THUN THUN THUN
School has started and I have totally forgotten about this incident. It was pretty epic really, and I have no idea how I forgot about it at all.
It starts like this:
A few days before school starts again (I haven’t been back to school as per normal for a little more than half a year because I was on internship, remember?) I decided that this could be an opportunity to start my poly life all over again! Why all over again? Because I’d sent in a special letter to school management to have myself separated as much as possible from my class and entire cohort if possible. Thanks to my magical language and writing skills *COUGH*, they let me and now I have the loosest timetable and all the time in the world to study my ass off for the subjects I’m retaking(I’m serious this time). I could easily take up a part time job while I’m at it but I’m thinking…
In celebration, I decided to have a haircut because I can’t remember when I’d last cut it. (I can’t even remember what I had for dinner last night but…)
Here’s the thing.
I’ve only ever allowed one hairstylist ‘surprise’ me during my cuts. All the other times I go to the salon, I only ever ask the lady to do a little trimming but ‘keep the length!’ because I do not have to sit through another horror-fest where I sit how and watch as the stylist saw off a ponytail full of hair. In my entire lifetime, I’ve already sat through it 4 times and that’s simply too much for comfort. To counter that, I have learnt how to say ‘Keep the length, please.’ in Chinese. You know, because I almost never see a hairstylist of another race in neighborhood salons. Go figure.
And if anyone is wondering, my hairstylist was headhunted because he was too fabulous for his own good. Now he snips, layers and bleaches hair in a posh salon of a 5-star hotel, charging more than my one month’s pocket money per session. Yes, fabulous because he’s gay. There, I said it. But gay guys are the bomb, okay? You understand you, they talk womanly crap to you that you can’t talk with your guy friends, they don’t sabotage your hair, instead they want the best for it and they know how to make you look good. God bless the gays, please. Everything is rainbows and ponies about them.
I was feeling really brave then, not to mention my layers had grown out so much, my hair was one shape. Rectangular. I couldn’t get my curls to come out even if I tried and I got worried. I love my curls. Straight hair is too… not me.
So I go to the salon I normally trim my hair at and asked if they were busy even though the shop was empty. The lady who usually cuts my hair stood up and told me to have a seat but I shook my head and asked for a catalogue with all their hairstyles. I actually stuttered when I said it.
I sat at the waiting couches, still contemplating if I should really go through with this. I mean, the lady even came up to me and asked if I could speak Chinese because her English wasn’t good. Translation? ‘If I don’t understand what you’re telling me, I’ll put bangs on you.’
The fear is real, people.
But a new start is a new start, fierce hair or not and I had to go for it. I picked out a style of what I thought looked like what my hairstylist used to cut for me and sat in the chair at her mercy.
Said said/rapped stuff in Chinese, telling me the usual things.
- My hair was too dry
- My layers have grown out too much
- I need to treatment my hair
- Can I treatment your hair for this small cost?
She then asked me to bend forward and combed all my hair in front of my face. Grabbing a huge lock of hair, positioned her scissors and chopped at least 6 inches (that the average length of a- okay nevermind) of hard grown hair from my head. I imagined it like.
Except not that fabulous because my hair will never look so healthy and straight, and excepted to look up into the mirror looking like:
Because the lady was assuring me it wasn’t all that short as she brought the hair she’d just butchered off me to the front. It had gone from the length to my boobs to the length at my chin. I couldn’t cry, I was still in shock. She must have took my silence as consent and carried on snipping away. I watched as she seemingly layered a suspiciously large amount of hair off my head as I sat there thinking:
The rest of the haircut went on in silence as I read my tweets, trying to distract myself as I watched my reflection in peripheral vision feeling all:
She proceeded too blow dry my hair,
THOSE THINGS ARE HOT, OKAY?
Plus she was so rough with my hair and her long nails kept scratching my neck ):
She charged me, passed me her name card (again) and sent me on my way. I thought my family would laugh at me because my (new)fringe was all over my face. Somehow, she’d managed to change my parting and the ends of my hair left alarmingly thin. So on my way home, I decided to smooth it out a little bit. You know, untangle my hair?
And what do you know? When I got home, my dad didn’t say anything (We’re kind of having a cold war. For the record, I’m being the bigger person and have since apologized and bought him candy. Yes, candy. He likes that sort of stuff, but he’s still IGNORING ME. Urgh.) and my aunt said my hair looked good.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw Me again.
CHECK IT OUT!
Let’s make a comparison, shall we?
I went for my reconstructive surgery(Anyone out there who still thinks I got hit by a car or was assaulted with choppers in a dark alley, I lied.) and my family had me cut my hair short because it would be hard for me to shower let alone wash long hair after my operation so I went to my hairdresser. He wasn’t in, so his other guy cut it for me. I went from this:
Except I wasn’t always so glam about this hairstyle, so here’s a less glamorous picture:
Yup, It’s not always rainbows and butterflies for me.
The year the world was supposed to end. Also the year I was attacked my flash on my birthday.
Flash the superhero?
Psh, I wish.
Although away from the horrible flash, my short hair seemed to be growing out really nicely:
So I didn’t care about it. Big mistake.
The curse of ‘Rectangle Hair’. Yeap, it was the year I’d practically lost all my curls. I tried layering it, but I could never get many steps in because no one really took a lot of hair off my head. I never allowed them. It was really trimming all the way.
So I guess it was more my fault, huh?
I started the year like this:
I danced so horribly at the beginning of the year but I’M BETTER NOW, OKAY?
Anyway, somehow I’d managed to evade my hairdresser long enough for my hair to grow out. You can still see the curls in there, but it soon turns into:
Yes, that’s a tower of beer. BUT LOOK. IT’S SANTA, TOO! Right smack in the middle of June, if my memory does not fail me.
You can see it, right? My curls are practically non existent then. Just wavy. Wavy. Urgh.
But now, I’ve cut my hair and my curls are finally back!
I’m really, really happy so I should make you guys happy too so here’s a gif of a balloon bursting in my face earlier this year:
I live with some mean folks but I love them anyways. Alright, off to bed now!