Gray matter

I'm obsessed with my hair, or rather my gray hair. Whenever I'm in front of a mirror, my hands would automatically go through my hair to see the sprouting gray hair hidden under. Sometimes I would pluck them if I manage to dispel the myth that plucking one causes two or three to grow back. Other times, I just stare at them, as if they would vanish under my intent look. This is a cyclical phase or obsession that happens every 6 months when my hair dye fades. Vanity and denial at work I guess.

It brings back memory of me helping my dad to pluck his gray hair when I was young (the picture shown could be taken before or after a hair-plucking-session). He used to tip me 5 cents for every hair that I pulled. Hmm... perhaps that was his way of imparting the value of money to me at a young age... Now he is proudly embracing going gray but I think my mom is still doing her dye-job. The day will come when I wear this badge of wisdom with pride like Meryl Streep in Devil Wears Prada. But for now, I'm still fantasizing being Ann Hathaway.