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From the festering wound of an impulsive decision is born Isa's fear that her abuela is forgetting her. Any twenty-something could tell you they’ve chopped off their hair as a means of regaining agency in uncertain times. Instant regret: what if this exacerbates her dying abuela’s dementia? Instant defiance: her mother's disapproving opinion is unwelcome. The harder Isa bites down on the spot of her tongue that tastes like remorse, the more decapitated hair crawls up her drain pipes; a manifestation of her complex anticipatory grief. No choice but to confront it. This horror is a commentary on Latinx beauty standards––especially ones that concern women's hair and are perpetuated by mothers.
