I was told by one of my readers that he doesn't really care if i went commando to meet some ministers. He said he likes the serious part of my blog. But he knows well enough that I am never serious about almost anything, right? i like the unserious part of life - the laugh i receive from my mustache is one of them.
Last summer, while going through a break-up, i didn't really care for myself for a long time and was pretty destructive at it too. I drank like an alcoholic, smoked weed like Afroman, and i didn't shave for more than a month and i had a thirteen year old Inuk's mustache.
While at that time, i was picked up by a friend and his son. I was sitting at the back of the car with the boy and he is funny and really smart for a five year old. While we were just crossing the bridge from Quebec to Ontario - the boy just stared at me. I smiled at him and he says slowly enough, "Can I touch your little mustache?" And i said yes, while I laughed and let him touch my little mustache and he said again, "it's so small!" and I laughed more and so did my roommate at the time.
I always remember that time and how funny it was.
It has been almost a year since then and guess what? I have a growing mustache again that i haven't shaved for almost three whole months now! And it still looks like a thirteen year old Inuk's mustache. I am afraid that I'll have a prepubescent mustache at the age of thirty in two short years. hahahah.
So in my unserious manner, i went to Second Cup and ordered my usual cup. They know me well enough that all I do is say hi and they give me my coffee. But since about two months ago, we talk about my mustache in front of strangers and laugh about it. Both are females and they laugh at me. Which I don't really care about because last summer when i was shaved, i entered and the girl there thought i was bringing her flowers so i know the reason why she laughs. But this morning she asked me: are you really going to keep it? And i said of course.
I wear it as a kind of badge for me. Not really for my Inuit ancestry (because i know they grew mustaches and beards) but kind of for my family in a way. I'm not saying they can't grow one but it connects me to them. Especially to my father. There was a time in Iqaluit last month when i went to my sister's place and i hadn't showered that day and my hair was especially greasy and my sister said that i look like my father. I was so proud that i didn't care if i never showered and never shaved. Just to feel like i look like my father is the best compliment i can get.
Today I am not in a destructive mood and i'm no longer brooding over relationships but i am wearing my silly little mustache with great pride. Actually i am more proud to have a mustache than to be proud of my identity because it doesn't need to be worried about who or where it is.
It just is.