The pastures of yore…

Into The Horizon… photo © Copyright by Benjamin Davies

Your face is your identity. Not your hair. Neither your beard. It’s your face that every human or AI would read and uniquely identify you, as you. Facial hair is beyond unique.

There is a recent worry and an on-going trend among males of my age, among friends and family to restore what was once defyingly dense, smooth and masculine hair on their heads. After all, age like most things is taking over and for some, age is a no-no, it’s almost the kind of thing they fear makes them irrelevant, absent.

If you’ve maintained some form of a image all your life, rather than an identity, when it comes to personal looks and lifestyle, you’re probably going to want to worry about loosing hair and going bald, or thereabouts going hairless. What a hairball of fuss about something that’s eventually going to want to bug you in other areas of your physique. Age is irreversible.

At times when I look at the mirror I see a completely different person. I look at my face and pose a few ‘hero’ shots, admiring an entirely new look, one that’s been achieved by years of, and at times painful, toil at my desk. Either work, stress, the cycle of life, or that its plain old aging, going grey with time, loosing hair, wrinkling and getting old is all welcome to me. I embrace the fact that I am 43, that people from Pakistan grey early, experience hair-loss early, quite earlier than I have, that is.

I’m about 55% bald. The map unfolding at the top of my globe is absurd. I’m wondering how to explain this without sharing a photograph that would make you feel grisly, so let me explain it geographically. While most of the landscape is thinner or has thinned at the top, there remains a rather noticeable patch close to the Southern West were you to look at it. It’s mildly dense, it’s alive and however much I wish it fades away to have me achieve 100% measured, even, baldness, it just stands out defiantly. This feels like a great opportunity to grow this faithful pasture long, lay it over the rest of my head and renew my looks. Like some people choose to. It’s amusing.

Facial mods aren’t really appreciable, for one because they’re painful, and two because, they’re either prohibited completely for Muslims or that they fall in the category of being allowed only when it’s absolutely necessary to comfort injury or some form of restoration that would be permitted in special cases.

In my personal opinion, having a hair transplant is a reflection of your self-esteem and how badly it’s hurt, or that it’s the dream of an image you created, long ago, that you’re hoping to restore or maintain. It’s a poor choice.

Some of my friends went bald in their late-teens, thanks to chemicals packaged in bottles and heavily marketed to make one want to believe they’ll live with great heads and shoulders, which by the way is true, they’re left with perfect heads and if not fit, yet drooping shoulders. There are forms of wigs involved too. GRIN!

Others lost hair a bit too early, as their moms and wives would put, or attribute the early onset of hair-loss to their family’s hereditary shenanigans. BIG-GRIN!

I’m only enjoying this because, come what may, fate has a way to get to you and it does. It’s got to me eventually and when my family see my pictures from a few years ago, they simply say aba looks so different (Aba as in dad when used by your child, or when used by your spouse, meaning her kid’s dad) is the most heard of comment. My mom has suggested garlic therapy, or was it onion juice? My sister suggested garlic oil. My uncle many years ago suggested going out more in the sun. A friend I met after some sixteen years, suggested to have a hair transplant like he just had. There’ve been all sorts of suggestions over the past few years and as unswerving I am, they’ve all been brushed aside.

The problem I have is this, you can’t get 100% hair dense and no where close to where you were before. You can achieve some success with a hair transplant, risk playing with your head, endure pain (some put this lightly, but I take it’s exceptionally painful), sleep sitting for three days to let stuff settle in, and look ten years younger, you’re still going to be the same ‘please use a humble expletive of your choice in this place’ person, under the hood.

“The same #$@&%*! under the hood.” That is.

Turkey is one of those destinations where you can get a cheap hair transplant (in the range of US$ 1,500, all bells and whistles paid) or you can have one done back home, if you’re on one of those get-back-home-for-fun trips.

Is it painful? Yes.
Is it going to restore your image? It might, a little.
Is it going to help your identity? Naah.
Is it going to last? Nope, like most things, ‘Your results may vary.’

The pastures of yore bear fruit no more.
A Decree raiseth them anew, by-and-by.

الله أكبر