everything you own in the box to the left.

I have bangs now. bangs. like little-girl-slap-my-face type of bangs.

and I'm actually pretty fond of them. because they remind me of a time when I didn't care about anything, til it became really detrimental to my well-being and I ended up, well, cynical and obstinate. proudly parading my black black heart. it was strangely good while it lasted. liberating. but to be honest, I'm 19 now and bangs, which I take as a way to rebel against vanity and The Plastics BECAUSE LET'S FACE IT I LOOK BAD IN THEM, are not suppose to be messed around with anymore.

time to speak up using something else like reasoning and all things that make sense. you shouldn't be chopping off your HAIR to show you don't CARE, Fariza.

everybody remembers The Time when I had really bad hair. it was choppy, Zaini said I looked weird, I never combed it and I was careless. happy, but careless. I tell people it never bothered me because I was comfortable with the way I was. that's my Thing- I am (suppose to be) adamant and tough. you could picture me as a pirate with an eye-patch, a sneer and a scar on my face. oh it was so cool, trust me.

and then I grew up, met a nice boy, made some new friends and got soft. indications? hair grew long, face got clearer because I started washing it more often (hahaha) and I think I may even be turning out like One of Them. sometimes I tell myself that the bad hair days were just a phase, that this is what I should be because it's much safer and practical. but it's no fun, you know?

so what did I do? I went on and got myself bangs. BANGS. BANGS. and as much as I think they're nice on normal people in general, I know I'm not one of them so guess what. they blow. on me. but I'm not sorry. hehe.