I went to my regular eyebrow threading salon the other day to get those mini rainforests perched above my eyes trimmed.
As I waited for Aunty Selvi to finish with one customer, a woman walked in with her young daughter, still dressed in her school uniform.
“Hello!” she greeted Aunty Selvi in a friendly tone.
“Good afternoon. Sit first okay, I have two more customers,” Aunty Selvi said, pointing to me and another lady beside me.
“Can, can, no problem,” said the woman as she took the opportunity to pass the little girl her lunch box.
“You want to do threading, is it?” Aunty Selvi asked as she splashed rose water on her customer’s freshly trimmed facial hair.
“Not threading. Waxing. Arm and legs,” the woman replied.
“Okay, you can go lie down in the room first, my assistant will be in there soon,” Aunty Selvi instructed.
“Oh, not for me. For my daughter,” she said, followed with a chuckle.
I looked with disbelief at the little girl enjoying her Mac N Cheese.
“How old is she?” Aunty Selvi asked.
“Eight years old,” my jaw dropped the moment I heard the girl’s age. “But she is very hairy. It makes her look dark. Cannot wear short skirt and sleeveless,” she explained.
The girl placed her Mac N Cheese container on the seat beside her and began frowning. She shook her head a few times, pleading that her mom not go ahead with her plans. She looked terrified.
I turned to Aunty Selvi, anticipating her response.
“She is too young. I don’t do waxing for children.”
“She is eight already. And really hairy! You see for yourself, lah,” the mother justified her request.
“Cannot. She is very young, skin also very soft. If you do waxing now, her skin can koyak,” I was relieved to hear Aunty Selvi’s answer.
“Then when only can do?”
“After 16, at least. Better still after 18.”
The girl smiled ear to ear as she heard this.
“Then do full body waxing for me, lah,” the woman said as she walked into the waxing room, unhappy, leaving her daughter to finish her lunch.
Looking at the girl, I instantly remembered how I looked at eight years old – I was as hairy as a chimp, thanks to my Indian blood. I had plenty of body hair, facial hair, a unibrow and upper lip hair. But it never mattered. My parents were only particular about three things – eating well, having enough play time and finishing my homework.
As an eight-year-old, my time was filled with playing with my brother – fishing at a nearby river, playing ‘guli’ (marbles), cycling around our kampong, using ‘lastik’ (slingshot) to rid our house of the enormous lizards who lived with us and climbing rambutan trees to check out bird nests. Whenever we came home dirt splattered, my parents didn’t look annoyed but delighted at seeing our smiling faces.
There was never any talk either of looking beautiful or even presentable during festivities or when attending a function. My siblings and I picked our own clothes, our own shoes and styled our own hair. My mum only nagged about looking presentable when it came to school – we were expected to be clean and look neat. A dozen hair clips adorned my hair to keep every strand in place. A big cotton handkerchief sat in my pocket for when I perspired. My pinafore was well-pressed. And I wore sparkling white school shoes. That was all that mattered.
Remembering my childhood, I also began to wonder when it had become important that eight-year-olds looked beautiful?
“Aunty, are there other parents who come in here requesting a waxing for their daughters?” I asked once the woman and her daughter left the room.
“Waxing? A few. Most of them want me to do eyebrow and upper lip threading for their girls.”
“Seriously? How old are these girls?” I asked, my eyes bulging.
“Sekolah Rendah lah,” she answered.
“Do you do it?” I asked, frankly.
“I don’t do waxing. That can tear their skin. But threading I do lah sikit-sikit,” she answered, uncomfortable with my questions.
As I stepped out of Aunty Selvi’s shop, I realised that while some women may be old enough to have children, many aren’t necessarily mature enough to become parents. The values they teach their children are questionable – like the emphasis on beauty; like swapping playtime for study time in the race for straight A’s; like placing fashion over comfort. And all this so the parents can feel good about themselves?
While I am relieved there are professional people like Aunty Selvi who refuse to place profits over principles, I worry there are many who cannot resist the opportunity to make a quick buck. Can we blame them when the parents themselves insist on it?
We should do more to educate children of their rights. Empower them so they are protected from parents who are brainless. Having a child does not equate to owning the child. No one owns another individual, even if the latter is their own flesh and blood.