The last time I recall shaving my underarms was in late January, when I attended a friend’s wedding celebration.  This is not to gross out anyone, but just to share this brief bit of my journey so far in my endeavor to be comfortable with my natural body.  That being said, I continue…

The hair was not too long, and I always kept it all clean.  I recently began wondering if I were, in fact, just plain tired of having the hair, if I weren’t ready to shave it all off, just so I could not have to think about it ever, wondering if it is visible and freaking out someone nearby.  However, as I shaved it all off tonight, in preparation for warm and balmy Singapore and a weekend of likely-to-be-sweaty dancing, I was rather surprised.  Rather than being filled with the usual feeling of freedom and easiness that typically comes with shaving my underarms, I felt something quite different inside me – I felt a sense of… well… was it loss? I’m not sure exactly, but the sensation was something peculiar, as though what was happening was quite odd and almost uncomfortable, unnatural.  I felt so exposed, and incredibly so, once the hair was dissappeared, I was unsure of myself and my relationship with the hair.  Had I somehow become accustomed to having his hair I have been rather looking forward to ditching?  I’m beginning to think so…, and I think I’m liking the feeling.  πŸ™‚
Post-a-day 2017


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