Me: 'Mom, I want blue hair dye for Christmas.'
Mom: 'We'll see.'
Me: 'Put it in my stocking.'
Mom: 'We'll see.'
Since I cannot shut up and I just gotta talk when strange things pop up in my head, I told mom to buy please buy me blue hair dye while we were at church yesterday. The sermon had just ended and I was dying to open my mouth and talk to anyone. Shutting up for more than an hour is so hard to do! And so I told mom that I wanted, yes, blue hair dye. I swear that the people who heard me voice my request to mom turned their heads and stared at me. Either they were annoyed that I was thinking about the gifts I wanted to receive. Or maybe they were shocked with my request.
Me: 'I'm planning to dye my hair.'
Mom: 'What? Again?'
Me: 'It looks so boring!'
Mom: 'You hair looks nice!'
When I turned thirteen, I stopped believing mom when it came to hair, clothes, shoes and piercings. I don't believe her when she says that my hair is nice. If she thinks it's nice, something is seriously wrong with my hair. If she thinks that my clothes are awesome, I change my clothes right away. And when she is pleased with my piercings that just means that I need to add more. No, I don't mean to disrespect her. She's just forty years older than me. Her style is too old for my taste. Her opinions are from forty or more years ago. And so I do not trust my mom when it comes to those things.
Imagine, when I was growing up, my mom would have them cut my hair to make me look like a boy. She would tell me that I looked so pretty with short hair. How short? Well, let's just say that I looked like someone from the army. And then she'd make me wear these really pretty dresses. I am so sure that people would think that I was gay or something. And so that's the reason why I am so into my hair. I think that because of that really traumatic past I had with my hair, I am so obsessed with getting it to look great now.
Me: 'It's herbal dye.
Mom: 'I don't care.'
Me: 'It's awesome.'
I'm trying my best to convince mom that the dye won't ruin my hair. Somehow all the old people I know just keep on telling me that I'm just ruining my hair by dying it. The most hilarious thing is that hair is actually dead. So how can you ruin something that is already dead? I get their point. When you keep on dying and bleaching your hair, it gets hard and it starts to fall off. But there are ways to bleach and to dye you hair that won't make it hard and won't make you lose hair. It's just taking me forever to convince mom because she doesn't believe me. Why doesn't she believe me? She's old. She's a mom.
Nah, she just doesn't want me to dye my hair because I end up shocking so many people. When it was light brown, I almost got kicked out of church. When my hair turned red, the wife of an elder told me that I was getting wild. Good thing we aren't in that church anymore. But it would be fun to show them my blue hair when I finally dye it.
Me: 'Papa said it's okay.'
Me: 'HA HA HA.'
Papa? He doesn't care if I want blue hair or red hair or yellow hair. As soon as I got papa's permission to get blue hair, I knew that I had already won the argument. I mean, if I could get papa to agree with me, then mom wouldn't be able to do anything about it. It's like even if she doesn't want me to get blue hair, she'd let me do it because papa already said that I could get it done. I guess papa just lets me be because he knows that if I don't get to dye my hair I'll go insane.
Me: 'Manong Renzo said it'll look cool.'
Me: 'Told you!'
And then my brother kinda gave me permission to dye it also. We were talking about his contact lenses and then hair and then about me dying my hair blue. And he was like, "Yeah! Yeah1 That would look cool!' Mom was too busy eating her turkey to even notice that my brother gave in to my request.The score? Mom gets zero and I get two points.
Me: 'Fine. If I don't dye it, I'll pierce.'
Mom: 'Just dye it instead.'
Me: 'Or I could. .'
Mom: 'Just dye it!'
I can dye it! Mom is more scared about me getting another piercing than about me getting hard hair or losing my hair from dying. Sometimes, to get my way, I just say, 'Or I'll get another piercing.' I know. it's so wrong. But when you want something so badly, you just gotta find a way to push for it even if it means getting on mom's nerves.
Me: 'I win!'
Mom: 'What? Is this a contest?'
Me: 'I just win!'
Mom: 'Hay naku, Anna!'