My hair parts left.

In middle school, I looked in the mirror, felt self-conscious, and with a comb decided.

My hair parts left.

Through high school and college, I sustained the habit.

My hair parts left.

In the Inside Times, my mom refused to go to a barber. She cut my hair and I told her.

My hair parts left.

The first week I moved to San Francisco, I went to a fancy barber, and I explained.

My hair parts left.

And yet 45 minutes later, with eucalyptus hair gel and the sides short I found.

My hair parts right.

New year, new city, new me. I look in the mirror, and it feels right. However, the top of my hair doesn't fully comply. It still remembers going the other way. It still remembers.

My hair parts left.