HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Friday, May 18, 2007 When Tracy cut my hair, she would stand very straight. Her hands would move through my hair, her charm bracelets laughing in rhythm. I am nineteen, about to fly off for a summer trip in Beijing. He is behind me, watching, his own hair, cropped and boyish. I ask for layers, layers curt and disorganised, soon they will grow out and I will look like an untamed garden, boyish myself and savage. I look like a lion, I would say. I like lions, he would say. Behind me is the murmur of women at facials and the sound of sleek pages being turned. The air smells like shampoo, astringent and floral. The evening strolls by, tanned, on holiday. Tracy doesn’t pronounce her consonants, her words are soft, wavy, like her lilting hair, a mixture of Chinese and English. Tracy asks if he's my boyfriend, I say he’s my brother, just for the sake of having a secret. I went back a year later, on returning from New York. I’m on my own this time. I find secrets tiresome and a waste of time. “Tracy在吗?” I ask. “不在。” Instead, a skinny, blonde-haired man with stale, yellow teeth is making a wig. He and the manikin smile at me lopsided, cracked smiles.“她去了哪里呀？”“不懂呀。你要不要剪头发？ ”I think, what the heck? A haircut’s a haircut. I get into the chair, and the moment he puts a bright yellow and purple-sequinned barber’s cloth on me, I think I’ve made a mistake. He rolls his sleeves, two tattoos bulge out. Come to think of it, they all have the same tattoo. The other guy, of dyed hair, punk earrings, glazed eyes, continues fixing the wig. The manikin is still looking at me. I detect a hint of laughter. My hair falls around me, is that where my hair is going to. The 老板comes out, an old crooked man, he smiles at me and revealing nicotine-stained teeth, walks past the red and glowering altar. “可以吗？” It is finished. As an afterthought, he haphazardly flashes the mirror around. “我给你discount好不好？”It is done. I get out my wallet. The cashier register isn’t working, it hasn’t been plugged all day, though its 3 in the afternoon, neither are there namecards. There isn’t anyone there, and there hasn’t been all morning. The edges of my hair are jagged as the yellow teeth of a triad member. posted by dawn # 2:53 AM Comments: is it still called JO cut? # posted by Anonymous : 1:21 PM no change liao - # posted by dawn : 10:18 PM hello darling! am going to cut my hair short. haha. am back in sg! call me! the same old number, do you still have it? -hug- # posted by Anonymous : 12:46 AM oooh that was me -nurul # posted by Anonymous : 12:50 AM Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] i would look at all of you The adventures of Julie and a bright blue button SQ21 someone is playing a jazz trumpet in the quadrangl... michael corleoni and king edward (the prelude to t... when one has lived alone for a long time, the quie... little earthquakes The Wish as i threw down the trash down the chute today, i ... notes from the city [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Friday, May 18, 2007

When Tracy cut my hair, she would stand very straight. Her hands would move through my hair, her charm bracelets laughing in rhythm. I am nineteen, about to fly off for a summer trip in Beijing. He is behind me, watching, his own hair, cropped and boyish. I ask for layers, layers curt and disorganised, soon they will grow out and I will look like an untamed garden, boyish myself and savage. I look like a lion, I would say. I like lions, he would say. Behind me is the murmur of women at facials and the sound of sleek pages being turned. The air smells like shampoo, astringent and floral. The evening strolls by, tanned, on holiday. Tracy doesn’t pronounce her consonants, her words are soft, wavy, like her lilting hair, a mixture of Chinese and English. Tracy asks if he's my boyfriend, I say he’s my brother, just for the sake of having a secret.

I went back a year later, on returning from New York. I’m on my own this time. I find secrets tiresome and a waste of time. “Tracy在吗?” I ask. “不在。” Instead, a skinny, blonde-haired man with stale, yellow teeth is making a wig. He and the manikin smile at me lopsided, cracked smiles.“她去了哪里呀？”“不懂呀。你要不要剪头发？ ”I think, what the heck? A haircut’s a haircut. I get into the chair, and the moment he puts a bright yellow and purple-sequinned barber’s cloth on me, I think I’ve made a mistake. He rolls his sleeves, two tattoos bulge out. Come to think of it, they all have the same tattoo. The other guy, of dyed hair, punk earrings, glazed eyes, continues fixing the wig. The manikin is still looking at me. I detect a hint of laughter. My hair falls around me, is that where my hair is going to. The 老板comes out, an old crooked man, he smiles at me and revealing nicotine-stained teeth, walks past the red and glowering altar.

“可以吗？” It is finished. As an afterthought, he haphazardly flashes the mirror around. “我给你discount好不好？”It is done. I get out my wallet. The cashier register isn’t working, it hasn’t been plugged all day, though its 3 in the afternoon, neither are there namecards. There isn’t anyone there, and there hasn’t been all morning. The edges of my hair are jagged as the yellow teeth of a triad member.

posted by dawn # 2:53 AM

Comments:

is it still called JO cut?

# posted by

Anonymous : 1:21 PM

no change liao -

# posted by

dawn : 10:18 PM

hello darling! am going to cut my hair short. haha. am back in sg! call me! the same old number, do you still have it? -hug-

# posted by

Anonymous : 12:46 AM

oooh that was me -nurul

# posted by

Anonymous : 12:50 AM