My hair sotry

     I have watched the new movies -Snow White and the Hutsman starring Charlize Theron and Kirsten Stewart reminds me of a painful memory.

     During preschool, the teachers took it upon themselves to involve the kids in a production that involved songs and dance. The story theme that year was Snow White and the seven dwarfs. It was to be presented at the square in the middle where all the classrooms surrounded. In other words, it was going to be legendary.

     At that point of my life, for some reason, I was quite preoccupied with how my hair looked. My most precious belonging was that of a plastic coconut tree hairpin, of which it was reserved for very special occasions.

     On the day that they would pick Snow White, I carefully pinned up half of my fringe for the occasion. I looked at the mirror. I adjusted the pin again and looked at myself again. The tree was not in the right angle to frame my face. I tried again, and again. In fact, I took so long; my mother came in to check on me. She observed me for a minute and exasperatedly whipped the hairpin from my hand and pinned it on top of my head.

     I looked into the mirror. It was a DISASTER.

     Needless to say, I started bawling. My mother, looking slightly sheepish, disregarded my obsession and whisked me off to take the school bus.

     I didn't get the Snow White part.

     To put it into perspective, the girl who got the part was a cherubic fair lass with perfect teeth and rosy lips. Her hair was a perfect bowl cut, which framed her pretty face. Me? I was then skinny and dark with a missing front tooth. And of course, bad hair.

     Did I blame my mother?

     Curiously that is one part of my memory that I don't remember. What I do remember however, was that on the big day of the play, I had skipped away "nonchalantly" while it played out.

     During my mother's time, they had so much to take care of; food on the table, difficult jobs, their inadequate salary, mothers, mother in laws, 6am wet markets marketing, school fees, bills. Our fragile egos were probably the last thing on their minds.

     And yet, because of all that, it made me the person I am today.

     I imagine upon reading this my mother would feel both indignant at my little anecdote and maybe a little guilty for not being patient then. But Mom, from the depths of my heart, I know that you did your VERY BEST.