Wild Hair Tamed.

Dear Brother,

So here we are on the day of your birth,

and I have one very little gift to give you.

The thing with this gift,

to be completely honest,

it’s a gift you once gave to me and I just rewrapped it.

I know it sounds cheap, but I think you will understand.

Your gift is settling down in my heart,

and starting to fill the gaps unresolved.

So, now the time has come

to give the gift back to you.

Not because I did not like your gift,

but because I loved it.

The only thing I ask is that you use this gift,

as a mechanism for yourself and no one else.

Only you.

Promise me that.

…

I remember the first time I looked at you,

I was blissfully confused.

At five years old, a baby resembles more of a doll, than a human.

Something we took full advantage of,

trust me.

We dressed you up from head to toe.

You were an Indian one day,

king the next,

and a girl, our personal favorite.

We played with you as if you were our precious toy.

I remember the first time I got to hold you.

My small hands wrapped around your warm body.

I felt like I was holding the world,

and I was.

Little did I know that I was holding one of life’s greatest gifts.

I could barely carry you in my clumsy arms,

despite your thin predisposition.

You did not even inherit the chubby cheeks and fat rolls your sisters did.

You were tiny and bald.

Now, looking back I think there was a reason you were born bald.

Like a Benjamin Button sequel,

just without the degrading brain and body.

Your eyes signaled wisdom

and wise they were.

Your hair eventually grew out, in strands of blonde.

…

When you were little,

Well, you were little,

Your white hair fell just below your eyes,

and symmetrically lined the circumference of your head.

To be fair, a style that resembled nothing but lack of style.

But, the style was not chosen by you.

But it did not become you either.

The fire in your eyes shined brighter than your blonde hair.

…

You were a rebel from day one.

You were wild before the world told you not to be.

You were merely screaming for the world to listen,

to understand.

In pre-school,

the principal quickly landed on speed dial

in mom’s phonebook.

…

In standard fashion,

The principal lectured you on why nap time was mandatory,

or why destroying others’ sand-castles was not nice.

Something you remained unphased by.

We would find you,

propped up on a chair staring down the principal.

Your confidence,

well, it did not necessarily match the height of your legs,

that dangled in the air, too short to touch the ground.

Grinning from ear to ear,

the flow of the principal’s lifeless voice mimicked,

in one of your ears and out the other.

…

I always thought you were annoyingly cool.

Just like your blonde hair,

you kept your happiness inside the circumference of your head

and let the rest bounce off.

…

After receiving another lecture on the car ride home,

another day would pass and you would wake up once again,

unphased by the world,

ready to demolish yet, another sandcastle.

You were never bad, only brave.

Too wild for a principal without wisdom to understand,

she only knew how to reprimand men,

not boys.

…

As time passed,

your hair grew thicker and darker,

you grew quieter and quieter.

You became an observer of the world around you.

You felt like you had to

because the world around you did not make sense to you.

Your behavior was not encouraged it was dismissed,

and as any wise child would,

you learned.

…

You bunkered up inside your head,

hidden behind the thickness of your fluffy hair.

Afraid to disturb the world.

You left boyhood behind and entered manhood.

A place where wild takes a new definition:

survival.

… …

The common storyline of men, who really want to be boys:

is suppressed play.

…

Exhausted by fear,

boys succumb to the game of survival.

Exchanging freedom for success,

only to mistake success for freedom.

…

Fighting slowly replaces playing,

It’s you against the world.

Before our time,

the weapon was physical,

now it has turned mental.

Warfare turned not towards others,

but ourselves.

…

But,

winning is an award granted by the owners of the competition.

What the subjects of survival often miss is accepting an award,

is unanimous to losing,

but worse than losing is playing to win.

You are no longer playing,

you are fighting for recognition.

It’s saying you can now be accepted into the pack,

your spots have now grown to liken ours,

you can now feel

accomplished,

proud,

powerful,

and respected,

not by yourself anymore, but at least by others.

You have grown tough, but not strong.

…

A boy’s mind is stronger than that of a man’s,

but a man’s is tougher.

There is a difference.

And unfortunately tough beats strong today.

But the simple truth remains,

One mind is calm, another anxious.

…

Strength,

is forgotten by men.

Toughness,

is endorsed by the weak,

the suppressed,

the resistant,

the hurt,

the insecure.

…

Strength,

in its very definition:

“is the capacity to withstand great force or pressure.”

…

Winning is the mindset of a man, not a boy.

A boy is too wild,

has too many spots, lines, and shades

to be recognized through comparison.

Boys don’t enter war,

only men do.

Men go astray,

fighting for freedom,

but all they are left with is,

success, at best.

a broken heart at worst,

if not already broken from stress,

and finally an unfulfilled soul at death.

Well, then regret.

…

Men fight for ten years,

to gain happiness,

to gain fulfillment,

to gain self-respect,

to gain integrity.

When this already existed within them the day they were born.

…

So, here you are,

not yet a man and not fully a boy.

The life you lead is your choice,

and not for me to decide,

unless you so decide.

The question is just how you will choose to live:

As a boy with strength, calmly playing.

or

As a tough man, anxiously fighting.

Your experience of the world will shift with your choice.

My greatest wish is for you to experience the world at peace and not at war.

…

Therefore my gift to you is a reminder,

that when you are really scared,

to remain grounded as a wild child.

It’s what makes you interesting,

it’s what makes you respect yourself,

it’s what makes you happy,

it is what will eventually lead down a path not towards success,

but discovering the success that is already within you.

…

Deep down don’t forget that wild in you, that crazy in you.

No longer a wild that sacrifices for the sake of rebellion,

nor to win,

or to prove,

but the kind of wild that sacrifices the idea of who you should be,

remaining perfectly and naturally untamed,

strong in who you actually are.

If you are not true to yourself,

then no worldly success will ever grant you the freedom,

you will soon begin to seek through war.

Unless you choose peace.

…

Don’t let your blonde locks be tamed.

Always and forever.

They have recently turned curly for a reason.

…

— Love you, your sister.