He was 17 when he was born

She sat there almost tranquilized fearing the consequences of her forthcoming actions, the path she had chosen to embark on. No doubt it was the road less traveled, it was harsh, an embattled life full of challenges, a thorny ride with no sure prospects of bearing any economical fruit.

Blink. Deep breath.

She opened her eyes and looked into the mirror. Unshed tears but also unswerving conviction stared back at her, beckoning her, challenging her to go through with her life-altering act.

She narrowed her eyes and bit her lower lip as she stared at herself, not out of indecision, but resolve. Jaws tightened and clenched together, moving to one side.

Click.

“So what should I give you?” The unfamiliar voice interrupted her stream of thoughts, if only for a second.

She sought the questioning eyes of the other woman in the mirror and spoke with sheer determination and will.

“Chop it off, all of it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” her voice unwavering, her confidence growing.

With that the woman began to slice through the long locks of oppression. They were without nerves and yet the pain of their coming separation visible in those unshed tears. The pain of the life left behind. But with that pain, a relief, waves of liberation rose as the chains fell all around the chair. In less than 20 minutes, the deed was done.

He looked at herself in the mirror. And smiled.

He was 17 when he was born.