In the structured Chinese schools, with the exacting standards of appearance and conduct, every visit to the barber became a quest for practicality: a haircut as short as possible. This choice, born of necessity, brought with it a host of conveniences: no worrying about being singled out by the dean for a serious talk, no lengthy blow-drying sessions after a wash, and, most importantly, no constant fiddling to keep my hair out of my eyes. 

Upon arriving in the United States, I began to let my hair grow longer. This wasn’t just due to the absence of strict grooming rules; it was also a way to conceal a scar on my forehead. Though the wound itself had healed, the scar remained, a visible reminder of a past incident, one that would not disappear with the passage of time. The story hidden beneath is a thorn in my mind, always reminding me to be mindful of safety, and always ready to bring back the pain of the memory at the slightest provocation. 

I was living in Los Angeles at the time. After graduating from junior high school, together with a few other close friends, we’d often pick a sunny day to go to one of my friend’s houses for a gathering. We’d spend the entire afternoon in his yard, sharing gossip, laughing over board games, or simply lying on the grass and let the warm summer air wash over us. These visits quickly became one of my favorite things. Often, with my eagerness, I’d forget to wear my helmet for the bike ride to his house. “It’s okay, just a 15-minute journey,” I’d reassure myself upon realizing my oversight after stepping out of my apartment.

Bathed in sunshine, another splendid afternoon unfolded. As usual, I cycled to meet my friends at the house. I had left my helmet at home again, but that seemed negligible compared to the joy of being with friends. The early summer breeze brushed against us as we chewed chips and played our favorite game, Mafia. We lost the sense of time, only realizing it was near midnight when we finally paused. We waved to each other and went our separate ways home.

The sun had long set, replaced by a dark night sky. The absence of streetlights, coupled with trees blocking the light from resident buildings, shrouded the cold, concrete sidewalk in darkness, with only the brief illumination from passing cars’ headlights. I felt like a lonely boat immersed in the dark abyss. The unknown around me was hidden reefs in the night, stirring a sense of unease. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and held it in my hand. Although it brought some comfort, the light wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the road farther in front. But, it was better than nothing.

The whisper of the wind from passing vehicles and the rustling of leaves seemed like the murmurs of the night, breaking the silence around me. I quickened my pace. The sidewalks at night seemed more challenging to navigate than during the day — many obstacles are hidden in the cloak of night. I weaved between metal poles of signs on the sidewalk, dodged overgrown bushes, and hastily avoided holes and fire hydrants. Suddenly, I saw a stop sign looming ahead in the middle of the narrow sidewalk, highlighted by the beams of a nearby car’s lights. 

Bang.

Unable to dodge in time, I had crashed into the metal pole of the stop sign. Fortunately, I wasn’t knocked unconscious. After a few seconds, I regained my senses, trying to understand my surroundings. My phone was on the ground in front of the bike, my bike had somehow fallen between my legs, and myself was sitting in a strange posture atop my fallen bike. Strangely, I felt no pain. In a flurry, I stood up, picked up my phone and righted my bike, then glanced at the metal pole – thankfully, no blood was on it.

I stepped on the bike and continued my ride home. But no sooner had I started than I felt a warmth on my forehead, as if something hot was flowing down. Gradually, it felt like someone had turned a shower on above my head, water flooding down my face, blurring my vision, flowing into my mouth, dripping onto my arms, legs, clothes, and bike. Only, the ‘shower water’ had a distinct taste of rust. Knowing what that meant, I started to panic, and all I wanted was to get home quickly to treat the wound. I came on to the main road, ignoring the oncoming traffic, pedaling as fast as I could towards home. 

Dodging one car after another, running red lights one after another, I finally reached the entrance of my apartment. I abandoned my bike and rushed to my front door, frantically banging on it. According to my mom, she was terrified when seeing me, almost mistaking me for a ghost. No wonder. Perhaps the heat overshadowed the pain, for I didn’t feel the agony I had anticipated. But my face was more horrific than I could have imagined. In the mirror, shockingly, I saw my unrecognizable self. On my forehead, a deep gash split the skin, blood streaming down, dripping down my cheeks, blurring my originally clear features. My eyes, almost blinded by the blood, appeared even more terrifying. My entire face was scarlet, like an abstract, scary painting.

Although my mom promptly took me to the hospital that night, a long, thin scar remained forever on my forehead.

For me, that night dotted with bloodstains felt like a nightmare, an experience I never wished to happen again. Growing my hair long was not just for the concealing effect, to effectively hide the scar on my face; it symbolized a shift from convenience to responsibility. Had I forsaken convenience and worn my helmet that night, perhaps this scar would never have graced my forehead.  Convenience, I realized, should never come at the expense of safety.

Many aspects of life necessitate our careful attention, and safety is the most fundamental and crucial among them. That scar became a mirror of my life, reflecting my past disregard of the importance of protecting myself. Since that night, I no longer treat any precaution lightly, no matter how minor it may seem. Whether it’s buckling up in a moving vehicle, patiently waiting for the green light at pedestrian crossings, or being mindful of the correct way of lifting heavy objects, I approach each one with respect, appreciation, and cherishment of life. That night became one of my growing experiences, teaching me to engage with life more carefully and understand the importance of self-protection. It guided me towards the future, treading more cautiously with each new step.