Here’s the dillio (Dealy yo? Who says that anymore!?) Imagine me. Nineteen years old and fresh out of high school. A little bit punky. A little bit riot grrl. And maybe a whole lot of emo. I had a boyfriend I wasn’t really into but was too afraid of being Alone. Picture the kind of mental instability that is your teens and early twenties, a bundle of un-confidence and raw emotion; a wanting to push status-quo, with my short pixie spiked hair and Chuck Taylor exterior, and a not-so-brave interior. I wanted to shave my head then. Own my non-conformity. I wanted to prove to myself that I could “pull it off”. But, I couldn’t do it. Would I look ugly? Would people think I was a lesbo? Dyke? Butch? Oh, the horror!
The Butch-y Buddhist
Eight years later and I am living an ascetic (as I’ll ever be) lifestyle at a Buddhist monastery for four months (3 left, and counting…). I have always wanted to shave my head at least once in my life just to try it. Why not? Consider it on my bucket list. What better way to finally shave my head than living monastically (loosely speaking) and studying Buddhism, right? Right. I mean, sex and sexuality are so beyond my current plane of existence that I might as well be little buddha (unenlightened folk don’t deserve capital letters).
The implications of a shaved head in normal society are a cause of concern for many. Butch! Dyke! Lesbo! My classmates say I look like a little boy, butch, lesbo, GI Jane, a hot lesbian (at least I look like a hot one!) and my personal favorite: Mulan (heck yeah, she kicks ass!). Shaving my head is a personal choice to detach from my hair, from the concepts of beauty, from social norms, and from the status-quo. It takes a certain kind of confidence for women to shave their head. Confidence in their sexuality; enough not to be bothered by social expectations and implications. Confidence in their gender and gender roles; enough not to be bothered by the androgynous look. The decision and outcome is completely liberating, and at least for me, completely mind blowing.
For me, sexuality is fluid. I’m more straight than gay but not quite straight, either. That’s entirely natural and entirely OK. Eight years ago, I wouldn’t have been comfortable with “what society thinks”, but now? I couldn’t care less. Buddhism has taught me the power of non-attachement. And finally being comfortable in my sexuality is mind blowing (note to self: stop thinking about the blowing part now).
If Britney Spears Can Shave Her Head At Her Worst, I Can Do It At My Best
These days, I feel (figuratively, and now, literally) lighter. Happier. More joyful. Maybe it’s this simple routine here. The meditation. The healthy, vegetarian meals. Everything and Nothing all at once. Eight years ago, I would have never done what I am now unafraid to do. It takes courage. It’s mind blowing. Exhilarating. Liberating. Heartening. And while I know that this happiness is not permanent, I’m enjoying each and every moment while I can.
There’s a sort of craziness that happens when you’re at peace and at one with yourself. Not the Britney Spears manic kind of crazy. Not the get-your-life-together-you’re-so-messed-up sort of crazy. More like a life-is-so-beautiful-and-you’re-talking-to-yourself-and-singing-like-your-life-is-a-musical sort of crazy. Or sensory overload with 11 other people who are just as crazy as you are 24/7. Or just laughing a lot for no reason, talking to bugs to say you didn’t mean to hurt them, or dancing crazy to Bjork sort of crazy.
Or you know. Shaving your head sort of crazy.
Vanity
Despite the detachment to hair, beauty, or social norms, I am still vain. The paradox of myself. I still want to be able to “pull it off” when I shave my head. Sometimes I look in the mirror and think I look like a boy, or a lesbian and think this probably isn’t the best look for me. Other times I look in the mirror and think “damn, I’m sexy!” I had a whole photoshoot full of pictures that I will share out of simple vanity. The semi-bald yogi.
A Brief History Lesson
The Philippines was colonized by Spain in the 16th century. In 1565, the first Spanish settlement to the Philippines began with Miguel López de Legazpi’s expedition, establishing the first permanent San Miguel settlement in the island of Cebu (perhaps why modern day Philippines produces San Miguel beer, and the San Miguel company currently produces Philippines’ most popular beer of choice, Red Horse). One of Spain’s main goals was to spread Christianity to the islands and thus why Catholicism is the predominant religion of the Philippines, and the third largest Catholic nation in the world, preceding Brazil and Mexico.
