I've always remembered how people kick a big fuss out of cutting hair. When I snipped off the long tresses towards the end of J1 (which wasn't all that long like to my armpit or chest because I only tried to grow it out sec 4), my friends were like,

What happened to you? Your boyfriend dumped you?

It must have been drastic incidents, never just because you're sick of your hair or something.

I've never felt like that. Going for a hair cut never have been a big deal, but I almost always feel better. I never had the experience of crying and feeling like a coconut. Perhaps I am just lucky. And my Brad Pitt said Hair will Grow. So whattheheck eh.

I feel lighter, like a load is now off my head. And I love the way it feels to be shampooed. I love have people wash my hair for me, to fuss over not getting soap into my ears, and of course the mmmm mmm sensation of having my head scratched.

And I love to look at my hair being cut. I always hold a magazine, but never really read it, because I will just stare right at my hairdresser looking so intensely at my hair, paying so much attention to make me look good.

And I always let them have their way, because I like to make people feel happy. And the okay loh, you think nice then cut loh always brings a smile to their face.

And because of all of the above, I really think my hair will never ever grow long enough.

Now I'm sporting a bob head with side fringe (see I will never grow out my fringe despite the fact that I've tried for years). That funny Malaysian man even asked if hairdressers simply love to chop my hair off off off because it is so layered. And he said even he felt like doing it, but I insisted I wanted to grow out the layers, so he decided on that bob head thing.

I would have loved to put up a picture if I did not concuss on my bed (make up, presentation clothes and all) the moment I reached home. So too bad.

P.S. because I was in full suit, I was charged adult price for my haircut. (!!!) And no one looks at me on the street anymore. Not like a lot of people stare at me all the time, I actually liked the way people check you out by taking a glance. Bimbotic as it sounds, it empowers me that hey, okay lah, you still look not bad. Or at the very least, your clothes are not bad. And me in my full black suit and another full black suit beside me, we were transparent, people just walked passed us. We just blended into the background.

Anyway, at the library yesterday, I met THE MAN himself. Hideo Asano. Kirpal talked about him in class about being this man (I'm rather open to eccentricity lately) who believed in his own writing and printed out books in photocopied paper and binded them unprofessionally. He even printed a page which had Kirpal's name and comments in it. I should let him know.

I thought he would be some shabby looking man, but was a well dressed Japanese who spoke good English and had big dreams and ideas in life. He wanted to sell his books because he could not find any publisher to do it, and instead they printed all the junks that surrounded us.

That he was a lone fighter, and said writers only become famous after they die.

I could have handed him money for that new "book" he had, (which was actually first printed out in 1994 but he said he spent 1 year improvising it) American Breakfast easily, just like the way I handed my money to the Malaysian who cut my hair, but I was not convinced by him.

Can I say I feel that he is stupid to waste his life away like this? Not really. He simply believed. He could have taken the easy way out. The way I did. But he didn't. But I just wasn't convinced. So I said no politely, and he walked off.

Kirpal thinks he wouldn't survive in Singapore. But if he was in Europe, perhaps he would, because people will just buy it from him anyway. But how many Singaporeans will?

And I agree. Sadly I am one of those. I tried to give excuse that I was sleepy and couldn't think properly (I really was sleepy and really couldn't think properly), but even if I wasn't sleepy and could think properly, would I?

I think I won't.