The Fort St. John that is, although I’m starting to realize that it has a lot in common with it’s slang counterpart.

I had four days off to go back home to Vancouver, and it was a whirlwind weekend. I spent time with family, old friends, and made a new one. I shopped, ate, and chopped my hair. It was a productive extended weekend, even though it seemed like it ended way too soon.

The haircut was the most stressful part of my trip home. I always end up with hair anxiety, this time was no exception. For as long as I can remember my hair has defined me, it’s curly in a way that is no way Filipino, and thick in a way that white girls will never understand. In essence it’s the perfect representation of my mestiza-ness. I’ve done everything to my hair, I’ve coloured it ridiculous colours, I’ve chemically straightened it, flat ironed it into submission, and teased it beyond an inch of it’s life. But nothing scares me more than getting a haircut. Post VSG my hair has become so thin, I can see my scalp for the first time in my life and it’s terrifying. Everyone tells you that your hair will fall out, but it’s affected me way more than I’d like to admit. I’m more vain about hair than I should be, it will grow back, or so I’ve been told… repeatedly.

I’m a Carly Simon song in the flesh

So I chopped all of the dry nasty split end hair off and begged my stylist for a cut that would give me some volume. And I think she succeeded.

Since I’ve been back in Fort St. John I was asked to travel again for work, they’re sending me to Gibsons, which is only a ferry ride away from Vancouver. They’re sending me there for four weeks, apparently because I’ve done such a good job out here. Which I suppose is a good thing, but it makes me uncomfortable when I’m referred to as their “Girl Friday”. All I need is a sweater set and a typewriter.