Staying True. (edited)

It has been teased, called names, mocked and jeered at. It has been likened to the humblest of things- a lowly mophead and a skunk’s tail, to taking a place in one of the most renowned and spectacular scenes of the bible- that is, the burning bush which appeared to Moses, the grand man who wrote the ten commandments. It has been counted worthy enough to be the central topic of cheerful banter and serious discourse, as well as been the butt of jokes. Well-meaning people give sympathetic looks and consolatory pats on the back, as if trying to empathise. They do their best to give good advice- it just needs a little straightening out, don’t worry about it.

I’d be lying to tell you that it doesn’t bother me at all. But in spite of all the attention it gets, it rarely does, really. I love it, just the way it is, and I certainly do not want any straightening out about this.

They say you can tell what a woman thinks about herself just by looking at it. It’s a great part of herself, it’s detail and care tells you the kind of woman she is- feminine, daring, laid-back, unconventional or even just downright vain. You’ve seen it, you know it.

The crown of glory, pride and image of every female specimen of the human biological species. My hair, that is.

As far as I can remember, it has been like that. When I was very little, I wondered how it was that everyone’s grew vertically and at the rate mine was growing sideways, if I would get through the door if I kept it long. So I always kept it short, like a half-coconut, until adolescence decided that it was time for a change. Since then, the wild, twiny and volumnious character of my long, long tresses have only invited more teasing, more jest from schoolmates to church friends, from my parents to insensitively well-meaning adults.

Since then, there has not been a single time I have visited a hairdresser without her suggesting me to straighten it out. There’s no other way, they always tell me, there’s no other way. I always say no. I always joke with them and say, “Is this why every other person on our streets has dyed and straight hair- don’t you think it’s boring?”

Few Chinese women have naturally wavy hair, even fewer with the wildness like mine. I always believe God made our image reflective of who we are inside- the natural always reveals the supernatural, what the eye can see is a hint of what it cannot. My virgin hair, as it implies, seems like that of a goodie-two-shoe, yet it’s wild, untamable and has a character of its own. On some days, it looks like it has the potential to come to life and leap at you, and my eye-glaring prowess becomes not unlike Medusa’s when my serpents, I mean split ends, elicit more-than-necessary attention.

This, on a symbolic level, means a lot to me. You’d have to kill me first to get me to colour or straighten it. Of course I cut, moisturise, shape and do my best to keep it presentable. But why do I have to change it just because everybody else is doing it, because everybody keeps saying so, and most of all, because I like it the way it is- the mutinous revolt it can sometimes be, even with the best of my affections.

In a world which dictates how one should dress, behave, perform, it is one of the few things that is left to express its individuality, rebellion and statement-shouting character. It’s against the norm, it’s central to who I am and I like it that way, that I think it reflects who I am inside- seemingly unobjectionable and guileless, but innately rebellious, slightly reckless and bursting to be liberated, slightly frazzled and sometimes burnt-out at the ends, a little rough at the edges but always natural, always truthful.

It’s no wonder women become especially depressed when they lose their hair in chemotherapy.

Is there some area of your life, some part of you which everybody is trying to convince to swim another way? And do you listen to them in wide-eyed mutedness because their arguements are so legitimate but every fibre of you squirms in revulsion and contention?

Don’t get me wrong. It is always good to seek wise counsel. What I’m saying is, in the light of good counsel and a clear head, when both options are equal in terms of righteousness and morality, and in step with God’s rhythm- are you selling out?

Are you doing what you really love to do, being who you really want to be, or living your life according to someone else’s expectation and imposition. Is this you today you? Really?

In my early college days, I was advised to study purely science subjects if I wanted to become a doctor- Don’t waste your time on english literature. No, I said. I will study science, but I will also study Literature. A mind must never fully immerse itself in either science or art. I need both not just to flourish, grow, but to live. I could not imagine myself spending two years of my life agonising over quantum laws and walking by classrooms bursting with great poetry, theatrical drama and gripping prose, only to find myself… outside the classroom, and not inside, where my heart really ought to be.

Shortly after I graduated, the education system went through a major restructuring to ensure every student had to study both Science and Art subjects. When I went for my interview to enter the medical faculty, the interviewers revealed they were looking for students with a wide range of interests, and my unusual subject combination caught their eye. It was something different. I got in.

