Around the time when I entered kindergarten, along with many other girls, I became very interested in long hair. My hair was not long at the time, but at my kindergarten, I would carefully observe other girls’ and teachers’ long hair styles and think to myself what hairstyle I wanted for myself when my hair grew longer.
In the kitchen of my family’s tiny half-dilapidated apartment, there was a microwave sitting on a shelf. My dining chair was located right in front of the shelf, and when I stood up on the chair, my face came right next to the microwave. There I saw a reflection of my own face in the microwave door.
In a house that didn’t have any proper large-sized mirror, any reflection was a precious source of imagination for a little girl fantasizing over a beautiful long hairstyle. One day, when I was alone, I stood up on my chair, looked into the microwave door and measured my hair length in the reflection. My hair wasn’t long, but when I tilted my head backward, my hair looked longer than it was and it made me feel good.
That became my secret ritual – to stand on my chair with a tilted head and look into the microwave door, measuring my hair length every day.