Keeping my hair on

When I think about reflecting essays what first comes to my mind is a bundle of thought-provoking topics that may be dealt in such pieces of writings. “TV influence on children’s learning”, “Violence among teenagers”, “Drugs and Alcohol: modern addictions”, “Body and Mind health” just to mention a few. Nonetheless, I have decided to lead this exposition to a much lighter field. I will not debate on any of those relevant subject matters because I have set my mind to state many – if not all – the non-desired  aspects rain has in my daily life.

Although Buenos Aires, the city where I live, is gorgeous with all its modern and old buildings, its incredible cultural and night life, its friendly people and its varied as well as attractive walks, it is damned damp. Whenever we are unlucky to enjoy the presence of humidity among us, the streets get slippery and dangerous when thousands of people either stumble along with their obnoxious umbrellas, or prowl around the city without knowing where to go because they are so affected by the weather that they cannot think properly, not to mention that it is surrounded by a foggy, sticky atmosphere that makes the entire scene even worst. Moreover, in the last few months it has rained – or even poured – at least once a week. In other words, here lays the genuine root of my bad temper since it is my firm belief that I am not a rain loving kind of person whatsoever. The fact of the matter is I loathe humid rainy days and everything they bring about. There are many consequences I have to tolerate which I could mention to account for such a negative feeling but there is one in particular which gets in my hair. The worst side of this sort of weather condition is the way in which my hair systematically behaves: out of the blue and with apparent reason my entire head looks more like a bundle of wires or a bowl of spaghettis than what it actually is. And together with my hairstyle so does change my mood. Not only do I have to add the raincoat, the umbrella and a soaked-to-the-bones appearance to my daily luggage but I also have to put up with my wild, lion-style mane. It gradually gets curled and spongy, loosing up to half of its usual length. But this is not the end of my stylistic conflict. My fringe as well involves itself in this diabolic and mean cause to drive me completely crazy. It follows its own rules and it does not recognize neither the hairbrush’s and brush’s authorities nor my own will. All of a sudden my entire mane becomes a greasy and brightless unity. This amorphous bunch of hay, as I like to call it, is no more than the reflection of my inner mood. No matter how hard I try, no matter which gadget or appliance I may use, nothing will make this reality change. The only viable solution so far is to wear a couple of buckles round my head with a nice pony tail or a plait to keep my wires tight and under control.

Likewise, my hair rebirths when the weather is dry and sunny again. It falls right into place without major efforts. The above mentioned lion-style mane becomes respectful, mirroring my inner energy. As if I would have never gone through a climatic chaos of that sort, my hair – no longer a bowl of spaghettis – is full of light once more. It flows gracefully and smoothly along the wind either in a hairdresser’s like fashion or in natural locks.
On balance and in spite of my view point as regards the weather, my city is not a detestable one. For many people, especially to those who happen to live in cold places, Buenos Aires has a mild sunny climate most of the times. It is true that in the past few years we have put up with more rain than we have been used to. However, this is not the city’s fault but it may be the global warming’s. To be honest, I am a solar person; just like a calculator. As if I were some kind of machine, I work thanks to solar energy: the sunnier, the better. What is more, rain in adequate amounts is only useful in the countryside for the crops. So, what is the use of having it round us in the city? Its only purpose is to disrupt the daily routine of us citizens and the behaviour of my quasi tamed hairstyle as well. On the whole, what bothers me most is not the rain in itself but the nasty consequences on my rebel mane.