I was told not to pursue art. You think painting’s going to make you a better, more useful human being? Just FOCUS- stop dabbling and concentrate on being a medical physician. Painting is the only thing I have ever done to raise enough money to build a new orphanage in a developing country for children from unfortunate backgrounds, which has become one of the most significant stepping stones to shaping my faith and dreams about God and humanity. Looking back, the same people say, “Hm. I guess this one was an exception.”

People will tell you all sorts of things- that you ought to forget about having great dreams coated with snowed-in sugar icing, that you ought to study more practical subjects, that you ought not to waste time pursuing unfruitful hobbies like painting or acting, that as a woman, heels ought to be part of your anatomy, you should never talk to strangers, that it’s perfectly fine not to forgive certain people because of what they’ve done to you, that you have an illness, a condition and you ought not to pursue what you really want to do. Do the practical thing, make the safe choice, do what everybody else is.

And the reason why you at them in wide-eyed silence, suddenly muted is because… they’re right. Their reasons are legitimate- it’s true, studying economics is a safer choice than english literature, heels do make you look taller, straight hair is easier to manage, and there’re far easier options out there that you can choose with regard to your condition, illness, whatever euphemism they choose to use.

I will never forget that emergency phonecall I made years ago, on the brink of desperation, when I told the lady on the SOS hotline that I needed help, I wanted to live so please help me because I want to be a doctor, because doctors help people. There was a brief pause before she said, “Is there something else you could do? Pharmacy, life sciences, IT?” That was enough to jolt and knock me momentarily back into shape, and make me determined to find a way out of this, because you can’t be you if you’ve lost your dream.

Or worse, if you let somebody else take it away from you.

People will always make sense. It’s true- straight hair is easier to manage. It’s also more conventional- what everybody else has. It’s one’s responsibility to heed good, wise counsel, but also to stay true to yourself. It’s a tough balance not always easy to keep. Most times, the nebulous gray area really is larger than it first seemed to be.

My question is- Are you selling out? Is somebody, societal pressure, safety making you? Advice and wise counsel from older people is pertinent- in fact, they’ve helped me avoid many, many devastating pitfalls. But when it comes to decisions where both options have legitimate reasons, where both are morally right and in step with God, where one requires the giving up of the other, my question is- are our final decisions based on mainstream pressures, or conviction from our hearts.

Do they tell you God is hogwash, a fairytale, a figment of people’s imagination? Or do you stand up to say that if this “created reality” is what impacts people, transforms lives,and saved mine, then it’s a reality I want to have. Do you stand up to tell them that while Imagination creates a fiction and seeks to attach reality to it, Faith is not creating anything at all- It merely builds on what is already there.

Some things, you can’t let them take away from you. Even if it means being a radical, sometimes. Even if it means sticking out, going against the norm, being different.

Jesus was quite a radical, wasn’t he?

It may not seem like much, perhaps it sounds stupid, even- but that is why I will always keep my wavy, curly, wild hair. “It’s wild and liberated, just like you. I like it perfectly the way it is, ” a friend said. I’ve only heard that but once in my life.

So when I went for a haircut two days ago, and the senior hairstylist asked again if I might consider straightening things out a little, I looked at her and said, ” I like what I was given, I like things different. “

“Good, because so do I.” I looked at her own electric shock of unconventionally styled hair and smiled. That was a first from a hairstylist.

“I want to try something different today. But I want my curls to stay. I’d even rather a boy’s hairdo.” We laughed.

When a woman goes for a haircut, it’s never just for nothing, but always to mark a new season in her life.

” Sure,” she said. ” I know just the thing for you. Something xiao sa (which means a little wild, wind-swept, careless). “

“Okay!”

So after all this while listening to people tell me their opinion about my hair, and painting and useless meddling with Shakespeare and poetry, and my vocation and church, I let my senior hairstylist give me an edgey rocker-chick do that makes my hair look like it was caught in a fashionable tornado while I was eating cherries in a Cleopatra position in the garden of Eden.

If you thought it was wild before, well you haven’t seen it now.

“Thanks so much. I love it,” I said.

Church today was a non-stop barrage of affectionate jokes, jesting and teasing about my crown of glory. We just finished our final exams for the year, and we’re starting school at full hilt tomorrow. I better brace myself for the verbal onslaught.

My question is- are you selling out?