I had heard a lot about number76, since a lot of the pretty girls I stalk research extensively about post about their experiences at this saloon. So I decided to give it a shot.

When I reached the Mid Valley branch late on a Thursday night (because traffic), I was greeted by absolutely no one, because no one gets a haircut at 8pm on a weekday night. Since a lot of the people I stalk research about also post pictures of them with the famous name sign, I decided to do the exact same thing. The results were...not that nice.


The design of the saloon was minimalistic, I suppose. I never had an eye for hipster interior designing but I got the feeling that the bare ceilings were more towards a "clean" design and not because they ran out of building funds. I digress.


I met with Yuki, who showed me to my seat. She took one look at my terribly coiffed hair and explained to me that it was lucky that I came to them when I could. She explained that the irreversible damage to my reputation with my terrible budak hairstyle could have been worse.


I just agreed with whatever she told me, because one of my resolutions for the year 2015 was to be able to be more of an adult and not be looked down again by the ladies for being a kid.

Then I took a mirror selfie, which effectively destroyed both my resolution and my image.


I was then ushered by a nice young man to the hair wash section, where he proceeded to give me a sinfully good hair wash. I mean, I've had plenty of hairwashes in the past but this one was just glorious. I almost fell asleep on that chair. After my hair roots were thoroughly cleansed, I checked his nametag: Sin, to which I shared an understanding nod with him.


Once my pores were clean from the dirt, grime and sweat oozing from it, Terry walked over. Terry's a senior stylist at number76, and he was the one who was responsible for turning me from a budak to a Casanova. This man literally held my future happiness in between his scissors.


Of course, you don't get to be a senior stylist at number76 for nothing. After a few quick snips, a blow and some razoring, Terry transformed me from a budak into...well, you'll have to see for yourself.


Yes, that's right. It seems that no matter what anyone tries to do to my hair, my budakness will never be gone. If you compare both my before and after photos, the only difference is that my hair is several layers lighter and is styled less like "I just woke up from a terrible sleep". I still retain the budakness that I have tried so hard to get rid of.

But, I think that I'll probably be the first budak in the world to be able to find a girlfriend, because I'm one adorable looking kid, I'll say. I'll keep you updated when I manage to find someone to spend Valentine's Day with. And I can promise you it won't be me just saying I love you into a mirror. That was soooo last year's plan.

And what's even better? This Chinese New Year, they aren't even raising their prices. That's right. They're breaking the Chinese New Year traditions set by saloons. Which is good news for people like me who haven't started angpao hunting yet. 

A frequent topic of conversation that pops up whenever I meet new people is "Where do you stay?". My momma told me never to talk to strangers, but when the stranger is talking to me and is female, all my inhibitions usually melt away. I digress.

I will always answer truthfully, because it's no shame to admit where I stay. "Sungai Long," I reply cheerfully. That's when people will respond in one of these 5 ways.

#5 Wow, that's far.

Most of the time, an unfamiliar sounding place MUST be very far, because, and I quote an actual person, "I've never heard of it before". Yeah, it's pretty out of the way, but it's not Timbuktu. Get your Geography straight. And also...

Right here. 

Shown: An actual long river.

I remember whistling softly at the absurdity of it all as my friend made his wish and blew the candle out. Twenty five. That was amazing in anyone's books. It seemed just like yesterday that we were wiping snot and mud from our faces back in our high school field, almost a decade ago. A decade. I can finally tell people that I've seen things from the past decade, before bursting into laughter. It was really just so absurd.

I yawned involuntarily, and a few of the others followed suit. Yes, we were getting old, and as much as we didn't want to admit it, the burden of twenty five years of life had taken its toll on our bodies. The days of spending time in a mamak until 4AM just chilling and talking nonsense had dwindled down to nothing. We were coming out later and leaving earlier. The pauses in a topic between grew more frequent as each of us struggled to stay awake. We were all growing older, but unwilling and unable to accept that fact.


The free-flowing alcohol didn't help. I've learned that alcohol brings nothing along with it, well, if you don't include the crippling hangover the day after. Back in the day, alcohol meant the inhibited freedom to act like an adult. Now it meant the freedom of throwing hard-earned cash out away. As an adult, I might add. A whole lot of difference it made.

Old. That's what we were becoming. I was so confident that I would be a great adult, I would shoulder the pressures of adulthood with ease. I wouldn't be like my dad, always complaining of back pains, or my mom, having to always sleep early. I would stay up late, and do everything I ever wanted to do. Because I thought that as an adult, I could.

I was wrong, of course. That cocky confidence brought about by the boundless energy I seemed to have in my youth. Today, I keep reminding myself of a time where I used to stay up late, or even forgo sleep as I rushed assignments back in my university days. I keep telling myself that I can do that now, and that it's no big deal for me. I was holding on to a youthfulness that had long faded.

2:25 AM.

It's getting late. Maybe it's time to go home.