mi cresta

My mohawk, cresta o crestita, is mostly blonde now. The color has drained from it, except for a little bit of pink in the front and a little bit of purple in the back.

Every time I show my passport to other pilgrims, they have the same reaction. First, they laugh. They are not laughing at my ridiculous mohawk. They are laughing at the idea of me with average, mid-length brunette hair. After the laugh, they look at me seriously, concerned and say "But. But. This suits you. Don´t change it. It´s better this way." I´m not quite sure what to make of that. The reaction is entirely universal. Young, old. People who have known me since France, people who met me that day. It doesn´t matter. I think it has to do with people wanting things to stay the way they expect them to be. I suppose it could have to do with the new look actually being better.

Or it could have something to do with a really shitty passport picture.

At Finisterre, the end of the world, pilgrims sacrifice things of importance to them. Some burn clothes (which need it by then). Others leave their boots. I plan to cut off the mohawk. I´ll miss it, but it seems like it belongs here.