| Hair and happiness Part 1 There is no point dressing it up in flowery language. I am obsessed by long hair. I always have been since my childhood. I have no idea why. It is just a fact, and I have learned to accept it. I am sure some Freudian psychiatrist could tell me what it signifies. I no longer care. I remember as a child being entranced by one of the teachers in my primary school. Her hair, thick shiny and dark brown, fell well past her waist. I used to stare at it swinging back and forth as she wrote on the black board. At my first day in secondary school, I vividly remember a girl in the year above me with thick, wavy blonde hair that almost to her knees. She was also one of the prettiest girls in the school with beautiful, green eyes and a peachy complexion. I remember the front part of her hair was drawn into two braids that joined together at the back � a pretty and practical style that showed off her cute face perfectly. This girl was the subject of my first full-blown crush. I would return home each night tortured by the pain of her beauty and unavailability. Of course, I realised that I had a love of long hair. I had no idea whether that was usual. But I remained in some form of denial for many years. Encouraged by evidence that men everywhere find long hair sexy, I assumed that my attraction was nothing out of the ordinary. Soon, when I started going out with girls, hair didn�t really feature. It was almost as if I didn�t associate my love of long hair with my burgeoning interest in girls. In fact, my first serious girlfriend � when I was 15 � had a pixie cut. Pretty and popular � but not long-haired! |
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