Ever since I got into university, I have been plagued by this feeling that I’m just not doing enough. I’m not sure if you’ve ever felt this way but it’s honestly kind of annoying. Like, I do my best. My grades are alright. They’re not the best but they’re alright. Nobody could look at them and say that I’ve been lazy. But they won’t go any higher no matter how much I try so it’s really not down to effort at this point.

I tried my hand at part-time jobs because people keep telling me that those add ‘value’ when you graduate but apart from the time I did an Internship at a Lightbulb Company from India, I haven’t had a lot of luck. And I spent most of that internship getting people coffee and stapling documents together. There was also that time paper got stuck in the printer and I helped my Line Manager declutter it. He was so happy with me that he bought me a cup of coffee. The entire experience helped me realized that most of the people that have corporate jobs in Bangladesh are honestly a little stupid. 

I joined a University club in my very first semester. Worked like a maniac behind their signature event. Pulled chairs, served food, the whole nine miles. But Arafat from Marketing ended up getting the executive post I wanted. He didn’t work half as hard I did so I’m not sure how he managed to get that promotion. He was busy chatting around and talking to people the whole time. I think people just don’t have the eye to spot a hard worker.

My best friend Akeel tells me the main reason I find myself in my current predicament is because I don’t have enough sex appeal. Now I’m prone to believing Akeel with these things, he’s very successful with the ladies. He seems to have a new chic every other week A few days ago he handed me this pamphlet. It was a horribly designed ad for a Hair Salon with disproportionate pictures of one of the Jonas Brothers. “Your hair needs to change, Saad” Akeel patted me on the back. “It’s the first thing anyone notices about someone”

I don’t think that’s very accurate because I am more prone to be drawn by someone’s stomach. Like if you have a really large stomach, I’ll notice that before I’ll spot your hair. Sometimes you don’t notice people’s hair at all. Some people are all stomach.

Even then, I wasn’t anybody to question Akeel Amjid. So I took his advice and showed up at the hair salon with money I had stolen from my father’s wallet when he wasn’t looking. It’s hard being a twenty-something in Dhaka with no stable income. You can’t meet people without going to a restaurant which means socialising means paying for food so if you want human contact, you’ll need money. Unless you’re one of those people who sit in any gathering without ordering food and end up making everyone else feel uncomfortable to the point that they offer some of their french fries out of sympathy. No, I’m not going to be that guy. If that means stealing money from my father, I’m fine with that.

The salon was rather colourful. I think they could guess I was easy pickings by my confused expression and three different barbers started calling out to me the minute I walked into the salon.

“Crew Chop?” one of the barbers with with a fatherly moustache asked me, motioning for me to take a seat. His moustache seemed welcoming. I think all the good Bangladeshi dads have moustaches. That’s the benchmark for a good dad in these parts. Mine has a nice one. It’s gotten thin with age though.

The barber threw a grand white sheet all over me the minute I sat down.

I kept my phone, wallet and camera down on the counter in front of me. I was careful about keeping the camera safe. I didn’t want to ruin another camera.

I was hoping the barber hadn’t noticed the camera because I honestly the hate the thing people say the minute they notice the camera.

“Are you a photographer?” the barber asked me as soon as he was done tying the sheet around me.

“Just trying it out”, I said with half a smirk.

I wasn’t sure what to tell him because while I’d had been fooling around with cameras for a few months, I hadn’t made any official declaration or anything. I was still editing my first picture of an urban skyline. I’ve fought off the urge to upload it just yet. It’ll need a few more adjustments.

Before I could realise what was happening, the barber chopped off a large chunk of hair off the front of my head. It happened so fast that I didn’t even have the time to process it or think about anything other than the fact that Akeel believes its for the best.

“How do you like it?” the barber asked, his voice a little defensive

As I looked at myself in the mirror, I realised the new look did go hand in hand with the troubled artist gimmick. You know, someone who’s always experimenting and is afraid to settle down on any one thing ?

“Perfect”