In 1996, I was 23.
I had big afro-like chesnut hair. A big personality. A big mouth. A big smile. Big dreams.
Everyday was a bad hair day. Not manageable. Wild. A mind of its own.
But still, I was called The Boss. I was the posse leader.
A few years later I left my family home. I started my adult life. And cut my hair shorter and shorter. Straighten it every once in a while. Change colour. My hair was still qualified “unusual” but it didn’t define me anymore.
In 2020, I was 47. My hair was very short. Greyish blonde. Tamed. Almost common. I lived in the middle of nowhere. I felt like the middle of nothing. No more big hair. No more posse. My head was full of nostalgia. Remorse. The crisis had been going on for a while.
In 2020 the whole world has been locked-down. For weeks. Then months. Fiction became reality. We were forced to stay in our homes.
We could only go out briefly to feed ourselves. With masks and gloves first to protect eachothers. Then we all had to carry a personal QR code on our phones. Interaction with family and friends was limited to Facetime and social medias.
They said it wouldn’t last forever. But after a month, it became quite obvious we were living history and everyday life would never be the same.
My mid-life crisis mingled with the universe crisis.
My family and professional problems shifted. Was it just a step sideways I wondered.
In 2020, I was given too much free time to handle.
I thought about all the decisions I had made which gave structure to the film of my existence. I considered the whole scenario, staging and production.
More than ever, I didn’t want to move forward to start a new chapter. I wanted to rewind, and start again. Start afresh.
I wanted to have long afro hair again.