Boredom is my recurring villain.

When I was fourteen, I got my hair coloured because I was bored.

They were stripes of purple the first time. Around a year later, and another year after that, I bleached it to the root again and switched the colour to red. It was a commitment I didn't mind undertaking, a style of my own I enjoyed having.

Today, I dyed my hair back to normal because I was bored.

The process was filled with unwanted recollections and unsolicited nostalgia. I compare myself to who I was when I got this first done and who I am now, and hope to God dyeing my hair back to normal was a movement of progression to a mature self, rather than a regression back to an old self.

Either way, I knew no one would notice. The only way anyone ever pays any attention is if I somehow manage to break the assumptions they make based on my physical appearance; being smart in contrast to my age, being childish in contrast to my maturity, being compassionate in contrast to my peers. The only way people turn their heads is if I become something they weren't expecting. This is why I'm always bored, why I'm always changing.

At least, that's what I'd like to think.

The failed attempts at conversation. The Fedex lady who says hi to everyone but you. The coworker whose appearance turns you invisible. Have you ever wondered why it's normal for people to care about their situation, but considered abnormal, pessimistic, emotive, for people to wonder why they care?

You care because you believe that, somewhere along the way, it became your fault. No matter where you went or where you ended up, it's been the same way for as long as you could remember. You're the constant variable. There must be something wrong with you.

No worries. I'm not going to shower you with motherly lies of how "it shouldn't matter what others think" or how "soon they'll all realize what they've been missing". Far be it for me to say that they're missing anything at all by not knowing you, by not knowing me. But what are you missing by not knowing individuals who do not desire to associate with you? A few parties? A couple of drinks? Some fat to chew? Are they among those worth associating with, those who will have a positive influence on your life, or have your societal ideologies and confounds compelled you to believe them as such?

Self-consolation for self-preservation: a fancy way of patting yourself on the back for saying 'sour grapes'. Maybe those on the tier you can't reach are great people. Maybe I am the freak; the chameleon who's forgotten her true colours, the reindeer who's lost interest in discriminatory games, the wall-flower listening to the lament of social butterflies when their fellow insects lack the ears to listen.

That's who I am, and that's who they are. I have no reason to regret my position.

I look into the mirror after it's all over and realize I don't recognize myself.

I don't think the hair's to blame.