I'm eating my dinner. Three female students are over, visiting. One girl is busy constructing envelopes using magazine pages, as I've taught her to do. She's cutting and taping away. Another is relaxing, listening to the music on my radio. The third is playing with my hair. "It's like the one of a baby," she says as she glides her fingers through it.
Then I feel a tug on my bangs, and then I hear the coarse snip of scissors. I look up from my plate to see Tholang holding a lock of my hair in her left hand. She's just cut off a chunk from the front of my head. I had just cut my hair last week, so it was already short. I stared at the hair in her hand, flabbergasted. I looked up at her and there was an indecipherable blank expression on her face. No fear, no funny, no nothing. Finally she says, "I'm going to sell this."
