her hair length. The initial hair cut was a disaster, but a friend of mine levelled it off for me and now I am spotting an inch long mini ‘fro.

So I guess, unlike India Ari, I’ll say I am my hair….or at least for now.

THIN LINE

There was a song by The Pretenders that my baby sister used to love. I’m not sure what the title was but it’s got a line that says ‘there’s a thin line between love and hate’. It took me forever to really understand what that meant but when it finally made sense, I realized that there is a thin line between a lot of things really.

It’s there all the time in relationships. The boundary of this thin line is most tested in crisis and how far we decide to push it solidifies or dissolves the line, neither of which are good. Relationships are a tricky thing to master. The only relationships we find ourselves in that requires more effort to pull away from is family relationship, anything else requires effort to REMAIN in it.

Someone said to me once that the older he got, the more defined his idea of ‘the one’ became and the more difficult it was to find her. I had asked him then if it probably was because he had become more critical and demanding with the passing of time and he assured me that it was the contrary. To a certain extend I agree with him. We learn from our experiences, certain experiences leave us wanting a replay, others leave us swearing never again, so yes, I suppose we get a clearer picture of what thrills or pisses us as we grow older.

However, I do not believe age has anything to do with common sense when it comes to deciding when and where to push our luck. Being in a relationship is all about decision. There is always the basic reason why we were drawn to the person in question and almost all the time, that basic reason has very little to do with logic, but it is good enough to make us decide we want to know them more, hoping of course to make them a part of our lives. But give it a little time and we’ll begin to see that this awesome person is human after all (full of flaws). Now this is the point where an important decision comes to play - do we want to hang around long enough to understand if the flaw if acquired and can be shed off or if it is an in build part of this person? And if so, is it something we can (or want to) live with?

Everyone has two lists of things to decide to stand or not - The list that is about the other person’s flaw - does he slurp his soup? Does he pick his nose? Is he good looking enough? Is he rude and crude…etc, then there is the other list, about this person’s flaws in relation to you. Does he criticize you all the time? Does he use you as his punch bag when something or someone else upsets him? Does he put you down to make himself feel better about his flaws? …etc

Sometimes we tell ourselves, I can put up with that even if I don’t like it because it will help me understand him better. That is just being in denial. There are a lot of ways to understand a person without putting up with their bad behaviour, ESPECIALLY if it is in the slightest disrespectful to you. If he starts off being disrespectful now, trust me, you don’t want to hang around to see what he’d do when he’s caught you in his net.

If he picks a fight with you because he is upset about something else that has nothing to do with you and you put up with that, no matter how understanding you think you are being (hey, we all get upset and misbehave and should be graceful to our loved ones when they get that way….right?), you are only helping in dissolving the line between respecting you and being able to be themselves and remain true to their emotions. What that does is, the offence will get bigger and more frequent until one day you cannot see the line at all…..on the other hand, you ought to be able to accommodate a person’s negative emotions. You don’t want him being afraid of showing his frustration before you because you’d take it the wrong way. The balance here is making him understand that as long as HE can see the line between being frustrated at something else before you AND still know it has nothing to do with you. He can break all the plates he wants.

Tricky situation isn’t it? What I am saying is that each boundary line is personal and each person has to decide for themselves what they are willing to put up with. It is important though to remember that when a behaviour gives you a bad feeling. No matter how small it is (compared to the bad feeling you got from it). DO NOT IGNORE IT. One day you’d pat yourself on the back and say “good job (Naan)”. Trust me, that’s a lot better than finding yourself in a situation that would require years of healing and possible therapy to be normal enough to cope again.

So look out for those thin lines and MIND THEM.

First Kiss.

