A Wishful Thinking

“Nova come on, we’re jumping in the pool!”

“Coming!”

As everyone scurried around to lunge at the pool, Nova was still in the bathroom trying to get everything to be just right. This was the first pool party and the first time her friends were going to be seeing her without her hijab; a veil that covered her hair; her only weakness. The air was warm and humid and her skin felt sticky; she already felt so gross with the weather being so damp. The pool was a sure remedy for a weather like this, of course, but Nova had that uneasy feeling in her chest she always got; the kind of feeling you get before a big exam or surely before your friends realize something is wrong with your hair?

“How will they know?” As Nova started playing around with her curly hair, trying to get it to thicken in a minute, she started thinking to herself of how this all stirred up in the first place.

Trying to hold her tears from falling down her face in front of the mirror, Nova blinked a couple times; rapid but fast so her friends didn’t notice she was crying. As she blinked, the atmosphere suddenly changed and she found herself in her room from when she was in 9th grade, 3 years ago.

“No, no, no, this can’t be happening again,” Nova panicked around, trying to blink again to teleport back. She was stuck. As she felt completely helpless, she stood there, numb; she knew what was about to happen next. Nova just didn’t want to relive that again.

“3…” The clock was ticking. It was as if time had stopped altogether, pitying Nova; the feeling she hated the most. Pity. She didn’t need the sympathy of others nor did she need their help; it’s a one man world where everybody cares for themselves, and where no one notices how others are doing.

“2…” “I can take it,” thought Nova. It’s not like this didn’t happen before; the countless panic attacks she suffered from it as well as the attack to her mental health wasn’t something she was ready to relive, but here it was again, like a spear where Nova stood against with a shield.

“1…” As her door lunged open, Nova’s grandma walked in, tears in her eyes. Nova’s culture respected elderly greatly, so she and her family always welcomed their extended family and lived with their elders to take care of them through their journey to death. It was something that wasn’t mentioned, ever; it was just something that was done.

Nova knew what was coming next. How could she not know? She basically lived through this moment every day, every time she looked at her hair; it was a constant reminder. She knew what was about to come, so why was she crying again?

“Nova…” as her grandma started sniffing, tears in her eyes, she couldn’t continue. She started sobbing; she was determined to be strong in Nova’s presence so the news she was about to reveal weren’t such a burden on her, though she couldn’t help but cry.

“Your friend… she’s in the hospital,” tears in her eyes, her grandma hugged the now shocked Nova. Even though she had gone over this scenario countless times, she still couldn’t help but feel shocked. As she put on her hijab and coat, she took her red Camaro out – her friend's favorite car, where countless adventures were made and countless songs were sung – to the hospital she was lying in.

Walking inside the bright hospital, she couldn’t help but wonder how depressive it all was; how fake hospitals seemed. It’s as if the lights were cranked to the max just to suppress the struggles endured by the people in there, as if what they were suffering could be fixed with some bright lights. As she walked inside the waiting room, she saw all her other friends waiting on the news of her friend; they were all red eyed, and murmurs of “I’m so sorry” surrounded the room. Why would they be sorry? There it was again, this feeling of pity Nova so hated. “They should be sorry for themselves, not specifically me,” Nova thought to herself as she took a seat next to her other friends.

Hours went by in the waiting room. Countless people went and left with the passage of time, some happy from the news they were receiving about their loved ones, and some distraught. Nova hoped she wouldn’t be one of the ones who were distraught. As they saw the nurse coming out, her friend's family rushed toward her, asking what happened to their only daughter. Conversations were traded between hushed whispers, and then a wail was heard; her friend’s mom was crying; the kind of crying where you scream, can’t stop, and also can’t breathe in between. Nova had understood anyways; nothing was going right, that she was going to be like those patients that had left with the most horrible news of their lives. This waiting room was not going to be a party arena tonight, that they had nothing to celebrate for.

