Describe a risk you took that you do not regret.
June 2017. A few weeks before we were to relocate to Oman, I decided to upgrade the look. I had medium-length hair and thanks to climate change, water conditions, chaotic hormones, stress, and the butterfly effect, I had a permanent halo on my head. With oil and conditioner and shampoo and ‘you-name-it-I’ve-done-it’ permutations and combinations I had tried and failed to tame what passed off as hair on the head. It was unruly at best and never let me down. I had last ‘treated’ the hair to straightening a couple or more years ago and had since had numerous haircuts and styles. We were off and I thought this would be the best time to get a make-over. On a best-case scenario, I would have beautiful tresses, on a worst-case scenario, I would probably invest in a lot of scarves, at least in the first year. And since it was a new place, no one would be any wiser.
So off the parlor, I went. The kids were left with mum and were up to no good, which was a normal scenario when hanging out with the grandma. No complaints. The treatment was scheduled to last a couple of hours, but with the length and all those conditions I listed above, a two-hour session got dragged a couple of hours longer. So I completed the first round of treatment around 6 pm and that’s when I headed home. By the time I got home, the kids had finished dinner and were heading to bed. Mum had a look at me and was wondering what I was planning on doing because the treatment had flattened the hair so much, I looked bald. Mum was convinced it was a waste of time and money, but she never told me that. I thought the treatment was a success, but I guess Mum thought otherwise.
Two days later, I headed back to the parlor to complete the treatment, and this time around, I had a different set of instructions from the stylist. The only long-term treatment I have is to either perm my hair or have it straightened. I have never colored my hair and have never used henna on it. So, when I returned to the parlor, the stylist had a look at my hair and enquired if I had ever colored it or applied henna, because in his expert opinion, only ‘treated’ hair never got straightened easily. So, I smiled sweetly and informed him, that nothing for me was easy. I had never colored my hair, with a dye or with henna, it was only ever straightened or permed and even that had been done a few years ago, so there was no residue either. That response only got me harder tugs, increased pressure, and a frequently singed scalp.
Almost 5 hours after I had walked in, I walked out, with straight smooth hair, that fell around my shoulders in a flat black sheet, lots of singed spots on my scalp that I was going to ignore and a fringe, that was on the longer end of the spectrum. I assumed I looked awesome, fit, and sophisticated but I’m sure this is really what I looked like to mum. I could not stand around the stove and cook as the heat made me sweat and that would mean I had to wash my hair again and I did not want to wash it so soon after it was ‘set’. Mum was irritated. But she coddled me my madness and managed dinner.
At frequent intervals through the day, she enquired about the effort and time I had spent on getting this ‘treatment’. We were generally talking, so she asked me about the risks and I told her that anyway, the plan was to relocate to Oman, so even if I lost all my hair because of the treatment, I would be able to pretend it was the norm, rather than have to deal with the other questions I may have to answer if I stayed back and if things went bad then. She just smirked at my reasoning, because she could not understand why I would take the risk. At some point eventually, we got to the question she wanted answering, “How much did I pay for this style?” when I gave her a ballpark amount, she almost gagged on her tea. And that’s when I knew what she saw when she looked at me.
To be fair, I wish I were as graceful as either of these images. But it is what it is!
Just a little more 