The first time I found a white hair, I stood in front of the mirror for about 15 minutes trying to make sure it was real!
Is this really a white hair? Oh my God! I’m only 22!
For a while after that, I'd stand in front of the mirror and try to see if they were increasing in number.
On one of the rare occasions I went to a hairdresser’s, I overheard the guy telling my friend in a low voice
 “I suggest we give her hair some lowlights, Ms., so we could—if you'll excuse me—hide the white hair."
 
At first, I'd notice every new hair and make up a story about it: this one was from when I worked like a mule to prove that I could work like a man,
this was when you hurt me, and this was when you hurt me again….
 
The stories increased with time, as did the painful moments.
The number of white hairs on my head continued to grow in number, so I stopped counting.
I started brushing my hair a certain way, so that I wouldn’t see those white hairs.
A part of me was refusing to accept that I had all these white hairs when I was still on my own.  
 
And I'm still trying to prove to people that I can be on my own. But I'm still trying to convince myself that I can be with someone. Someone who'd show up out of the blue, without warning.
Suddenly, I realized that I'd grown older, and that there was no place for the little girl inside of me.
No one wanted her, not even me.
*Performed in:
Look at Me - Lyon - 2013