Her friend was paralyzed from the neck down, and there was nothing she could do, but wait. Just like the first time she had heard the news, she suffered another panic attack; for her friend and for knowing what was about to happen to her as well. She spent the night in the hospital, and couldn’t help but realize what she was doing there. It’s not like her friend was about to magically wake up overnight and start walking to her. All these thoughts ran around her head. What do you mean she couldn’t ever run up to her friend and hug her again, tightly like they always did? What do you mean they couldn’t ever hold hands again and go on walks, and sleep over at each other’s houses, making the pasta they always made and eat together? What if she never woke up? As she tried to suppress these thoughts, tears ran down Nova’s eyes; if she hated the feeling of pity so much, then why was she pitying her friend?

Weeks passed by without her friend waking up. The thought of her waking up and learning that she couldn’t move because of the accident she suffered would hurt her greatly, which was something she didn’t bear to see. The stress of it all was building up on Nova, and her body reciprocated that greatly. Dark rings formed under her eyes, as well as tear streaks, and she had lost all appetite. She was losing weight at a great pace; she had always wished the numbers on the scale would go down, but not this way no; she wanted it to be healthy, not like this. With all this stress toiled inside her, as well as the fact that she was depressed, failing her classes, and losing all her other friends for being too gloomy, her hair took the biggest hit of them all.

What was once thick and curly was reduced to thin and frizzy. All her life, Nova constantly received compliments on how full and thick her hair was; well, until she covered it anyway. She was just 14, so hair fall shouldn’t be normal; she was a girl as well; it would be normal for a guy’s hair to fall, because all the uncles and dads she had ever met were balding. They weren’t girls though; and they were certainly not a high school student, a freshman at that.

The hijab was Nova’s shield by this point. Nobody knew what was going on with her hair, which gave her a sense of calmness. Though having to remove her hijab sometimes required her to hide from others, like when taking her daily ablution, it was doable. The times she was hijabless, though, especially at her house, was a constant reminder to her of her friend and the depression she was currently enduring.

It was 10th grade. Nova’s friend had woken up by now, and was devastated with the news like any normal person would be. Nova couldn’t help but notice that her hair didn’t fall though; “What the hell? Why would I even think about something like that? What I endured is nothing compared to hers,” is what she constantly told herself. This ended up undermining her own struggles. Even though things were certainly starting to become better, with her friend trying to recover and whatnot, Nova’s hair wasn’t returning back to the way it used to be. But why? She was in a happier mood, she was certainly doing better in her classes, and finally starting to become more social. All this didn’t bring any of her hair back, though.

The worst part of it all was the sleepovers. God, she dreaded those sleepovers where everyone had their hair down, braiding it and putting it in heatless curls, straightening it, etc. Whenever she went to a group sleepover, Nova had the excuse of her hijab, stating that she felt more comfortable with it, and to her luck, her friends would accept her like that; what were they going to do, go against her wishes and her belief? One time, though, someone yanked it off in a sleepover and she was scared to death; not because her hair looked bad or anything, but because her bald spots might’ve been showing.

As all this came back to her, Nova found herself in front of the mirror once again, remembering that she was still in the pool party and that she had to go out there with her hair uncovered; her friends had made sure no guys were in sight, so she could open up and be more comfortable with them. But this wasn't comfort for Nova; more like the opposite, though she couldn’t tell that to her friends because it would make them realize something was wrong, which was the last thing she ever wanted. As she started thickening her hair up again, trying to get it to cover her spots that were once full of hair, she wiped her tears away, took a big sigh, and unlocked the bathroom door.

Even though she couldn’t bear to look at herself, her hair was a reminder of what she had gone through. Of what she had survived. And there was nothing to be ashamed of. She didn’t have to accept herself; no, that wasn’t the point; but rather, she learnt to accept the situation that surrounded it all.

The things Nova had endured.

“Nova, come on! It’s too hot outside!”

“Coming!”