Heir to No Hair
December 17, 2011



There comes a point in every man's life where he needs to make a decision that will determine the course of his being. The action that he takes during this period shall define the journey toward his destiny and equip him for the rocky road that lies ahead. Generations have passed but no man has lived without fearing his encounter with this stage in life.

I am of course, talking about hair loss.

Growing up, I have always been a kid with a generous set of locks. Not that I was the talk of the town or anything. Unless it's on other parts of his body, nobody cares about a kid with hair on his head. But I was in a comfortable position in society.

In school, I had the pleasure of making a mockery out of teachers who were less endowed, on their follicles. Behind their backs (of course), I called them names: "The Shining", "Bald Eagle", "Elmer Fudd" -- you name it. I showed little empathy. Full of disregard over the depression they were probably going through. It was a fun time I would later regret.

Things got better in college. Instead of just the educators, my peers began losing hair as well. Some, as early as freshman year. So you could probably imagine how much the fun amplified. We're talking about college here. The immediate taste of freedom after a dozen or so years of oppression in school. It was a time to experiment, and grow that Kurt Kobain hair you've always dreamed of. Sadly, for some of my friends, the ceiling of their hair growth was Danny DeVito.

Again, I would learn to regret my treatment of my friends at the time.

It's unfair to put the blame entirely on me, though. I had no control over the majestic waves of hair growing out of my head. It wasn't my fault that I could flexibly middle or side-part my do as I wished. I had no reason to worry. Nothing could come near my bangs. I felt untouchable.

There was a slight concern, though. My father, who in his younger days had an afro that would give The Jackson 5 a run for their money, began reflecting when he walked under a light source at the age of 40. Thus, by the logic of science, the same could happen to me. Halfway through that age however, I survived, while my younger brother did not. "Yes," I said to myself, as I witnessed his receding hairline. The gene must've skipped me.

Or so I thought.

I was at the gym the other day when I realized a bright, lighter colored patch near my forehead. Talcum powder, at first I thought. It was, after all, in the changing room. Unexpected sights and particles were all over the place.

Upon further inspection, though, my heart shattered as I failed to grasp the beloved lock of hair usually crowned on top of my head. Memories of past flashed through me in lightning speed as I frighteningly try to reclaim my fading glory in front of the mirror; in shock, horror, and panic. Images of brighter days when I was at the mocking end came back to me. The table has turned. I have just been inducted, to the balding fraternity.

Then again there's always the Trump comb-over.



Comments:

Hairloss can be a pain - USE ROGAINE!

How's that for an ad?? hahah. but honestly, there are so many things out there to help with hair loss. I find that fish oil does wonders to my hair and skin!
 

Thanks for the tip Rina.

I'm still in my denial stage and I think it will be a while until I reach acceptance.

A long, long while... unless I wake up one morning with a Homer Simpson comb-over.
 

Soon in a couple of years I too might have to join in the baldies club... my dad, my grandad, and all my paternal uncles are either already bald or balding...
 

Well, as long as you don't try the Dead Marmot that S Vellu wears!

Come and see Guido's rat? blog.lepak.com
 

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Photography by Azalia Suhaimi

About
  • Asrif, b. 1983
  • Subang Jaya, Malaysia
  • asrifomar[@]gmail[.]com
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Malaysia License.