Yes, there was a time as an artsy fartsy student when I had bright blue streaks in my hair. Oh what times! The sad thing is that I have no proof XD! I cant understand to this day why I didn’t get around to taking any pictures of myself when I had it. See closed-minded people who only know me as the timid and quiet girl would never even begin to picture me as the rebellious blue-haired type. No proof! How could it be..

Well, the adventure began when Rosemary (one of my indo college friends) revealed to me about the not-so-known but absolutely free way of getting a haircut and or colour. IN MELBOURNE WHERE SALONS CAN COST YOU AN ARM OR LIMB!

Now theres this quite prestigious beauty school in Flinders Street, where their students need “models” (oh la, not that glamorous mind you), I would call them “victims” rather. For live exams, their students need to find real people that they must bring to the class to work on in order to get a final mark and pass. So Rosemary, who one day realized that I had been constantly nagging her about my overdue long hair and boredom throughout the semester, suggested to me that the next time her salon-college-friend would need a “model”, she’d put my name on the list.

So there I was one day after getting a call, sitting in front of a mirror in this exact room, waiting for my hair makeover. The person responsible for the future damage was an indo girl, who needed the beauty school diploma in order to get her a PR (Permanent Residency). Shockingly the girl already had finished a 3 year bachelors degree in design, but the field of design stupidly doesn’t qualify enough points for an Australian PR. And amazingly, the fields of hairdressing and pastry education do. So if you can make a hairbun or a croissant, you can stay in Aussie

She asked me what I wanted, in front of her examiners, and I said some strong cool highlights. What colour? Blue.

It just came out, not premeditated, but out of purely what my mood was liking at the moment. Blue, of course, was actually the most damage one could do to one’s hair. Because in order to get that blue into my jet black hair strands, she needed to bleach my hair completely white, and then dye the blue on top of that. Her examiner was thrilled at the project. Cause surely the perfect candidate whose hair strands are thick enough and capable of such torture would be Asians (or to be more precise-Indian or Melayu Asians).

So, I came home with 2 wide streaks of Blueyness in my hair that afternoon. One near my side fringe and the other almost to the back. She passed, and I looked rad.

The girl also asked me if I was willing to have my hair cut too for her next exam. OK, said I. Why not.

And so I came back to that room a few weeks later for the haircut, and got a shaggy. And met another guy (also indo), who asked if I could be his model for his hair dye exam when my blue streaks had run out. Blue would have to be the least durable colour to have in your hair, it’s semi-permanent and washes away after a month or two.

OK, said I. Why not. Let’s make it purple next.

So that was the story of how I once had blue hair in my early 20s and then had purple hair when I attended my (now) sister in law’s wedding.