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We ascend the steps towards the majestic Catholic church and I past the angel statues. I wonder about things like angels and if they even exist. And then I realize that they do exist; in our minds. Candles are lit everywhere in remembrance of loved ones who have passed. The ritual, as I stare at the flickering flames, is something foreign to me. As my family hands me a candle, I try not to look completely clueless. When in Rome…
I find an empty candle spot and light it using another candle’s flame nearby. I say a silent prayer for my lola (grandma) who died of ovarian cancer after I visited the summer of my freshman year of high school. You don’t just forget things like that. How happy she looked when she greeted me, everyday. As if she hadn’t just seen me the day before. The way she would always wake me up and say “good morning my pretty little rose bud”. The way her smile lit up the room with her young-at-heart youthfulness. She never let on that she was hurting, when the cancer spread. She always looked so happy to see me…
I made the sign of the cross like a good little Catholic girl. But I haven’t been Catholic since I was 10 and stopped going to church. Like my lost language, my lost religion, now since foreign to me, is something I sometimes wish I were a part of. Guilty that I’m not. Sometimes, I feel like I’m dishonoring my heritage by not being Catholic, but then I remember that Catholicism is borrowed from Spain’s culture, and then I don’t feel so bad. I’m only as pinoy (Filipino) as the blood rushing through my veins. But I know I am an outsider here, in my own homeland, and I don’t want to make it even more obvious by telling my family I’m not Catholic. (When in Rome…)
These days, I align much more closely with Buddhism. But even I feel disassociated from the label because I don’t feel I’m a very good Buddhist. I hardly meditate. I eat meat. I kill bugs. I don’t live in the present moment most the time. Which brings me back to Catholicism. I can’t escape that good old Catholic Guilt. Guilty that I am not Catholic, like every other Filipino, it seems. I’m not “Buddhist enough”, and I’m not “Catholic enough”, so I can’t be bound in boxes.
There are remnants in me. This Catholic birth. Even though the religion seems so strange, and Lent hasn’t carried over to my yearly life rituals, I can’t escape the guilt.
I am a free-spirit and a freethinker. I am independent. All my life, I have been a rebel, a heretic, in more ways than one. I have called God (Personified) a fairy as fake as Santa Claus and then believed in a higher force that I eventually felt comfortable enough calling “God”. It’s a struggle to be different, and non-traditional. To dare to explore the world when everyone is telling me I should be settling down, have a boyfriend. I did that for five years and it didn’t work for me; even had my own house and dog. Sans the wedding ring (thank God), I was as “settled” as they get. I knew I was too free-spirited to be bound in boxes.
It’s like taking the red pill or blue pill. All my life, I’ve felt guilty for not believing in God, and then guilty for not having a religion. Guilty for not fitting the American Dream. Despite the challenges, I wouldn’t have it any other way, even if I could banish this guilt away by being more conventional. Challenge is what keeps the process (life) interesting. And when I think of that–that I am living life exactly the way I’m meant to, and trusting my heart and intuition–the guilt goes away.
There’s really no other way to write it. Dozens of half starts, half thoughts and half remembrances. Halfway through this early morning. They say you find yourself in India. They say, wherever you go, there you are. You can’t push your problems aside. You can’t run away. At the end of the day, you’ll always have yourself. That’s the short version.
Travel is a road to self-discovery. Of pushing your boundaries and identifying your strengths and weaknesses. This cultural musical chairs is designed to keep us aware of the only thing we know best when everything else is so foreign; ourselves. Amidst the language barriers, in a country where hardly anyone speaks English, there I was. I found myself in India. The thought blew my mind even as I walked the ground, breathed in the shifting smells of dirt and garbage and smog, and felt the dust grind between my toe nails.
“I’m in INDIA!” The thought gathered in unison as my fellow travel peers and I bonded over first experiences. Time loses its grasp in this strange land. A day feels like a week and then a week starts to feel like a couple days. Three weeks wasn’t enough, but I know I’ll be back.
Navigating my emotional landscapes, I know that I am finally myself for the first time in a long time. This is what drives me to push forward, to keep on going. I feel stronger now, more independent. I feel like I’m being reborn and taking steps for the very first time. I feel like I have finally found myself. Old remnants of him no longer matter. The past is a bore that I don’t care to replay. The present is all that I ever have here, anywhere. Each new day is a new adventure. It always is, but travel makes it even more apparent. Look for the beauty in each day and you’ll find yourself there.
10 days left in the US of A and I will be spending the rest of 2010 in Asia. The countdown continues…
January 16th, a flight to India. Traveling New Delhi. The Rajasthan. Taj Mahal. Volunteering at an orphanage.
February 6th, a flight to Cebu, Philippines. Living with family. Freelance writing, blogging and social media. Diving head first into location independence and lifestyle design. No real plan. No ticket back to the states. No money set aside, either. The sky’s the limit.
10 Days to make it count. Yesterday, I met Sean. Last weekend, I went to my first Sake tasting. I’d like to attend a Buddhist church before I leave. Oh, and I’ve already seen the beautiful Oregon coast.
Here’s to making my last 10 days in Oregon count.
What would you do if you had 10 days left in the USA?
If Britney Spears Can Shave Her Head At Her Worst, I Can Do It At My Best
