Requiem for Hair

For more than two years I allowed the hair to literally go down without me giving it much attention that I would go out--even covering a presidential visit--with mass of it gathered by a overly-tired panali at the back my head, and loose portions hanging, caressing both of my cheeks.

It was just like that. Hair was far from being beautiful but the comfort it gave me was unquestionable. It allowed me to achieve that lukaret look. That easy look. That tambay look. Cool. Very kanto.

For two years I so loved hair that not even one of my greatest depressions succeeded in pushing me to grab a pair of scissors and cut it, nevermind if they had their share of depression that they pull themselves off and fall like messy threads littering the bed, the floor.

Hair was just there. A silent witness to my bliss, a loyal companion when I was in pain.


Until recently.



(Cousin Daniel, Bananachoked, Pipo Matalam aka Veve Ghel, and housemate Jimaima)

And these are some of the looks that I want to achieve in the next months. CLICK...CLICK...CLICK