Nevergirl’s

The one body part that I put through so much use and abuse has got to be my hair. You have never seen hair as ugly as mine. It doesn’t help that I only use a comb when I’ve a party to go to. During our latest trip to Cebu, I went three days without combing my hair. I just ran my fingers through my hair before running out the door. I looked like I’d gotten caught in a bombing, naturally, but that didn’t frazzle me much. At least, not then. Now, it does. I look at the photos from that trip, and I go, “What on earth was I thinking?”

See, the problem is not that I was born with ugly hair. I wasn’t. I have naturally straight, shiny hair that falls in the right places. How’d my hair go from that to this? Blame it on too much spare time, and too much willingness to believe everything homosexuals working in salons tell me.

October of last year, I actually had hair to make a classy bun out of when I hosted the Philippine Blog Awards for the Visayas.

January this year, I rocked this red dress with shoulder-length hair.

One terrible perm later, I ended up with boy hair. By March this year, this is how short my hair had become.

Oh, and yeah, you don’t have to tell me this is a really scary ‘do. I know. Believe you me, I know. Every time I look at this photo, I cringe. I must’av spent March in a state of despair. I can’t remember if I did, but I should have. Hair like that deserves agony of the constant kind. An exit alarm should sound every time I walk inside a salon. Otherwise, I’d walk out of every salon I enter looking like a modern-day version of the yeti.

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“Well, at least you feel like you’re always on vacation. Who gets to live beside such a pretty garden with two ponds? Your place is so pretty, it looks like I step into a magazine each time I come visit,” my sister laughed at me the other day, when I complained about being holed up for weeks inside the bedroom.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Living here doesn’t feel like being on one of those Disney vacations at all! It’s way too quiet, way too lonely, and way too far from everything and everyone else. The only saving grace is the space–there’s lots of space here for play.

Then again, space is both boon and bane. With this much space around, it’s easy to lose yourself and forget that somewhere in all of it, there’s you.

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We’re moving by March 22. I dread it but like all things scary and dreadful, I’d rather get it done the soonest that I can. I don’t believe in prolonged goodbyes, in dragging out agony. I don’t like that we’re moving but I’d rather move now than spend all my days cringing at the idea and shrinking from what needs doing.

All my mental wanderings aside, there’s really no other place I’d love to live in than Bohol. It’s not just that I spent most of my childhood there; I’ve lived in Cebu for 10 years after all, and stayed in Davao for a year and a half. I love Bohol because it’s equal small, beautiful, quiet, and kind.

Cancun hotels? Sure, I wouldn’t mind staying there for a day or so. I wouldn’t mind living in Bangkok, Tokyo, or Thessaloniki either. Egypt is up there on my list; so is Bhutan though I’m not entirely sure what I’ll do there. But I figure, all these places, they’re fine and dandy, but they’re not Bohol.

Someday, after we’ve moved around some more and after we’ve traveled abroad for a bit, we will go back to Bohol, where everything started for me, where I drew stick figures on the bark of a tree.

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