The problem? We were busy watching a movie.

We pretended not to hear… until my dad stepped in. That was when we suddenly remembered we had ears. We rushed out immediately.

When we got to the barber’s shop, we met other children already waiting. So we joined them—playing, gisting, laughing, enjoying ourselves. By the time it was finally our turn, I decided I didn’t want to go first. I kept pushing my siblings forward because I hated the vibration of the clipper on my head. That sound alone used to shake my soul.

Eventually, it became unavoidable. *Last last*, it was my turn.

The barber had barely reached *half of my head*—like when you cut an orange into two—when suddenly…

*NEPA took light.*

I screamed, “Ahhhhh!”

Those days, generator was not common, so hope immediately left the building. I started crying right there in the shop. The barber, trying to be helpful, said he would finish it with a blade.

That was how this man turned me into *SKIN CUT*.

Please note:

I was a *girl*.

The shame that covered me that day was something else. I didn’t even want to step outside. The next morning, I wore my dad’s face cap to school to manage the situation small. But once I entered the school gate, I had to remove it.

Ah.

Come and see laughter on the assembly ground. I was laughed at, mocked, and fully embarrassed. That day humbled me.

From that experience onward, before my mum could even finish saying, *“Go and barb your hair,”* I was already at the barber’s shop.

Trauma teaches fast lessons.

*Have you ever experienced something like this—or can you relate?*

Please share your own story. Let’s laugh together 😂✂️