160: 3.3 Colours in her Hair

The first time I dyed my hair was when I was 12 years old. It was after we found out that I had gotten straight As in the national examinations, and as a present, my mom let me go to my local salon and dye blonde streaks onto my jet black hair. In hindsight, I was very young to have this done - but I was determined, and probably my persistence weighed mama down.

It was a small, family run hair salon. One that probably set up roots decades before. It was a corner shop in a busy residential area. Next to it were local garages, mini markets and mamak stalls. My mom and I entered the salon to be greeted by a nice Chinese auntie. She allocated me a chair and a hairdresser, and shortly after the transformation process commenced. Mama was patiently waiting in the corner reading magazines. And I sat still for hours trying waiting patiently for the big reveal.

I remember feeling like a million bucks with my new hair. It was a very early millennial thing to have streaks in one's hair - like the popular pop stars at the time. Britney Spears had them, Christina Aguilera had them, so needless to say, I felt very special that day. I bounced around home parading my new look to family members, friends and whoever who was vaguely interested. I was very pleased.

However, the new school year was about to begin, and I was enrolled into a local girl's school who had a reputation for enforcing their strict standards of discipline onto their students. I knew that I wouldn't be able to get away with my funky hair. But cunningly on the first school day, I managed to tuck my hair streaks underneath my normal hair and tied it neatly and tightly in a pony tail. Surprisingly, no one noticed - not the prefects who would stand at the gate to check our socks, not the school teachers roaming around the halls - no one. I felt a little like a spy with a secret, and so far I was winning.

It was only a few days later when one prefect commented on my hair. You see, they were even tasked with checking that our hair bands were of the right colour - only black and dark blue were allowed. So I wasn't surprised that someone would have eventually noticed. The prefect - short, fair skinned - approached me whilst I was entering a classroom.

"Is that your natural hair?" she said whilst pointing at me.
Oh no, I thought, game over. I have been exposed.
"Well, yes it is. It is natural," I answered, non-chalantly.
This is not going to work, I thought. She is definitely going to report me.
"Oh, alright then, it looks really nice. Carry on."

Phew. I ran into the classroom, out of sight.

Fortunately, my existence in that school didn't last long - at most it was two weeks before I was transferred to a boarding school out of state. Not wanting to risk my place or squeaky clean reputation because of possible hair offences, I chopped off my locks before I moved. Therefore, it was alas, a short rendezvous with my stylish hair, but it remains my first glimmer of personal rebellion.