On Measuring a Journey
Read this on galpod.com.
Sometimes you don't realise how much you've changed until you see someone you haven't a long while. My dad's memorial was on Friday, and so many people came. But it didn't feel like it was a time to grieve for him, perhaps because I do that all the time. It felt a little like an occasion to see all these people I last saw... on my dad's last memorial.
Many people commented on my hair. That's an Israeli thing, I think, as absolutely none of the British people I interact with said anything about how one day my hair turned curly. But my family never holds these things back, so many of my conversations stemmed from explaining how it happened (I stopped fighting it, mostly).
Of course, it's not about the hair. I feel like my curly hair is a bit of a representation of where I am in my journey. I've come a long way over the last few years. I stopped identifying myself as an academic and started identifying myself as a writer. And I don't even identify myself as a writer so much, not because I feel I'm not worthy (although I do) but because I feel like I don't fit into any boxes anymore. I also feel more myself than ever. Which is nice.
But it's not easy. My mum's first reaction to my hair was that I look like I didn't brush it when I got up in the morning. Which is technically true but not what you'd like to hear from your mum, you know? But I get it. I don't fit into any of her boxes anymore. I'm not necessarily the good firstborn daughter who did everything by the book and was a good student. I'm still me, but maybe a little less reliable (because being reliable all the time was stressing me out like you wouldn't believe). Maybe a little less like everyone else. Or, since I never fitted into any of the boxes here at home, maybe now it's just clearer. More visible. More curly.
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