Locks of Love

Every time I cut my hair short, my boyfriend has a coronary. Never mind that when it's long, the strands sometimes accidentally thwack him across the face or whip him in the eye. Never mind that it takes shampoo and conditioner bought in max packs and giganormous sizes to maintain it everyday, or that the fine ends knot themselves up, or create enough drag when I'm swimming in the pool to count for resistance exercise. He likes it long, likes to run his hands through the liquid silk, likes to lightly pull on my ponytail for fun.

I've only cut it (in what he considers) dramatically short one other time since the 10 years that I've known him: to do my first Locks of Love donation and help financially-disadvantaged children who suffer from hair loss due to various illnesses such as alopecia areata or cancer. Especially for young girls, facing their peers and society without hair can be difficult and demoralizing. The organization collects real hair (since artificial wigs can sometimes cause allergic reactions to sensitive scalps) and produces hairpieces for the children, helping them regain their self-esteem.




It takes 10 hair donations (with a minimum length of 10 inches) to make one hair prosthetic. This week, I will send in my second donation. Of all the charities I have been involved in, this one feels the most to me like a labor of love. It's more than donating a few weekend hours to sort canned food for the hungry, collecting school supplies for underprivileged children going back to school, or writing a check to financially provide for some organization. It has taken me about a year-and-a-half to grow my hair out for the foot-long donation, and this severed ponytail will become part of something tangible that a child can use.




I enlisted the help of Tung's aunt, who is a hair stylist, to cut off the ponytail for the donation. As the family gathered around to watch the progress of my new style, someone asked, "Are you regretting it? Will you miss it?"

When I brought the ziploc bag home containing my donation, I spent some time alone with it before I will mail it off. I ran my hands through the silky strands, through the cool softness, and sympathized with why Tung has such a problem letting it go. There was a Ranma 1/2 anime episode I watched once, entitled "A Girl's Hair is Her Life." It was about a playful sword duel where one of the main characters, Akane, gets her long hair accidentally hacked off in the fray. She ends up with a cute little bob, but her new appearance initially shocks her peers and causes her to cry over the loss. Throughout history and in literature, a new haircut or style can be symbolic of so many things: the shedding of innocence and childhood, the readiness to head a family, the alteration of one's personality, the desire for change, the need to make an emphatic point.

I like to wear my hair long, and yes, I always regret cutting it off after it has taken me years to grow. Yes, I will miss it. But to me, sacrifice is part of a worthy charitable cause. And I choose to do it because I want to give one of the best parts of me, hoping that it will make a big difference in someone's life.