last weekend i got my haircut.  for most people, i imagine haircuts to be a rather routine thing.  for me, they've always been a source of stress.  whether because of having moved so frequently or because of some part of my personality make-up, i've never gone to the same hairstylist more than three times at the very most (excluding my mom cutting it in my younger years)...
whenever i decide i need to get a haircut i get overwhlemed. first, i need to decide where to, i'm wondering if the salon i do decide on will lend a hairdresser familiar with my thick hapa hair.  and once i decide and an appointment is made, i have to decide how i want to cut it.  it would be easier if i just did the same thing everytime, right?  but, i'm just not that way.  so by the time the appointment has rolled around, i am both excited because, by that point,  my hair is driving me crazy, and anxious because the place is unfamiliar and i don't know what to expect. 
this last time, i decided to cut my long, thick locks to my shoulders.  and after making an appointment at one salon, canceling it because i wanted to save money, making an appointment for a free cut with my mom and changing my mind and finally making an appointment at a hair school, i managed a haircut.  it's probably not the best idea to decide to cut off more of your hair than you have in years with someone who is just two weeks into their hands-on haircutting experience.  but that is just what i did and it was only 15 bucks and complete with a massage and facial.  and after the cut, in the middle of the night i woke up crying just like jo in little women, grieving the loss of  my long hair and the chunk out of the back that was supposed to be nice, smooth layers...
since then, it's only taken a few days to get used to the new length and even enjoy it somewhat.  it no longer feels as heavy as a mink blanket and a change is always nice now and then. 
but more importantly, i've remembered something through the events of my latest mini-hair-adventure.  i've remembered that there's a history and story behind my hair.  whether it is long or short, flattering of my face shape,  in style or comes from a long hair history.  i live in america but my hair comes from south korea.  it is my mother's hair and it is the hair she prayed i would have before i was born, whether for preference or to carry on what is deeper than the latest style, i don't know.  it is hair as strong as seaweed and dark like the deep of the sea. someday it might gleam white like the glare of the sun on water.  it is hair from a people who worked with, ate from and lived by wild water crashing upon rocks. 
you and i were made by the same hands who held the oceans in their hollow.  and every hair on our heads, no matter how we change and try to tame it, is known by him and made without mistake.  and i am encouraged to know he knows me intricately and is without flaw in his knowlege, to the very hairs (and all their history), on my thick hapa head.