PREMATURE BALDNESS

By Philip M. Lustre Jr.

This was something that went beyond my control. It happened so fast; I could hardly do anything. By age 30, my hairline had receded. I lost plenty of hair. I couldn't explain all those fallen hair strands except to think it was basically a tragedy of genes.

My late father and his three other brothers had the same fate - and pate. All had receding hairlines. My father had the worst case among the brothers. By his own account, he lost hair by mid-20s. By 30, his balding head was a glowing reality.

Well-meaning friends had aired a cacophony of advice to minimize the negative impact of my balding head. A friend advised me to apply herbal oils before I go to bed mainly to stimulate hair regrowth. Another friend told me to buy the latest craze for hair regrowth, which is Minoxidil. Others gave me forgettable pieces of advice.

But I have a friend who offered to give me a toupee for free. That friend, who also had premature balding and, ergo, wears a toupee, told me in no uncertain terms that he "commiserated" with the early disappearance of my hair. As a gesture of goodwill, a toupee free of charge was for me to take. It was a gesture that I flatly rejected.

I guess my friend and I were of different wave length. I didn't think - and, until now, I do - that a balding head is something that I should be ashamed. I've not been narcissistic to think that way. So what if my head is balding? It doesn't mean the end of the world.

I couldn't imagine myself wearing a toupee, while people behind me whisper on how unattractive that dead rat's hair over my head. Besides, I don't really feel insecure with my shining pate. I always rationalize that with or without hair, the world won't stop revolving anyway. Should I worry?

Because of my stubborn refusal to wear any toupee or apply any concoction for hair regrowth, friends always tease me. They call me names. "Rambo" (for sirang buhok), "Arabo" (for walang buhok), "Aga" (for maagang nalugas) are just some. But I always take them in stride. I don't recall any incident when I lost my cool because of those namecalling, which I always view as bantering.

I've also developed some humorous ways to rationalize my fate. Once a lady friend tactlessly asked why I lost hair, I told her with a poker face and a tongue in cheek that I mistook my sister's feminine wash for hair shampoo. I didn't know that the consequence for this oversight could be catastrophic.

For the past twenty years, I've been sporting the skinhead hair style (or semi-calvo). It's not because I am an admirer of anything Nazi or Neo-Nazi. But a semi-calvo hair has been very practical for me. 

First, I don't have problems with dandruff. Second, I don't have to bring a man's comb in my pocket. Besides, I don't really have to worry about the barbershop I have to go for a haircut because I am always sure that any barber can do it with justice.

Lately, I've not been getting the usual dosage of namecalling and bantering from friends. Perhaps, they've gotten used to my semi-calvo hairstyle. Perhaps, I'm getting old and any old man deserves some respect. 

Or perhaps, they see some nuggets of wisdom in my decision to keep as public as possible my balding head. But whatever, I'm always happy with my fate. 

It's not a curse as what most people think.