🤱Thinking of You [The Day I Cut My Hair] 990

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For self-conscious middle and high school students, hairstyles are a matter of life and death.
It sounds exaggerated, but I couldn't leave the house without styling my hair with a curling dryer.
I suppose nowadays people use flat irons.


When I was in elementary school, I had straight, silky black hair.
I wanted to wear it down sometimes, but perhaps because it was my mother's preference, I often wore high twin tails.
Or sometimes a ponytail.
By the time I was in middle and high school, my hair had somehow changed into thick, stiff, and voluminous curly hair.


Every morning before school, I was fed up with my own hair.
When I tied it up, it became as thick as a shimenawa rope.
I wanted to cut it.
I wanted to go to the hair salon with my friends.
I wanted a hairstyle like the one that girl on TV had, or like my classmate Ms. □□.


I wasn't allowed to.
At the venue (a common name for the gathering place of the religion my mother believed in), there were days when it was okay to cut your hair and days when it was forbidden.
Near the entrance of the venue, a list was posted every month showing "good days," "bad days," "days to go out," and "days to come in," and wasn't it the "days to go out" that were suitable for cutting hair?


There were also teachings like "It's better not to cut your hair while things are ongoing," "It's better not to cut it while you have something you want to achieve," and "It's better to cut it a while after things have settled down."
They said that if you cut it drastically, the situation would change significantly, so it was better to cut at most 5cm if you had to.
How is that any different from a superstition?

Generally, I think people often cut their hair before taking ID photos, before job interviews, or before entrance ceremonies and opening ceremonies.
I wanted to do that too, but my mother's faith never allowed it.
I thought that getting a hairstyle I liked would motivate me, while my mother genuinely believed that my grades and school life would change depending on when I cut my hair.

My mother is currently in a group home, but before the COVID-19 pandemic, she went to the venue every day to pray for the recovery of my late father's illness (chronic heart failure, terminal stage of interstitial pneumonia).
Of course, my mother didn't cut her hair for years.
Even though I told her, "It's unsightly," "It's embarrassing," and "Dad would prefer a mother who looks neat," because I wanted her to keep herself clean and tidy as she aged, she wouldn't budge and let her thinning, fine hair grow long. Such terrifying faith!!
Now, she requests a visiting hairdresser at the group home and gets her hair cut regularly.

There were other rules: "No denim," "No sandals," "No red shoes," "No boots," "No stripes, borders, or polka dots," "No back prints," "No English logos," "No animal prints," "You must wear bright colors," "Peonies are fine but roses are not," "Floral patterns are fine but leaf patterns are not," "White doesn't work out," "Black means a dark future," "Don't go shopping on rainy days," "Don't buy anything other than groceries in the basement"...

The venue itself was laid-back, and there were no penalties for not following the teachings, nor were you restricted from coming and going.
There were many adults and children who didn't follow them strictly.
My mother, who believed with an unusual intensity, would not allow me to deviate from the teachings, regardless of what other believers did.
For me, at an age where I cared about what my friends thought, it was nothing but painful.

When my father (who was not a believer at the time) or I didn't do as she wanted, my mother would say, "I go to the venue every day!! (No one asked her to go)"
"I'm trying so hard!! (She was only enthusiastic about the teachings that were easy for her to follow. If it's so hard, she should just quit)"
"It's pathetic that my own child is in this state!! (I am not my mother's property)" and she would cry (or pretend to cry) dramatically without shedding a single tear.


I was used to her theatrical crying and could only think, "She's doing it again," and "You might think you're doing it for my sake, but that's misguided, so please stop."
When someone says "I'm doing this for your own good" about something you never wanted, you don't feel gratitude; you just end up hating them.

My brother, two years younger than me, entered the same high school.
My mother's pride and joy, my brother.
The only one who joined my mother's "enzyme fast," which my sister and I declined when we were young!!
When he had rheumatic fever, he never went to the hospital and instead took a taxi to the venue with my mother every day for 40 days!!

Why was my brother allowed to do whatever he wanted regarding elective classes, club activities, and haircuts?
Why was he allowed to come home a little late or go out with friends on holidays?
Why was he able to study for exams or read manga without being forced by my mother to "help around the house instead of studying, because that's what we're taught at the venue"?
My brother is also my mother's child and should be a believer.


He would impulsively join club training camps, saying, "Once I'm there, I'm free."
On holidays before the sports festival, he would gather early in the morning at the park to practice dancing and cheering.
Before the school festival, he would stay at school at night until the teacher kicked him out, absorbed in preparations.
When it was over, he would happily participate in the school's after-festival party and launch party (the homeroom teacher, who later became the principal, secretly provided the funds!!).
I would run away from home using "school" as an excuse, thinking that the time I could spend away from my mother was my "youth."
But sadly, I could never truly let loose.

"Results are everything."
"If you play around, you'll only get the results of playing around."
"No matter how much fun you have, it's meaningless if the results are bad."
My mother would twist the teachings to suit her convenience, wanting to make me act as she wished.
I, on the other hand, tried to savor the process, thinking, "Results are just results."
Our parallel lines never crossed, nor did they ever even get close, no matter how far they went.

If you ask if everything about the venue was a waste for me, that wasn't the case.
I formed connections with people of my generation and slightly older generations who came to the venue.
People who were from much higher-class families than mine, had good relationships with their parents, or had understanding parents.
Connections that had nothing to do with where we lived, our schools, our standard of living, our grades, or our career paths.
High school students, university students, and young working adults from prefectures like ○○, □□, and ●●.
In an era without SNS, connecting in real life across regions and ages was very stimulating and fun.

In terms of the religion my mother believed in, the venue was a place I hated.
But for me, having no place to belong at home, it was a place where I could find connections outside of school.
I never told my school friends, but having close university students and working adults as acquaintances gave me a slight sense of superiority over my classmates.

Home was never a comfortable place for me, and my feelings of hating both my mother and the venue never changed.
Even so, until very recently, my mother would tell me, "Thanks to the venue, you managed not to go astray."
I keep telling you that's not true, don't I?
I feel like I tried so hard, you know?
She can listen to total strangers, but she won't lend an ear to her own daughter's words.

Maybe I'll write about how I don't have a formal education next?
When will that be?
If I feel like it, sometime... (9/2)

#Essay #Blog #Column #Prose #MiscellaneousWriting #PersonalNotes #Depression #Unemployed #Jobless #ThinkingOfYou #NewReligion #Doctrine #AfterGoingAroundInCirclesIHaveShortStraightHairNow Day 768