Monday, 31 August 2015

Everything that kills me makes me feel alive

I like hair
The smell of hair, the touch of hair, the concept of hair
Each of them so unbelievably insignificant, so fragile, so independent
But together, they actually define me

Come to think about it
the state of my hair has indeed been reflecting the state of my mind
It had been a stack of sun-soaked hay during the times where my mind was made completely dead and unexcited of life, and it was a ridiculous head of extensions when I needed many masks to get me through the days 

Those were the dog days.

Now it is 
basically, much alive

-I realise I sound like this post is going to end up promoting some hair products or something, but no. This is an actual deep post intending to reflect the metaphysical state of being through the notion of hair. so yeaaa-

Reason is because I am happy 
Very very much happy
The happiness and contentment overwhelms my heart and the ability to feel emotions is what makes me alive

But I have concerns.
The tresses, albeit in a lovely state, are limply
There is a lack of strength in them, they dont make me feel strong
Just like a delicate China deliberately stored and kept away from the forces of heat, air, and every day grinds
 And my fear is that, that is exactly what my life is right now - me keeping myself away from the grinds, immersing myself in my own bubble, sustaining my happiness only on a day-to-day basis

I am no fine China 
I am not, and will not be, that frail and feeble bowl that can't even withstand the hit of a metal cutlery
At the core of my definition, 
I know I am a fucking crucible 
Nowhere near pretty, but will always survive the white of fire.