When My Brown Hair Leads Me to Space

I watched a single strand of brown hair fall into the bathroom basin. When I traced my scalp, those strays shed like autumn leaves. In one week, I dyed my hair twice. I shook my head to see if more would slip away.

***

“It’s JU-PI-TER! It’s JU-PI-TER!” my brother screamed.

I imagined the whole dome rumbling as the telescope rotated to the amazement of my three-year-old sibling, my mother, and me. Minutes ago, I peeked into the lens for the very first time and saw a crisp Saturn, the size of an eyeball, staring back at me. Now, the machine fixated upon Jupiter.

***

A wall of eyes trailed me as I carefully picked a hair dye. My mother held the headshot of the stock model to my head, and I confirmed it was the exact color I wanted. At home, I excitedly lathered the mysterious potion into my hair. It wasn’t until I washed off the chemicals that I realized virgin black hair doesn’t lighten without bleach. In desperation, I went to an Asian grocery market the very next Wednesday. The new dye lightened my hair so faintly I had to persuade people into believing I’d colored my hair brown. “No, not black, brown, I’m not graying.” I mumbled to myself in disbelief.

***

“Children’s books?”

The telescope operator told me to start with any book I can get my hands on—even picture books. Maybe I will sacrifice my pride for my new, low-emotional-investment hobby.

***

Resentment flooded me as I glanced into the mirror. Like writing a message into the sand, I wanted my hair to say something, all the while forgetting the carvings would wash away with inevitable tides.

***

The freezing air flooded around me as I exited the observatory. I didn’t feel cold at all, maybe because I had two jackets on. But I was also held in the arms of fulfillment.

***

Even if I had succeeded, my black hair would regrow in the coming months and slowly creep into layers of brown until it’s all a mess. Then a constant battle of redyeing, damaging, and repairing would ensue. I’m patching the gaps of my knowledge of space now, rather than waiting to recolor my hair later. I’m deeply sorry, but grateful, that I find the same curiosity in something again.

‍