Frame/d Angst

          I think there are two kinds of people: those who fit well inside frames, and those who don’t. Frames? You might ask. I mean, family, nationality, sex, things like that . . . they’re all frames, aren’t they? They exist outside the body known as “I,” don’t they? I used to live my life inside a gilded frame, but I realized one day that the picture inside the frame was terribly poor. In order to redraw a picture, one has to remove it from its frame. - Double House 

          So when I got rid all of my hair on the so-called doomsday last December 21, 2012 according to the Mayan calendar, everyone around me were dumbstruck and kept asking “What are you?” Oh my. What a deep question, I thought, considering their state of inebriation. But how should I answer it? Hmm. I don’t really want to answer a question about biology. 

          Everyone thinks that I want to be in a “man” frame but I don’t really need something like that. And I sort of get why they think like that and what they mean. Must it be because of our culture? Society? Lots of factors indeed and it’s better not to be so bothered by it. 

         Compared to mine, others frame must really be magnificent. Excellent family, excellent grades, excellent jobs, even excellent femininity. Other’s frame is a gilded, four-layer one. But people are so blinded by it, that they don’t realize that the picture inside the frame is pathetic, it’s boring and insubstantial. 

         Now, as my hair continues to grow longer again, I find myself wearing a crimson-colored elastic headband. While here in our living room, every day I see the display of pictures of my family encased inside frames of different size and style. Yet still, I am engulf in a moment of deep thought each time my eyes land on those pictures imprisoned inside those frames.