Yesterday was Neptune Day, when we crossed the equator, a right of passage. My roommate and I woke early, and I felt like it was Christmas - I was ready to go, the anticipation was bubbling over. As I ate breakfast, a cacophony of drums drifted in from inside. The parade of King Neptune (my lovely astronomy professor painted green) and his royal court paraded around the ship before arriving on the pool deck.
My acting professor performed the script with an appropriate amount of gusto as he explained how we were to be put to the test, to be transformed from land-dwelling pollywogs into sea-loving emerald shellbacks. The heat, even in the early morning, was thick.
We waited, holding the sweaty hands of my friends (I had this realization of yes, my closest friends, as I stood with them). They were almost more excited than I was for my hair to be gone. We had "fish guts" dumped on our heads, leaped into the pool, kissed a fish and King Neptune's jeweled hand, and then were knighted as shellbacks, with full permission to pass through Neptune's domain.
Soaking wet and sweating, I went to stand in the mass of crowd that was the hair-shaving station, while they went to squeeze their way to the front to take pictures. Needless to say, I'm grateful they were willing to document this, for I had no desire to worry about my camera when the whole deck was wet and gross.
Eventually I made it to the front, and they began hacking away. I was handed a chunk of my hair and stared at the damp gold in my hands, allowing myself one final moment of appreciating the colour, then throwing it in the trash bin.
I wasn't overly nervous or scared as they pulled out the razor- in my mind my hair was already gone the moment I woke up that morning. It was just happening.
Then it was done. I stood up and the crowd cheered. There were a large number of boys who shaved their heads, but also a handful of girls. My friends and I pushed our way out of the crowd. Friends kept touching my head, I had people approach me to hug me, high-five me. My on-ship mom said I could be a nun.
The music was ear-splitting, the heat nearly unbearable, and the deck was soaking, but we danced in our bikinis and damp clothes and bare feet until they turned the music off and kicked everyone off the pool deck.
It wasn't even noon.
- - -
Some girls screamed as they shaved off their hair. I didn't. Maybe because I had already detached myself from my hair emotionally, and I had been thinking about this decision for a long time.
I had an argument with someone earlier in the voyage that hair could be considered a "material possession". I had this worry that I might depend on my short, burnt-gold hair for my identity. I thought, "What if I didn't have my hair? What if that familiar aspect of my identity was gone? Would I still appreciate what I look like?" My extended thought was, "If God took away something I truly loved, maybe my ability to walk or swim, who would I be then?" This just feels like a miniscule experiment in "If I changed everything about who I am, who am I?" In World Religions class, we talk about the part of the soul called atman in Eastern religions, the part of the soul that remains eternal, what makes it essentially that particular soul.
In just the short 24 hours I have been sans-hair, I have recieved many compliments. However, I have yet to see someone on the ship who I wouldn't pay the exact same compliment to. You can see bone structure, smiles become larger, the eyes become hugely prominent. It doesn't change who you are, just the focus.
People keep calling my decision "brave". I think it was an act of trust- trusting in God's creation of my beauty, and trusting in myself who remain strong in who I am, regardless of physical appearance.
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