Hair growth ,Has my life become like this?
The morning is awakened by the light leaking through the window. Touching my phone and pressing the alarm, my fingertips accidentally brushed against my forehead – it had been empty for a long time, so long that I almost forgot the feeling of my hair falling down.
Now it’s back. Soft and fresh hair, not thick and even slightly curly and unruly. I lay in bed, gently stroking the once smooth and mirror like area with my fingers, as if confirming something that had been lost and regained.
The first difference is that washing your face no longer makes you feel anxious. In the past, when water droplets slid down my forehead, I had to quickly wipe them off – because my scalp was exposed, and the feeling of water droplets directly dripping through my skin was too clear. Each one seemed to remind me that something was missing here. Today, water droplets stopped at the edge of the hairline and were gently intercepted by those newly formed hairs. I looked up and saw myself in the mirror not hiding.
On the commute, blurry figures are reflected in the glass windows of the subway. Before habitually bowing my head, I saw that furry edge. I first realized the widening of my hairline three years ago on this train. At that time, the hat was pressed very low and I didn’t want to take it off in July. It’s July again now, and the hat is hanging on the side pocket of the backpack, leaving some dust.
The workstation is in its old position, with the same light still overhead. In the past, during meetings, there was always a certain angle that made my scalp feel slightly hot, as if being illuminated by a spotlight. No for today. I don’t know if the light wasn’t on as before or if my hair was a bit too dense. It doesn’t matter.
In the evening, when I went to the market, the vegetable seller looked up at me and said, “The little girl’s complexion has improved and there is a light on her face.” I didn’t explain where that light came from. Carrying the food back, the wind swept around the back of the head, carrying a few strands of broken hair to brush against the earlobes. I haven’t felt the wind blowing from this angle for three years. I stopped for a moment and didn’t reach out to press.
Washing hair before bedtime, rubbing the scalp with fingertips, is no longer a smooth wasteland. The newly formed stubble is like grass that has just sprouted after rain, soft and fine. Blowing hair is no longer like finishing a battlefield, it’s just blowing hair. Turn off the hair dryer, and suddenly it’s very quiet around.
Lie down, with hair scattered on the pillow. There is no deliberate fluffy design, just gently spread out. There is a car passing by outside the window, walking on the ceiling and then leaving. I closed my eyes and remembered the first time I saw my scalp under the light three years ago, the coldness spreading from my fingertips to my heart. The scalp is still there now, but something has grown on it. It’s not hair that’s thick enough to show off, it’s new hair that needs to be seen in a mirror to be clear.
In the darkness, he reached out his hand and gently draped it over his head. The hair brushed against the palm, itching slightly, and I couldn’t help but bend the corners of my mouth.
The beautiful life after growing hair is never about finally being able to go out with a perfect hairstyle, but about finally forgetting that you still have hair. Don’t hide when the wind comes, don’t hide when the light comes, and don’t hide when others’ gaze falls on your forehead.
Just calmly, as if never lost, continue living.
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