August 4, 2014
I'm here in Port Saint John's bored and stranded in the hostel. My plans to catch the Great Sardine Run scuttled on account of temperamental water currents and too few divers to make it worthwhile for the tour operator. Boo. Instead I'll catch up on some writing.

Growing long hair is an experience of "almosts". Almost long enough to tuck behind the ears, almost long enough to tie into a ponytail, almost long enough to put into a bun. You're forever waiting for it to get long enough to do something with it. And then, one day without even you noticing, it has becoming long enough, and you're surprised and pleased with the achievement of this mini-milestone, only have to wait even longer for the next.

It's a tedious process; one with many awkward "in between" phases where one has to fight every urge to get to the nearest barber and restore order. But I've been told that it's worth the effort so I'm going to stick with it.

Thankfully being in the middle of Africa with no job helps. Absent any requirement to look "presentable" and being in the bush (a place that does not exactly inspire one to vanity) I don't have to bother with gel, haircuts and all the rest of it. After all, one looks the same to a hungry lion, long hair or no.

I'm often asked why I've decided to grow my hair out. Some ask if I'm caught up in the fashion-blog worthy "man-bun" trend (no, I can't grow the requisite facial hair required to pull it off) or if I'm experiencing a quarter-life crisis and feel the need to rebel against the past 8 years of corporate servitude (no, I haven't got the temperament for rebellion and besides my age is closer to mid-life than quarter-life). My reason is actually much simpler: I'm lazy. Growing ones hair out doesn't require much apart from the occasional wash. Just leave it alone and let it grow.

I suppose I also enjoy the satisfaction of the long-term effort. Like a broken-in pair of raw denim jeans that fit like a glove or a beautiful patina on ones favorite leather accessory, growing out hair is a long-term endeavor. Mine's been going for three-quarters of a year; my last haircut being November 2013 before a friend's bachelor party.

For those that are curious, my hair has finally gotten long enough to tuck behind the ears and put into a paintbrush tail. Left untied, I've got that flowing kung-fu mullet you see in those badly dubbed chop-sockey martial arts films. One thing that surprised me was noticing that my hair gets rather wavy with length leading me to suspect the purity of my Asian heritage...

Update: On arriving back to the fashion forward city of London, I immediately started to feel self-conscious. I went to a barber who took off four (!) months of length so that it doesn't look so mullet-y and can grow out properly. I now look like my ex-boss EC (an insult to her and compliment to me).