DYE HARD

Today is my dyeing day, an event which repeats itself twice a month. So instead of "Happy Birthday," you may want to greet me with, "Happy new hair!"

“I will dye and dye until I die,” must be one of the mottos I share with a lot of ageing baby boomers who won’t be caught dead with white mane on their furrowed forehead. Of course I'm not yet in the purple or orange hair niche hogged by more elderly seniors like Senora Perez, my once-upon-a- time Spanish professor.

I’m actually half excited about having a full head of white. My mother looked radiant in snowy-soft hair even before she died at 92. Besides, my former crowning-glory-turned-receding-glory now only boasts of just few and far between strands of hair; so white may fake a full-bodied haute coiffure.

“No way,” said my better half. He probably didn’t want to be mistaken for chaperoning her mother or older sister. “You may want to just stay at home,” he butted in when I intentionally let him overhear my self-to-self dialogue on turning totally white at the top.

Of course he couldn’t now object to my dyeing bills which on occasions unfortunately come with manicure, foot spa and massage add-ons. Now you know why I look forward to dyeing days as real "D" days.

His concern had basis. A few months back, as he asked for our bill after a quiet dinner in a restaurant, the waiter asked, “Me senior citizen card po ba?”

“Que barbaridad ,hindi kami ganon katanda!” My mind objected. How could he even think we were THAT old! But double horror! The waiter didn’t mean my husband. Jack’s pinkish well-stretched skin (double talk for chubby) made him look younger than his age. (He turned 60 recently.) I realized that from where the waiter stood, my crowning glory was indeed crowning with the white rays of the early morning sun. Am definitely not ready for the humiliation that comes with white!

But I will be more at ease, in due time. My brother Dan, two years my senior, had for many years been going around with white hair. He found dyeing cumbersome. And he really didn’t care if he looked older than his age. That's what I call ageing graciously, minding the inner man more than one's facade.

Jesus Himself dazzles in white. Revelation 1:14: “His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and His eyes were like blazing fire.” White also symbolizes God’s cleansing power through the blood of Jesus: “Wash me and I will be whiter than snow,” says David in Psalm 51:7b. White is pure good! Eternal haute couture.

Thank God dyes will not follow me in heaven. You mean no salons...no foot spa... no manicure? I'll gladly trade all these for white!

Of these baby boomers (l-r: my niece Gennie, me, my sister Mita, our grand niece Macky- the exception, my brother Dan and cousin Kuya Ador), guess who dyed or didn't?