Week Two. 

It’s been two weeks of growing my hair out. I haven’t touched the shaver since then. Most days, I even forget how I look like. Until strangers stare at me when I take my cap off or am walking around without anything covering my head. 

Funny how gender stereotypes would like to tell you how to even keep your hair. And funny how complete strangers seem to care about how you should look even more than people that actually matter. 

I still remember wearing sports bras and baggy shirts into public toilets when I was completely bald. Stares would happen when I walk in – first on my lack of long luscious locks and then the fact that I have a sports bra on to flatten my chest. 

Can I just say it is weird that one has to make up for the other to prove your femininity? 

Anyway, nobody would crowd around me when I join the queue for the washroom. Nobody would use the sinks next to me to wash their hands. They would rather wait for the other sinks to be available than be next to me. 

Can you imagine if you have to go through this everytime you are in a public space? Or even in the washroom? 

How mundane the chores, but so disturbing in nature. And what it reflects about ingrained biasness and judgments. We all just try to shape our worldview according to our ideals and wants. That’s why violence happens even though we already know how inherently wrong it is.

And violence exists in all forms, not just the physical bloody types. 

Maybe I am just unattached to my hair and how I look, so I am less affected. Which is great. Instead I am just curious and with my hair growing out, perhaps I can witness the behavioral changes that occur with me ingraining myself back into the “normal” beauty standards or how a person with a vagina should look like. 

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Meditation. 

I was effectively bald for more than a month. One whole month and two whole weeks, to be exact. 

(I am typing this mid-September, so by the time this post is up, my hair should be growing back and the aim is to – hopefully – have a pixie cut by December.)

It is actually pretty high maintenance to keep myself skin-headed for so long. M scalp was drying out, I had to apply baby oil and the constant routine of having to shave my head in the shower. And it takes perhaps, half an hour to an hour to get it completely clean. No patches or missed spots, or back in the shower I go. 

However, despite the steps and care I had to take (way more than when I actually had hair), never did feel troublesome or tiring. I looked forward to it. 

Showering is already a cleansing, to rid of the hustle and bustle of the day from your skin. Wash it all off. Have the water run through every curve and feel safe alone in that little space. Water on skin. 

But shaving brings my mind to a quiet. Eyes shut and mind empty. All my energy bringing to my hands as I blindly guide myself through my scalp and let the blade glide through. I hear no more voices but glides, stops and the water running in a steady rhythm. Then I shampoo my head, feeling my scalp and finger tips massaging the head. 

Comfort. 

It’s a meditation and a rare instance where I have to leave my mind, my inner dialogue to peacefulness, or bleed my brain out basically. 

I guess I will miss this. x 

Before Baldness. 

(Somehow, being bald for an identifying woman is so much tougher than an identifying man. So much of femininity seems to be encompassed in those locks, even though they really are just dead cells growing out of your head. 

So going bald seemed exciting at first, when I first said I would do it. 

After some thought, more and more instances started popping up in my head of how it may affect the way other people viewed me, or even the sort of jobs I could take on. 

Here is just a non-exhaustive list of the questions I asked myself, leading up to the day I finally did it to save myself.)

How much will I miss my hair? 

Actually, I do play with my hair a lot when I am bored or distracted. Braiding, twisting, changing my hairstyle, dyeing it, letting it cover my face, keeping it away from my face, letting others touch it. 

I wonder how I will look. How much does my hair affect my appearance? Will having it missing change anything? 

I regret saying I will do it so readily. 

Will the guys talking to me now stop just because my hair is lost? Will it be radio silence from now on? 

Will I be less female in comparison to my counterparts that grew their hair out? 

I wonder if this job will take me if I tell them I am bald for the moment. 

Maybe I should get a wig. 

What the hell am I going to do with the hair package I had from before? Why did I get a hair package when I didn’t even care about my hair that much from the start? I need to learn how to be more firm with my “no”s from now on. 

Will people keep staring? 

How will I feel with this change? Will I cope well? Is there anything to cope with in the first place? It is just hair. 

I should wear a cap to tuition, in case my tutee’s mum freaks out over this sudden change. 

What am I going to do when it starts growing out? It will look so chaotic. 

Are there any make up tutorials for contouring the face with a bald head? 

Maybe I should use make up when I go out to look more feminine. 

How much does my hair define my gender? And why should it? 

Why am I so concerned? Nothing should change, but I think it will. It is just hair though. 

It really is just hair. 

Change. 


Shaved on 2nd August, then again (self-done with my mother’s help) on 3rd August 2017. 

I didn’t have to shave off all my hair so quick, so soon. I had a couple of weeks to go and considering I have never ever shaved my head before (besides as a baby), it isn’t a decision I should rashly make. 

But I felt like if I delayed it any further, I might hurt myself. The impulse to do something is so strong. There are days I go avoiding the mirrors, windows and going into the kitchen. 

I’d lay in bed and try my hardest to just sleep. 

So I did it. 

I shaved all my hair off. 

An aspect so familiar to me, for all of my growing life. An aspect I manipulate and use however I like. An aspect I let loose when I want to hide or pretend to be someone else. 

And I have never felt so free. 

I am happy I did it. x