Long Hair

Her crowning glory is her hair.
I get so many compliments and comments on my hair on a daily basis. Right now, my hair is long, curly, and down to near my mid back. Whether for the good or the bad, people always have something to say about: and so do I.
I have a love/hate relationship with my hair. The love is that it is an expression of my family. My mother said that when she was younger, she used to have just as long and as curly hair as mine. She used to tell me stories of her mother brushing her hair and plaiting it before she was to go to school. She also said how she would wear flowers in hair for outings. Even to this day when we go to India, we females wear flowers in our hair. My aunt, who am I am told that I have an uncanny resemblance to, also used to have long curly hair. I never actually met her, but I wonder what she would have said about having to maintain it. My cousin, who is extremely beautiful- to me she looks like a true Indian princess, and no- not the fair skinned Bollywoood actress type: but the dark skinned maiden of the south with a cherub face and deep dark kohl lined/expression filled eyes, also has curly long hair.
The hate comes in a deep self loathing. My hair has taken on an identity of its own. It is almost its own person. I hide behind it. it is a veil that hides me from the world and helps to mask my own insecurities. It is almost like it is a characteristic of my personality and I detest that. There is a secret part of me that dreams that I could liberate myself from its enchanting hold. That secret part wishes to be a rebel: a true liberal whose identity is not wrapped in the physical image but in the characteristics behind it. I secretly wish that I could cut my hair chin length, or even just shoulder length and have it straightened like a 1920's flapper or a 1930's feminist.
But I have no guts and that is what I loathe. To even cut my hair an inch scares me. It scares me so much that I haven't done it since my sophomore year of college- and that was nearly four years ago. I have no guts because I know deep down inside I have grown used to the comments about my hair and it is almost like I expect it anywhere I go.
Until I am able free myself from perception and illusion- my hair will remain. And till then, I guess I am true representation of myself: Maya. A shadow.

But don't tell anyone. Because its a secret.

The dig deeper

I have done crazy things. Wild things. Things no one will ever know: Until now. It is funny though- when people first see me, they usually think that I "am not that type of person." And when I hear this, I stoically smile and secretly laugh to myself. What type of person did they initially expect me to be? Sorry, but that is not the complete me. The complete me is actually a quandary. A mystery. Something that I need to search in my quest as I blog to get the answers to the wonders of myself. It is hidden within the layers of clothes, garbage, makeup, jewelry, bullshit that I give to people on a daily basis. It is hiding somewhere within the insecurities of my long hair. It wants to gain redemption and demand that humanity realizes its true existance within the mask. And with that said, it is time to start removing the first layer. The layer of deceit.

A sun salutation to myself.

Well, as for a first day of blogging, I guess I must introduce myself-
Hi my name is Preethi.
Hmmm- that was too boring
Okay- Mera naam Preethi Hai.
That was too much of a "northie" wannabe. Let me try again.
Hola. Me llamo Preethi.
I guess I tried to put my minor to good use and I am now bragging. One more time.
Yenoda payer Preethi.
Okay- I feel stupid. Like someone will tell me not to say that. Horrors and flashblacks! I lied. Once more!
Okay- fine. My name is Preethi.
It means dear or love.
I love to think I am a dear lover, but I will bet other people will beg to differ.
Introductions kinda suck dont they? You know you have so much to share. So much to tell- so much to release that you would probably not tell a soul in real life, but share in an alternate reality. So enough of formalities and political correctness. Time to dig the dirt.