on finding myself again — Essays from the Archive

the leaves are changing and so am i. my first essay!

Tetsuhiro Wakabayashi

My mother almost cried the first time I cut my hair. An exaggerated reaction, I know, especially since I’m an adult. At first, I laughed at her, saying: “It’s just hair, it grows back quickly.” But then I realized that maybe, for her it meant something deeper. When she was young she was a hairdresser, but she always refused to cut my hair. She would simply brush it and wash it with care, curl it, braid it, constantly reminding me how beautiful it was. Sometimes I would look at it like it would suddenly transform into an evil entity made of split ends and whisper: “She loves you more than she loves me.” I never had to take care of it myself, I never used hair masks or spent too much money on shampoos or conditioners. I was lucky. I had something to be proud of: shiny, beautiful long hair that everyone loved, until I realized that it was becoming the only thing I loved about myself.

In 2019, I cut it above my shoulders. And yet, to my great surprise, I didn’t feel any different inside. I was still me. Ignoring my mother’s desperate words, I couldn’t stop thinking about the apathy I felt toward all that hair lying on the floor. That very morning, before going to the salon, I had second thoughts: “What if I regret it? What if I don’t feel like myself anymore?” Only after cutting it I realize that the woman in the mirror still had the same large brown eyes, the same lips, the same hands. These silly thoughts came back to me at the start of autumn: I thought I wouldn’t feel like myself the first time I cut my hair, not realizing that I hadn’t felt like myself for years.

Amedeo Bocchi, Malinconia

I’m writing this in October 2024. I first cut my hair in 2019. I let it grow, cut it again in 2022, let it grow once more, and cut it for the last time in October 2023. Exactly one year ago! This year, at the beginning of September, I noticed it was starting to grow back, and almost mechanically, I thought, “soon I’ll be myself again.” I surprised myself with this thought. Does who I am really depend on the length of my hair? Every time I go to cut it, the answer is no. Every time it starts growing back, the answer is yes. So that’s a complicated relationship. This time though, I truly feel a change, and it’s not related to my appearance.

During my childhood, I always had a thousand projects going on. I did ballet for many years, I had a beautiful white guitar in my room, I would start writing something, leave that story halfway, and start writing something else. I painted and draw, I was obsessed with bullet journals, I did scrapbooking, I listened to all kinds of music — rock, pop — I’d go from Johnny Cash to One Direction within an hour. I did crafts, and read all types of books — fantasy, romance, poetry. I was passionate about photography, I had a Nikon and two film cameras. I’ve managed to carry all these passions with me into my adult life (even though Harry, Niall, and the others now live in my little box of teenage memories, and that’s okay, I hope they’re comfortable in there).

But for some time, I’d lost all desire to pursue these passions. I blamed it on work, on too much time spent on social media. But is it really all their fault? Are we all destined to have our own “blue period”? When even the sight of trees or the sea can’t break through our hearts, frozen by winter’s apathy? I envy those who have never experienced it, though I have to admit that now that I’ve come out of it, my passions feel more exciting than before. And I began to notice the tiniest beautiful details again: I am once again amazed by a sunset, I notice the shape of the shadows that trees make when the sun is setting, I breathe in the scent of freshly cut grass, and now I even love when I get woken up early by the chirping of the birds nesting on the tree outside my bedroom window. I’ve started to dress how I like again, experimenting with colors I have never worn before. I wash my hair with gentle care, imagining my mother’s hands in place of mine, to give myself a tender embrace, and I braid it and curl it just the way she used to. I journal and listen to different songs and every Sunday I do a little bit of scrapbooking, and I’m searching for a new film camera to take everywhere with me. I read every morning and I listen to book podcasts because I love hearing other people’s thoughts on books I love. Plus, now that it’s autumn I can bake beautiful apple pies! So yes, I connect this time of rediscovery — where I’ve found joy in simple things that bring me peace — with the arrival of autumn, a season that has always been dear to me.

I Am Earth, Tijana Lukovic

I wish I had practical advice for those who have felt like me and are going through their own blue period, but the truth is simple and perhaps the most beautiful of cliches: spend time in nature, with the people you love most, doing things you enjoy. I don’t know what November will be like, and what January and February will bring (those two are always the hardest months for me and my seasonal depression) I will probably come back here to reread my words and remind myself of how hopeful and serene I was. And most of all, to reread one of my favorite quotes: The leaves are changing and so am I.