Ian Ellis was the coolest boy in school. He had promised me a kiss for my birthday, it would be my very first kiss and I was excited. I turned 13 yesterday. I've thought and talked about the kiss, with my best friend Tania, for the past 2 weeks. I had also told Auntie Melissa. I couldn't tell mother, she never understands such things. I didn't sleep much all night; I kept feeling funny in my stomach, like a tickle, like butterflies. My very first kiss from the boy I like the most in the whole world! It would be during the school dance and I was looking forward to it, I even had my best dress ready, a week before; just to be on the safe side. I saw him across the hall, he was talking to Henry Paul and looking at me, I wondered what they were talking about. Maybe Henry knew Ian would kiss me. I was standing right next to Tania and my palms were sweaty.
"Wow, your very first kiss Maria," Tania gushed, looking at me, rather excited. I tried to smile at her but I was so nervous, my mouth felt dry. I tried to look calm yet I could feel my body tremble lightly. Auntie Melissa had given me tips about kissing a boy. I think she knew that I liked him very much. Tania and I saw him coming towards us and she quickly vanished, leaving me standing alone. I looked away, pretending to wipe something off my wrist.
"Hello Maria," he had said. I feigned to look startled.
"Oh, Ian." We stood there in an awkward silence for a moment. "It was my birthday," I said nervously and almost kicked myself. How dumb.
"And I am here to give you a kiss."
I was looking at his lips as he said it, he must have just eaten something, he had crumbs at the corner of his mouth. I hoped he’d make it quick before the dance ended. Oh I'll be embarrassed if anyone saw us. It was dark enough and no one was near the entrance but us. Just then, I remembered that I had just had a tuna sandwich! Oh no!!!
"One minute," I said, looking away, I felt myself blush, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my lip gloss and some chewing gum. He stood there smiling at me, making me even more nervous. I chewed the gum for a few seconds then swallowed it - I didn't know what else to do with it. My hand was shaking as I began applying the lip gloss; I hoped he didn't notice it.
"Is it flavoured?" he had asked.
"Eh? Oh, I don't know," How dumb; of course it was flavoured and I knew it! I didn't realize kissing a boy would make me that nervous. Ian seemed calm and that made it even worse for me.
"Ready," I said folding my arms in front of me, then folding them behind my back. Arms. What nuisance, what should I do with them? Auntie Melissa had said to let them hang loosely by my side at first, thank goodness I remembered that just in time. I let them drop, but I held them so stiffly I felt like Uncle Barney in his military parades. Ian was still looking at me, at my mouth actually, and smiling, at my mouth actuall. Oh no, maybe I had put on too much lip gloss, I thought. I quickly reached up and wiped my mouth.
"Ready," I said again. It felt as though I waited forever, I glanced around quickly, we were still unnoticed, I hoped he’d make it quick before the dance stops and someone sees us. I should close my eyes I thought, so I shut them up really tight and waited like forever. First, his lips touched mine very gently. I had that funny feeling again in my stomach, almost like a painful tickle, I wanted to laugh and cry all at once. I held my stomach with one hand and my skirt, really tight, with the other. Suddenly he thrust his tongue into my mouth. I gasped. That was what Auntie Melissa had called a French kiss, I think. She also said it was supposed to be nice, but all I felt was his tongue wiggling furiously in my mouth, from side to side. How do you respond to that? He began thrusting deeper, as though he wanted me to say "aaaahhhh". I just let my jaws dropped lower and his saliva ran down the side of my mouth – that was very distracting. Should I let him have my tongue? I stuck it out a bit and he quickly sucked it into his mouth.
His mouth tasted like fermented taco burps and he had too much Saliva drooling. How gross. He pushed his tongue back into my mouth again, this time, as though trying to touch my tonsils, My hands instinctively went up to his shoulders, I wanted to push him away, but this was Ian Ellis and I liked him very much! Auntie Melissa did say something about holding his neck or his face while kissing him, so I did, hoping it would help me feel more in tune with the whole thing. Now he's exploring my gum, teeth and whole mouth with his tongue. I could smell raw onions on his breath; I wondered what he had eaten. I didn't have that nice feeling in my stomach any more. Our teeth rubbed a few times, it was rather unpleasant and all I could think was ‘unhygienic’. Suddenly the music stopped and we jerked apart. Ian had a goofy smile on his face; he seemed quite pleased with himself, as though he thought he had knocked me off my socks, and I had never been more glad about the end of something like I was about that kiss. I smiled at him; He was Ian Ellis after all and I still liked him.

© Naan Pocen

Sex, Lies and Online dating By Rachel Gibson

Sex lies and online dating was one of the few books that captivated me from the start based on the humour. The story is woven around two individuals that got into online dating for work related purposes only to end up liking each other.Rachel Gibson has a very vivid imagination regarding the cheesy characters that date online, especially the names they choose as screen names – Hardluvnman, Bigdaddy182, Luvstick, Klondikemike. I found a portrayal of the characters void of good manners and etiquette, although typical of screen names and personalities, I did wonder if it was a fair presentation of online dating.

What I enjoyed about the book, was the way she brought her characters to life. They weren't Hollywood type with perfect bodies, you tend to feel she's talking about someone you know (or could know). Sometimes you read a book and could predict the characters' reactions to certain situations based on how you perceive them - knowing fully well they're fictional and evolving based on a formula - I didn't feel that with this book.The reactions were realistic and not a formula to make the story flow, which indeed gave it a better flow. How she captured their emotions and reactions was refreshing, there was no exaggeration or purple prose and to me, that was good writing - to remain as real as possible and still be able to capture the readers attention from start to finish.I liked how she resolved the conflict in the end. The only thing I didn't care for was that the main characters got married eventually. I felt the story was complete without that bit.

She left me wanting with the bit about Clare behaving oddly though. Clare was mentioned only a few times in passing so giving her the centre stage that late in the story was distracting. It may be because Ms Gibson had plans of working on a sequel, if not, that last bit didn't blend too well with the rest of the story. However, Rachel Gibson is one writer whose work I am certain to read again.

My Sister's Keeper By Jodi Picoult

Sharing ideas from across the globe exposes a person to different views, but sometimes a book does it even better. For me, that book was My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult. It's a book about the rather difficult choices a family made when a child was diagnosed with a rare form of leukaemia. Her sister was conceived - genetically engineered - to be a perfect match, for procedures that become increasingly invasive, until at the age of 13 she decided to hire a lawyer, and sue her parents, for the right to decide how her body is to be used.

I have a pen pal who suffers from ataxia due to brain damage. It causes her to have seizures, so she uses a service animal, just like the lawyer in Picoult's book, and she's gradually losing her sight as well. Technically, I understood what my friend was going through, but the emotion behind such a life, the hardship of simple daily living, was something I never imagined, until I read the book. And like Katie in Picoult's book, my friend lives one day at a time, knowing there could be no tomorrow. She had been told, just like in the book, that stem cell treatments could give her a better chance at living. She has come close to having a stem cell treatment, using the umbilical cord of her niece, but because it was illegal where she lives, the treatment was never carried out. However, in Picoult's story, it was, several times.

Picoult was able to tackle the issue from various angles, making it hard to take sides, and readers are likely to be sympathetic to all sides of the case. I found it frighteningly thought-provoking. The story shows evidence of thorough research. It does not answer many questions, but it certainly raises some. What I found rather disturbing about it, though, was the protagonist's devotion to the child with leukaemia, which is totally understandable, and her complete lack of sympathy for the donor (sister)'s predicament, as well as neglecting her troubled son. As a mother who loves her child, I just could not understand using one child to save another, despite knowing how profound a mother's love can be.

However, the book gave me a deeper appreciation for my friend, and I am less judgemental about stem cell treatments, because it hit too close to home this time.