I have finally caved in. Spending a whole year away from home, my mom and dad could only mock my hair from a distance through Skype. Kudos to dad for hitting off good lines like, 'Tidur tak payah pakai bantal!' and, when I took a long time to pick up my bags at the airport, 'I thought they were searching your hair for drugs!' Mom's attempts with 'Macam rambut Samy Vellu' were not so effective because I only know who he is, and not what he looks like.
Anyway, I got on the plane resolved to keep my hair long all throughout the break, and through next year just to see how long I could keep it without it looking too ridiculous. Day two of being home however already saw me giving in and consenting to be took to the barber.
One of the basics of going to the barber with your mom is that you DO NOT, under any circumstances, fall asleep and let her tell the guy what to do.
Because I do admit I did not look that great with long, bushy, curly hair, but now it's so short that it's kinda almost ridiculous. And not in the baldish way either. It strikes a zone somewhere in between which feels like it's the worst of both worlds.
No pictures for you. For the next few days I leave the house with a paper bag over my head, because as Anna Nalick so wisely put it: 'If I can't see you, then you can't see me.'
Oy vey.
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