It was just yesterday, I watched Okey (the barber) shave off the colourful wool my mother had used to decorate my hair.

The teachers didn’t like the colours on my hair. The principal advised that I use a neutral colour “like black” next time. I was too good to rebel, so I went home and complained like the top student with perfect A’s.
My mother was hurt and I spent the evening at the barbering salon.

Few years later, as I prepared for the first chemotherapy of my entire life, I was back at Okey’s salon just like yesterday.



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