I have never been satisfied with the dirt colored look of my hair. It flows until it reaches the straight cliff that ends my rolling hair. I have not consulted anyone about my rebellious decision. It sits right on the sink, begging to be used. When I was seven I asked my mom if I could get my ears pierced and dye my hair. She replied sharply with a no. But that didn’t shut down the true rebel inside me. My real rebellious self has been cooped up inside myself. It eagerly wants to escape but I keep it hidden. I believed that one day it would escape and I would go wild. I believed my rebellious streak would end in a night of jail. But that rebellious night can wait. Only a spurt of my unruly self snuck out today. I decided to dye my hair. I have been eagerly waiting for this day ever since my mom shut down my fractious personality. I unpackage the box and a smile fills my face. I mix the products together and they transform into a paste. I spread it through my hair. I never want this moment to end. The feeling of this freedom is like no other. The feeling of my heart racing and energy racing through my blood. It is a rush of happiness. A feeling I haven’t felt in while. But then I reach the cliff that ends my hair. And the moment ends. I let it sit in my hair, the rush slowly drifts away. A few days later the rich unnatural color starts to diminish. It fades away and the happiness I felt follows it. And the sadness I’ve felt all my life fills me once again. I realize it wasn’t only the feeling of my heart racing and the energy raging inside me, it was also the change of how I looked. I was happy with the unnatural me. I realize that I’m not happy with the way I look and me rebelling was just me escaping the truth. It was a drug for me. The freedom made me feel content.