Even the most casual Spectrum reader would notice the difference in my headshot from last semester to this semester. That's right, I have hair now, a flowing mane of hair that I acquired over winter break. To dispel all rumors and preempt the hundreds of questions that I will likely be asked over the coming week or so, I will write about it and ultimately illustrate a greater truth in the process. Besides, I thought I'd give everyone some time to adjust to the new semester before I talk about how George W. Bush is not smart enough to be president, or how Bono is the world's greatest celebrity.
Moving right along.
First off, it is not my own hair, but hair I purchased much like I would a dozen eggs, over the counter, along with styling mousse and a comb.
Friends have asked why I chose to forsake my baldness, which had garnered me much notoriety over the past four and a half years and made me recognizable among my fellow students.
The answer is rather simple - I felt that it was time for a change and that a "cosmetic alteration," as I've taken to calling it, was in order. I confess, however, that it was a difficult decision, and certainly one that I did not take lightly. When I lost my hair at the ripe old age of 15, I was a sophomore at Warwick Valley High School, a place where being noticeably different from the Abercrombie establishment was not an easy proposition.
Like many adolescents trying to find themselves in a world of polyester and silicone, I was uneasy about my appearance. I rarely went anywhere without a baseball cap on and hid from formal events if I could, so as to not be forced to remove my headwear. Going through that once was enough for me, so the logical question is, why would I intentionally radically change my appearance again?
As anyone who has lived through even minor traumas like mine will attest, a dramatically negative altering of self-image can lead to the illusion of being alone in the world. Stemming largely from this sense of exclusion, I suffered through depression, had self-destructive thoughts, and felt rejection. I've been called "leukemia boy" and been accused of seeking attention through my ordeal. I felt I was alone; I felt there was no hope of being "normal" again. It drove me hundreds of miles, to the great white north of Buffalo.
Then something happened. I met people who had more serious issues than I did making the most out of their lives being comfortable with who they were. These were strong people, who had survived things like being gay in ultra-conservative communities, or who had dealt with abuse, stereotype, or poverty. They knew where they came from and knew that they were not subject to labels designed to constrict. They understood where they were going and ultimately how they would change things for the better both for themselves and for others.
Chances are, most college students have stories of feeling excluded and maybe even a low self-image stemming from their appearance. Because of that, I know I'm not alone, and I know that suffering as I did with taunts and social ostracism has made me a better person. I feel strongly now that the trials of high school were for a purpose, and when I got to college the cap came off, and I, for the first time since 1998, accepted the way I looked, even if I didn't altogether like it.
Eventually it dawned on me that clich?(c)s about not judging a book by its cover and that it being the inside that counts were not so far from the truth. I was not a different person than I had been simply because I had lost my hair, and now that I've changed my appearance again, the people who really matter know that I haven't really changed now either, and more importantly, I realize that.
My priorities have shifted a bit, however, and now I feel that I understand what's important a little more; for instance, I know that I have food to eat, books to read, and friends to talk to. I'm not being oppressed in any way. My problem is just that I didn't particularly like the way I look, and that I would like to do something different with myself. People diet all the time, why should I feel any different about this?
Yet, even when looking at my situation in this light, it's not as though all the hardship was for nothing. In fact, without it, I would never have realized that the image one projects is not the ultimate truth about one's self.
It's just that my new perspective has given me the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, an end to an ordeal that consumed my self-image. My only hope is that most people will understand it and treat me exactly the same as they had before. They didn't back home, but UB is 20 times the size of my high school, with more people who are comfortable with themselves and more comfortable with others who are not the same.
Finally, a little advice from my columnist's pulpit: It's good to have faith in something during times of transition; I know it is for me. I know that that no matter what I do to my appearance God will still love me, my family will still miss me when I'm away, my Orientation Aide friends will still invite me to parties, my editors will still chop up my work when it's not done well enough, my dorm friends will include me on pilgrimages to the Olive Garden, and the guys I play football with will still try and drive me into the ground with all the delicate treatment of a rhinoceros.
Life is beautiful, even if the world tells us that we are not. It's not about the Benjamins, and it's not about fashion magazine covers. I'm not saying I know what it's all about, but I've ruled out at least those two. I guess I'd say that we're all in this together, and that compassion is the route toward enlightenment. And I think I heard that last part from Bono, who, by the way, is the world's greatest celebrity.
