HAIR

HAIR

         May Chen wished she didn’t live in a society of vanity and fashion where physical appearance was as important as the roof over her head.

         This was about hair – the crowning glory and symbol of femininity for most women. For May, it was also an extension of her heritage and genes. She was born in China and grew up surrounded by women with long, glossy, thick hair. It was a common sight, but her mother, Li, always said there was nothing common about her hair. “It’s the most luscious and radiant of all hairs in China,” Li had boasted often.

         May was fifteen in 1981 when her family immigrated to America. Constantly praised for her beautiful hair, Li was inspired to get her daughter a modeling job. May secretly objected, but Chinese children did not argue with their parents, so she kept quiet about it. For two years, Li took hundreds of 8x10 black and white glossy pictures of her daughter and sent them to different agencies.

          “It’s embarrassing,” May told a friend. “I’m too short, too fat, and too ugly to be a model. My lips stick out of my face more than my nose; my eyes look like a hairline, and my legs are not long enough for a cat walk. I wish she’d stop flaunting my pictures all over the place.”

          “You’re not fat,” her friend responded. “You just have big boobies for a Chinese girl.”

         They laughed heartily. May wanted her to argue the “ugly” part of her self-deprecating description, only to be disappointed.

         One day, Li came home excitedly flashing copies of a local newspaper. “We did it! We did it! Your picture is in the paper.

         May’s father, Whittak, who had exhibited no interest whatsoever about the women’s modeling aspirations, finally showed a hint of it as Li breathlessly opened the page that contained her daughter’s picture. But what little enthusiasm he had showed a second before was instantly obliterated, and he glumly turned away without as much as a tiny murmur. Li brushed off her husband’s nonchalant reaction.

          “Look here, look here,” Li said eagerly, pointing at something that covered a tenth of the page. May examined what was supposed to be her, only to realize what had triggered such indifferent reaction from her father. She didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or embarrassed. She knew one thing . . . she should not have laughed when she saw the back of her head, with just a fraction of her cheekbones showing.

         My face is not pretty enough to be shown,” she said softly but loud enough for her mother to hear.
         ”It’s an advertisement for a hair salon,” Li murmured as she folded the newspaper and laid it on the table.
         May saw the expression of tremendous hurt on her mother’s face. Such an insensitive and ungrateful daughter she was, she scolded herself guiltily. “It’s a very nice picture, Mom,” she said.

         May had never been totally impressed with her hair until she saw that picture. Of course, she would find out later on that it had been enhanced; how much, she had no idea.
         May was relieved and happy when Li finally realized that her daughter was not a model material. She didn’t have to sneak out anymore to enjoy two juicy beef patties on a sesame seed bun, with French fries and Coke. In China, she didn’t eat much beef—too much of a luxury; they ate rice, noodles, fish and lots of vegetables. So in America, she feasted secretly on McFoods, which might be the catalyst for what would happen to her body many years later.

         As she got older and became more aware about her maturing and improving looks, she paid more attention to her hair. She took immense pleasure in being approached by strangers just to praise her long, black, silky and shiny hair. Her vanity was coming to the surface, and she began to do all sorts of things to make her hair look even more ample, radiant and lustrous. She used enhancing shampoos and conditioners, a ceramic straightening iron, glosser, and oh, so many cosmetic products to select from.

          “Your bathroom is a cosmetics kiosk,” Jonathan had commented jokingly. You have enough dangerous chemicals in one little room to trigger a major explosion.” Funny thing, she always thought he had as much hair products in his bathroom. They shared the same obsession with hair, and often joked to their friends how they married each other because of it.

          “Those chemicals contributed greatly to your love of my hair,” she crooned as she tugged gently at his wavy blonde hair. “Am I right, darling?”

          “I love you, my dear,” he had said while running his fingers through her hair. “Your gorgeous hair just provided the line for me to approach you across that crowded room.” He then kissed her hair sensuously, an act that would become a religious prelude to their lovemaking.

         They were two people in love and obsessed with their beautiful hairs. Everywhere they went they were showered with praises and envy. No one else had any hair as abundant, smooth, silky and resplendent as theirs.

         Until one day.

         The shock of May’s life happened at a charity event honoring Georgia Cook-- wife of a Congressman, mother of five teenagers, and the new chairwoman of a breast cancer foundation, May had only known of the forty-year old celebrity through newspaper articles and TV interviews where she always looked fashionable and smart. She had been diagnosed with an invasive breast cancer twice before and had both breasts removed. There were fears that she might lose her battle against cancer the second time around. And yet, there she was, oozing with confidence and inspiration as she spoke about breast cancer and the foundation.

         Expecting to find a sickly-looking woman . . . pale, weak and thin, May was stunned to see Mrs. Cook look even better in person. She looked healthy -- radiant, strong and beautiful. And her hair . . . it was the most beautiful wig she had ever seen. It had to be synthetic, for no human hair could be more gorgeous than May’s hair.

         Mrs. Cook addressed the women in the room who were still undergoing chemotherapy. You couldn’t miss them with their pallid faces, and heads adorned with wigs, scarves, hats, or nothing at all, which totally amazed May. If, God forbid I would lose my hair, she thought, I would never let the world see my bare head.

          “For many women, hair is associated with femininity and health,” Mrs. Cook punctuated with a powerful voice, “and it’s only natural to feel terrible and unattractive when you lose your hair. But you don’t have to be because there are many ways to conceal your hair loss. Whether you want to or not, it is up to you. It’s purely a personal decision. We have here however, several volunteers who will demonstrate how you could feel better during these unpleasant times by looking stylish with wigs, scarves, and other head coverings. And mind you, ladies, this is not for the cancer patients only . . . everyone is welcome to watch and learn; even you, gentlemen.”

         She spoke about hair growing back after chemotherapy. “You should never worry about being bald,” she assured the women. “It will grow back, and to some it would even be thicker and shinier, like a child’s hair. If you’re interested in a faster growth, there are some herbal remedies you might want to try. For example, Jatamamsi and Brahmi; these are powderized herbs made into tea. If you’re easily stressed, drink this two to three times daily and it will relieve the stress from the head and stimulates hair growth. There are also some Chinese herbs like Psoralea seeds, Mulberries and the Oyster. Psoralea seeds when exposed in UV rays are believed to stimulate hair cells. Therefore, the intake of this seed of three to six grams a day will also cause hair regrowth.”

         May wondered if the tea her mother often made her drink contained any of the Chinese herbs mentioned.

         Mrs. Cook had the audience in her grasp, including May who had to shake the woman’s hand and show her admiration. It was a long wait, but quite worth it, she thought. She complimented Mrs. Cook about her speech and presentation, as well as for her beauty, elegance, style, and of course, her hair.

          “It’s so natural-looking,” May said to her. “It’s the most gorgeous wig I’ve ever seen.

          “Why, thank you. But this isn’t a wig. It’s my natural hair.”

         There was an initial shock of disbelief then an involuntary laughter. Then . . . a comment that May would regret for the rest of her life. “If that’s not a wig, then I hope I get breast cancer so my hair would grow back like that.”

(Part Two of two will follow shortly. Thank you for the read. Please leave a comment.)