Surface Level

I've decided to tone down my hair from a bleached blonde to a darker, more subtle shade. Honestly, I think I just got tired of all the attention the blonde hair was attracting—the kind of attention I really don’t want. It’s like every time I go out, people do a double-take, as if they’ve seen me before or know me from somewhere. For someone who prefers to stay under the radar and enjoys blending into the background, it's exhausting.

I can’t help but wonder why others with the same hair color can go unnoticed, but I can’t. Why is it that, even in a crowded room, when I’m deliberately trying to stay out of sight, I still end up being noticed? For example, when I was working onsite, I’d sit in the farthest corner during townhalls—last row, right or left edge—yet somehow, my coworkers would always find me. Even people I barely knew seemed to know me. It’s just strange.

Then there are the times when I get offered a seat in standing-room-only situations, or when cars stop to let me cross the street, even on a busy road. Do people see something I don’t, like a guardian angel hovering over me? I often get treated like I’m fragile or in need of help, but I feel more like an Amazonian warrior who can take care of herself. What’s up with that? Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me.

Maybe it’s because I wear makeup or make an effort to look good and smell nice when I go out. It makes me question if the world really is this superficial—where appearances matter more than anything else, and surface-level impressions override the deeper aspects of who we are.