Alice was my hairdresser for more than 10 years. We'd see each other about 3 or 4 times a year, sometimes just twice. Somehow,we seem to connect well and as she patiently snipped off of bits of my hair away, gently reassuring me that the outcome will be very feminine and won't make my husband flip, we will chat endlessly about all sorts of things. No agenda, just two very different people from different backgrounds but we will just talk.
She's single whereas I'm married; she's from a Chinese-speaking background, I'm English-speaking, barely able to read Chinese; she's a staunch Buddhist, I'm Catholic: she comes from a small town, I grew up in a big city. Our superficial differences makes conversation interesting and our similarities in underlying outlook in life makes us click. Popular hairdressers like her are also very good listeners. They know how to empathise with people. They are patient and genuinely interested in others. They remember what you told them months or even years ago. They often fill in the void that busy husbands and grownup children had left behind. Because of this, they are a wealth of information. They know about the economic situation before most of us. They can tell you where to eat, which country to avoid on holidays, what are the latest scams in town, and so on.
Alice treated cutting hair as an art. Each year she would forego weeks of earnings to attend international hair-shows followed by a vacation. In the recent years, she would even take all of the 15 days of Chinese New Year off, something most business people would never do, to celebrate the New Year with her mother in her home town, Sitiawan, followed by some meditation camp in some quiet location.
When she was not working, Alice took up yoga, went for meditation and Buddhist classes. During weekends, she went to old folks home and gave them free haircuts and listened to their stories. In the recent years, Alice had turned totally vegetarian. We discussed at great length about health foods, too. She introduced me to a couple of good vegetarian restaurants and places to buy organic foods. She even taught me how to make enzymes. She was also going to pass me some more recipes but alas, it was not to be. In August, my daughter who refuses to go to any other hairdresser but Aunty Alice, was able, at long last, to take time off her studies to have her haircut. I called the saloon, only to be told that she was not well but would be back later part of the year. I found out later that a few days after that, on the 14th day of the Chinese seventh month, Alice passed away of breast cancer.
I remember my second trip to her saloon and the story she shared with me. it goes like this:
Once upon a time there were two monks who were very close friends. They did everything together and were inseparable. As they grew old, they promised each other that when they died, they will try their very, very best to find each other in the next life no matter what form they were incarnated as.
Eventually they both passed away. The first monk was reincarnated and travelled all over the world looking for his friend for many years. However, he had no success. Very exhausted, he cannot understand why there was no sign of his good friend who must surely be searching for him too. Still, he held on to this promise and continued his journey dreaming about the great things they would do together once they found each other.
Then one fine day, his persistence was eventually rewarded. He found his long lost friend. But sadly, he had been incarnated into a worm in a pile of dung. He wanted to help his friend to get of the shit in the literal sense, to give him a new clean home, to take him along to travel the lengths and breadths of the world, to continue their previous discourses about the meaning of life, to enjoy poetry, art music and all the fine things they used to share together. But try as he would, his friend would not bulge. Finally, sick of his pestering, his friend turned around and said to him:
' Look, I'm happy here. I've got lots to eat and no need to work. I love this pile of shit. I don't want to go any where or be anything else. I don't remember what promises we'd made in the previous life. Please go away and leave alone me to enjoy the life I like in peace.'
Thoroughly disappointed, the first monk had to accept his friend's choice and continue his journey sadly without him.
We laughed heartily at the end of the story and Alice said that she didn't want to be just like the worm, only eating shit and existing. That was why she took time off to travel, to learn new things, to meet new people, to help others, to improve herself.
Each time I look in the mirror at my increasingly messy hair, I think of my friend and find it hard to believe that I can't just dial the familiar number to make an appointment to see her. Then I remember this little tale and am sure she's really gone travelling to the beyond.
Alice, wherever you are, may the Almighty bless you.
