Sister support

After the magazine hair shoot, Calvin took Samantha and I to a cafe right next to his salon for lunch. My hairstyle, still looking pretty nifty, was drawing curious glances from fellow diners. It also caught the attention of one of the waitresses, who bashfully asked that million-dollar question consistently posed to me and something even the Grandfather Of All Knowledge probably wouldn't be able to comprehend.

"Are you Japanese?"

I laughed and asked her why, apart from the manga hair, did she think so. She replied that I had "good skin". Me? Good skin? It almost made me swear out loud.

"It's just a LOT of makeup, dear. This woman can work miracles," I quipped, pointing to Samantha.

After Calvin gobbled his lunch and ran next door to finish some errands in his salon, the waittress sat down at our table. I was unsure if she knew Samantha as a regular patron, but the young girl started talking about how insecure she was about her looks. She talked about how she was going to start university soon and that she was afraid that her self-consiousness would heighten there and affect her studies. She admitted that her appearance would bother her on a daily basis, and that she was considering professional counselling.

I was flabbergasted. All this was coming from a girl who had a healthy physique, large brown eyes, cute button nose, gorgeous smile and a fresh, rosy glow to her face.

Restraining from immersing myself into a monologue about my own disorder and other body issues, Samantha and I praised her looks, explained how her concern was a normal part of growing up, and assured her she had absolutely nothing to fret about. She wasn't really buying it, and I wanted to smear off my makeup there and then to convince her that I looked even more average than she did.

Samantha had to leave quickly to join Calvin at the salon, which reminded me to also wait there for my mother to pick me up. I asked for the waitress's name (which I can't recall at the moment) and wished her the best in her studies and to take care of herself.

I stopped in my tracks halfway to the salon. Something just didn't feel right.

I stepped back into the cafe, where the waitress was still sitting at the table we were at. I went up to her, gave her my business card and asked her to drop me a line if she needed anyone to talk to. She was pretty shocked at my gesture and burst into shy, infectious giggles. I then gave her a big hug and told her she was beautiful. She couldn't bring herself to do anything but gratefully thank me and blush a lot in between.

I could still hear her laughter as I left the cafe, thinking Whoa... so this is what it feels like to be Oprah.