The Hairvolution

Over the last 15 months, I have changed. And then, a few weeks ago, all of that changed, and I went for a change. I got a haircut.

In November 2008 I wrote this passage:
"I have a terminal fear of hairdressers, and ever since an older boy with blond hair in a pony tail at the bus stop used to punch me, I am terrified of blond men with pony tails. I could never become that guy, and I love mirrors too much. I also hate paying money for hairdressers, but I would never allow someone I know to cut my hair. I consider the fee I pay as the right to hate that person who de-faced my hair until it (my hair) grows back."

That was the last haircut I got, and since then, I successfully avoided the salon experince. I figured I would fully immerse myself into the student lifestyle and tried to capture the look of a Dutch hippy carefree student. I wonder if anyone noticed. Then one day, I was approached at the train station by some idealistic young kid who asked me to give monthly donations to his charity so he could go to some poor African country and build a school.

Great. I am not going to sponsor some hippy douchebag to go to Africa to lay a few bricks, and go on a few safaris. If he thinks it is such a great cause, surely he could get a normal job and send his money himself, instead of guilt tripping poor students like me. He argued that a few cups of coffee is all that it costs per month, but I have a caffienne addiction - not the poor African school children. Besides, aid doesn't work. Still, I am not a completely heartless person. In fact, I have a freezer-full of human hearts in my fridge. But I thought, I am not going to give my caffienne allocation to charity, but I will give them something they have to use: my silky golden locks.

I decided to set myself a goal: to donate my hair to charity. For that, it would need to be a minimum of ten inches long. In the metric system that would be equivalent to two middle fingers (America is never going to go metric.) This served me two purposes. Firstly, it gave me a reason to grow out my hair, and secondly, it would give me a reason to cut it. This way, I would overcome my dual fears of blonde men with pony tails, and my barberphobia.

It was an amazing experience having long hair. Here is a bullet-list of events that I never thought I would ever have.

• Non-Japanese people thought I looked like David Beckham. I still think I looked more like Gwyneth Paltrow.
  
• My girl flatmates, and girl neighbours asked ME for a hair elastic! "Ouch" said my dwindling masculinity.
• I would spend more than a few minutes brushing my hair. Seriously, I felt like a hot Hawaiian girl sitting next to a waterfall.
• My sunglasses - which I often used as a more manly versio (but not by much) of a hair clip - became so entagled in my hair that I needed assistance to cut me loose.
  
• I started - shock - tucking my hair behind my ears. It was official. I looked ridiculous.
  

I badly wanted my hair to be long enough, but my hair was growing so slowly! I know there are other ways of finding this out, but for me, this is how I realised that ten inches is really quite long. So, I truly rocked a pony-tail for an extended period of time, mostly against my will. Hey, but at least it was for charity, right? So I didn't look like a complete douchebag.

Everyone I told about my charitable goal had never heard of such a thing, but it does exist. It is called Locks of Love, and makes wigs for children with diseases that cause hair loss. Not even the hairdresser had heard of such a charity. He then had to explain it to his boss (in ... Turkish?), and then he gave me over to another hairdresser and explained it to her (in... Belgsch?). And bam, the pony tails came off.

I was actually about one inch short of the 10 inch goal. So, if they even end up using it, it will be to sell it to help offset the production costs. It doesn't seem like much hair either. It is a little disappointing. It's like the sample you give to the doctor, it never seems like very much.

Below I have made a video compilation, a video montage of the last 15 months. Sorry to everyone who had to witness my pony tail or tucked-behind-the-ear-ness. I promise that I won't change, at least not for a long time.

My Bul is Got

Almost exactly a year ago I was completely lost. I had been accepted and apparently become a student at Leiden University, but I had no idea what classes I would take, what classes I needed to take, or even what classes were available. It took several meetings with different people to figure it all out. It all seemed rather unorganised.

Fast forward to yesterday, standing in the old university building of Leiden, waiting for my graduation ceremony (the "bul"). I had no idea what to expect or what the general ceremony would be like. All I knew beforehand was the address, the time, and that I could bring a "limited amount of people".

It turns out, it was my own private ceremony. I was part of the Graduation Class of Me. Every day that I wake up will be like a reunion! Man, I felt like the total attention-whore. I had invited four people to a party just for me. It was like my own super sweet 16 party, except without a video message from Puff Daddy.

But it all finished, and as all masters graduates at Leiden University do, I got to write my name on the wall in a certain room called the "zweetkamertje". This is a tradition going back four hundred years. So now my name is among lots of famous people that I have never heard of.


And with that surprise, the year of study is all over. I feel like somehow I cheated the system by studying something I actually like, and that I don't feel like I deserve this diploma. But I have already buried it somewhere so they can never take that away from me.

At Home in Ho-land

As promised, I will be continuing here at ruvaman.blogspot.com for the more narrative stories such as me working as a lunch lady, stupid observations at concerts, bad haircuts (foreshadowing active), visiting towns which don't warrant visiting, and stories of my general misfortunes. However, as you will see in the banner, I have changed the title to At Home in Ho-Land. Last year was an adventure in my re-integration into Holland, and as I wrote in my last post of last year, I don't think it was ever a realistic goal. This was confirmed on the Victory Tour (some stories and photos are still to come too). So, I am following the old saying "Home is were your stuff is". Right now it's Holland, and as long as it is, I'm loving every moment of it.


Bring on the Gazelle

I have also just started a pet project for the year, writing a different weblog. It will be more impersonal, but if you have followed my writing for any length of time, you will probably be able recognise that it is me. It's called The Weekly Gazelle, and unlike this weblog, I will update at least every week for the rest of the year, without fail.


The address is http://theweeklygazelle.blogspot.com/

But you should probably start on the first posting:
http://theweeklygazelle.blogspot.com/2010/02/gazelle.html

Back in Dutch, Again

I have something special coming soon about the Victory Tour, but until then, sorry for the absence. I just want to note a few things about the last month.

My dog, who I hadn't seen for 3 1/2 years, remembered the crap out of me and gave me the best home-welcome you could imagine. It was like old times.

The same with all the friends who I hadn't seen in as long.

I went to the dentist, after a much longer absence than the 1 recommended year. He said to me : "With teeth like those, you'll put me out of a job".

Driving a car again after 18 months, just felt right.

I played tennis, which is something I unfortunately only seem to do in New Zealand. I picked up that racquet, and within moments, I was back to my old self.

I had hardly used any Japanese since leaving, and thought I would be rubbish again. But I went for entire-whole days speaking only Japanese like old times.


The thing I learnt about this holiday was that, "although you may leave, some things never leave you."