Last weekend I was again in the mountains. Time there makes me think. This is what I wrote down.
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14.11.2010 10:55 Pepaj
I had just laid down on a terrace of F.'s house in Pepaj, and starting to write to my notebook, when something caught my attention. In my hair there was something that didn't belong there. It was a glimpse of silver in copper. One curl was grey.
I pulled it out, trying to find out if it was just the top that was burned from the sun and had lost its color. No - the whole hair was all grey from root to top.
I'm 24 years old, soon to be 25. From my face, people think that I'm 18-22. How come I have my first grey hair now? It's not in genes. Parents: ~50. Grandmother: never. Me? 24?!?
At this point of year I usually have a minor age crisis. Every year. Every time it's about how old I am and inner dialogue if I have accomplished enough in my life. I really don't need this hair issue to magnify the effect.
I keep the hair between my fingers, study it carefully. It shines like silver. It's beautiful, and yet it just doesn't fit in. Still, it's a reflection of me. Like I am a reflection of the world. Beautiful, shining, but don't fit in. I let wind to catch my silver hair. I let it fly. I stand up and promise myself not to have any age crisis this year. (Though I still hope not to make any more such findings.)
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