Because no one will read this

I want to write for long hours without any distractions. But the birds are chirping, so I close my laptop and look outside. For a change, I hear every little sound outside my balcony - a bike whooshing past, leaves rustling, two women talking indistinctly, the sound of a running hose as someone decides to water their plants in the middle of the day.  

There is no deadline. I just need to write a blog post. And it's my blog, so it can be any topic. But I am stuck. I look at the pictures of the post - navy blue sleeveless shirt and beige shorts with a brown belt. Classic. Italian. Hint of old money. In fact, it could be one of the best quick outfits I have ever put together. 

Do I really need to write another paragraph on the outfit? Who cares? Let me publish this post anyway. Wait, what if someone actually reads this? What if they come to read about fashion and get stuck in the mind of a clueless early millennial who has no idea what she wants to do? I am hungry now. Will write better next month. Bye.

Btw, the birds chirp again.

...........................................................................................................................................................

Please follow me on GFC and Instagram if you like reading the blog.

Hair is everything

When I first saw Phoebe Waller Bridge's character, Fleabag, saying that "Hair is everything," I didn't think much of it. Only much later did I realise that women around me talked about hair a lot. My cousin, in fact, is obsessed with hair; most of our video calls start with how frustrated she is coz of her hair. I have had colleagues who, during our cab rides to work, shared hair care tips every week. 

Growing up, tiny braids were my thing for the longest time. Even though girls around me were pressurised to grow their hair, I was lucky enough to have the freedom to do whatever I wanted with them. There was one problem, though. Two actually. Firstly, the hairdressers seemed to have sworn off any haircuts that were not layers. Everyone coming out of a hair salon looked the same. When I moved to a bigger city, I tried my best to convince hairdressers to do something different. The process involved many requests, giving examples of how the haircut looks good on certain people, and a verbal oath that I and only I would be responsible for the final outcome. Once I got the haircut, I was excited like a puppy with a new toy. But then people around me looked at me with these sad eyes as if something bad had happened to me. That was the second problem.

I guess most people are pretty uptight when it comes to haircuts. My haircuts were not even radical. But to them, it was. To them it was an inappropriate desire to change, a cry for help even. To me, it was never that serious. I changed my hair every year for one reason alone - because I could. Nothing else.