Strands of My Past: Pahak and Redemption
Ever since high school, I've been envious of people with smooth and silky hair. I used to have that type of hair when I was young. I remember being scolded in Grade 2 for standing up in the middle of the class and shaking my head just to showcase my free-flowing butterfly hairstyle.
I remember not going to the barber when I was young. There was this salon my mother used to frequent near Bukidnon State University. It was still a college back then, with towering pine trees that threatened to topple the highway. Don2, the gay salon owner, would only use scissors on my hair—never clippers.
Oh, how I loved that hairstyle—until the hair gel trend happened. My mother had this aloe gel from Avon at the time, which I started using in Grade 3. That made my hair dry and frizzy ever since. I wish I had a better sense of self back then. I even remember mourning how I had ruined my hair. I used to be cute; my Grade 4 self grieved for the hair of my Grade 2-3 self.
A Salon That No Longer Exists
In Grade 6, I tried to go back to that salon, thinking I could recreate my old hairstyle. But it was no longer there. The old spot had become a carinderia. I was told they had moved to Impalambong Street. I went there, but my expectations were crushed. It smelled of bleach, chemicals, and hair products. I don’t remember much from this visit, but I was convinced to start anew—with a semi-opaw cut.
Mind you, I was enrolled in a Catholic school notorious for enforcing "pahak" on students whose hair reached their shirt collar.
Pahak (n.): An accidental or deliberate shorter haircut than expected; a nick.
Pahak (v.): To create a nick; to cut someone's hair shorter as punishment for not meeting school or work hair regulations.
I remember two of my classmates, Jed and Junnel, having a proper meltdown when the "pahak" given to them by a teacher was too jarring—too high, too violent. Other classmates had to subdue them, but what could they do? They were the biggest in our batch. I remember feeling a sense of injustice: why didn’t the school just hire a proper barber? Not everyone could afford one or had the time to go. Why subject students to this kind of humiliation?
High School Haircuts
I went back to school egg-headed. My classmates made fun of me with the usual, "Nadakpan na ba ang barbero?" jokes. Jed and Junnel, however, were more sympathetic. They pointed out that the "barber" had no attention to detail.
Come high school (San Isidro College), I had regulation-style flattops and crew cuts, since the "pahak" policy still existed. I remember enduring ₱30 "white sidewall" haircuts from barbers whose hands reeked of cigarette smoke—thinking they were slick by using alcohol to mask the smell.
It’s a bit more relaxed there now (2025), with new administrators.
The Rope That Held Me
You know that metaphor about the elephant being trained with a rope so thin it could break free, but it never tries because it's been conditioned not to? That was me until college.
Only after graduating did I realize that I could grow my hair out, sport a beard, and have a mustache. One day, I just realized I could do that—with no repercussions.
My hair is thick and wavy, but at least I’m not balding. So, while I still have my hair, I’ve tried different looks, hairstyles, and beard combinations. My lack of communication skills with barbers has led to some interesting results. I don’t have tattoos, but I have a beard, and that’s the most I would do to my unadorned body.
Considering a Buzz Cut
I’ve never gone back to shorter cuts since then. But my nephew had a buzz cut that looked good on him. I never thought about it—until I tried on "serious" glasses for my path to academe/law. A college friend suggested a buzz cut.
The world pokes unprompted.
My last styles were a mix of a wolf cut and an undercut mullet, but the bangs were a nightmare, causing forehead pimples. A buzz cut sounded nice, but I hesitated—an ex once told me my head wasn’t the right shape for it. I took that to heart, haunted by memories of my egg-headed past.
Turns out, all I needed was a little assurance.
I looked for examples on Instagram (this generation’s Pinterest) and found someone with a similar head shape. I went to The Champ Barbershop, where the barber told me it was a "buzz cut x drop fade." I went with it.
When I had my undercut mullet, he said I looked like Stephen Curry. Now, I reminded him—I look like him with this cut.
If You Need a Sign, Here It Is
If you need a push to try that hairstyle you’ve been considering—do it. Let me be the one to assure you:
You won’t look good because of the specific hairstyle you’ve been longing for. You’ll look good because you decided for yourself.
Shaved sides. Bleached hair. A fauxhawk. Do it because you want to. Do it because you’re balding. Do it because others are balding—not to spite them, but in their stead. Do it for yourself.
As for me, I did it for myself—without the threat of pahak.
