to my bloggy girlfriend

Two memorable things happened the week or so before I left for Singapore. Number one, I got the worst haircut of my life and number two, I tripped on the escalators. Why must I write about it? Because Matt is no longer my best girlfriend and since I haven’t got a runner-up in arm's reach, my blog is my favored alternative at this point - writing offers immediate relief.

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Yeah, it was only 10 bucks – the haircut that is – but by typical service standards I shouldn’t have paid for any of it and if I had better use of the Korean language I surely wouldn’t have. The young man who cut my hair gave me a middle school girl’s hairstyle, cut my bangs on a ridiculously pronounced slope, missed long chucks of my hair that remained uncut because they had been wrapped under the cape, and, the clincher, cut my neck with the razor _three_ times!


I must take a moment and reflect on this last point. I didn’t say anything and for that I’m angry with myself. Why didn’t I say “OUCH!”? I wanted to say ouch but didn’t. I kept my cool despite the fact that he was hurting me, didn’t know it and kept doing it. It’s the same thing that I did when I was on my first day of my job as a dog walker and was sitting in the living room of a new client with my boos, the client and Titan, the Shiba Inu. We were getting to know each other and playing with Titan. I was holding Titan’s ball but before I could throw it he pounced on it while it was still in my hand – Shiba’s are HIGHLY active and can’t wait even a split second for you to engage them as they are extremely independent thinkers and engage in play on their own – anyway, my fingernail was caught in between the ball and the tip of his canine tooth pressing down on my nail bed. I would equate the pain to having your fingernail being stepped on: not excruciating but it’s gonna hurt for a few days afterward. Anyway, I was in pain and Titan would not let go of the ball. I wanted to shout “OUCH!” but I kept silent even when my eyes started tearing. That night I went home and cried like a baby, not because my finger was throbbing but because I didn’t speak up for myself and say, “hey, I exist and have feelings and am vulnerable and what your are doing is hurting me so stop it please”. I felt so sorry for myself; that I kept all that buried inside; that I didn’t want to disrupt the social flow of things or make anyone feel uncomfortable because of me or lean on anyone for assistance.



So I don’t know when I will learn the lesson that is to be learned. I believe it will happen when it’s the right time for it to happen but nonetheless, I had an opportunity that day when that guy cut my neck. When it first happened I knew I had two basic choices: 1) make an announcement that he was hurting me or 2) just ignore the pain. I decided to keep quiet because I figured it wouldn’t happen again … then it did, and I thought once more about making a noise to indicate pain but again decided against it because I figured it wouldn’t happen again … then it did, and by that time I felt it was too late to say something and just accepted the pain. What a pity.

Clearly I would do things differently if I had the situation to do again but I don’t. All I can do is write about it now and think about it a little more. But no, I’m not crying over it so I know I’m heading in the right direction. I got a haircut from an inexperienced stylist and it cost me 10 bucks and a couple of nicks on my neck from a sharp multi-toothed razor blade. I will vote with my feet and never go there again.

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So this Korean guy tripped me last week as he whizzed by me on the escalators. Truth be told, it was an accident. His briefcase was near my heel at the very moment I went for a step so my foot didn’t clear the rise and I fell down at his feet with much commotion. But his ignoring me and not offering me any help – well that was no accident. What a jerk! One week later my shins are still sporting some impressive bruises where they made direct contact with the metal corrugated groves of the escalator. Whenever I get a bruise I think of my dad … okay, hold on, it’s not what you think. Whenever I get a bruise I think fondly of my dad! He always said with pride and a smile, whenever I got a bruise as a child that it was a badge of courage … and I still think that. Whenever I get a bruise I think of my dad and how proud he must be of me! hahaha