Nothing is Black and White

Inspired by and based on true events.

Chua

Part 1

I did have an appointment but I wasn't about to be late even if it wasn't a matter of life or death. Traffic was heavy and it was a hot and humid day. I had sweated enough during the day to be tired by the time of the appointment. Bangkok's traffic is notorious and can be unforgiving if you're impatient and in a rush. It was mid-afternoon, after the lunch our congestion, and the lull before the eveing rushing. I was lucky to get an easy spot in the parking garage and quickly made my way to a familiar location. One of Bangkok's five star luxury hotels, a most iconic landmark in the heart of the business district. It had a multilevel lobby and services, and it gave the hotel a nice, airy, and lush feeling. Familiar yes, but in reality I came only a couple of times in year, and even in the best of time, at least a month would go by.

Even from afar I could see Chua standing by the entrance, to the side of the doorway. Chua wasn't particularly noticeable in physique. He wasn't tall or short by Thai standards, just about average I suppose. He wasn't overweight or heavy, but he wasn't just bones, more like a well toned body. One could make out a lined faced, an intensity of the years that have gone by, but it wasn't the wrinkles of old age. One really couldn't figure out Chua's age by looking as his darker complexion could be misleading. His hands and arms were taut, quite lean and well muscled. To say he was of a respectable age probably was close enough to the truth. Once I got close near with my quick pace, Chua greeted me with a traditional Thai wai and a slight bow in deference, something I always found a little guilty of as he always appeared to be more of elderly person with respect to me. Still, the wai was revealing of his attention to certain details and rituals. It was never a hurried greeting and it always done giving a sense of warm welcome. No better way to start an appointment that would be for the next hour or so.

Over the years it was a ritual that had been a constant in my life, although as a kid maybe it was more like a bothersome occasion. Chua made the experience as the best possible version, or at least for what for what I could compare it to others over the years.

The chair was there awaiting me. It wasn't new and had an air of having been well used in time but it was tidy. Chua would take my eyeglasses, careful fold them and then placed them in a clean spot on the table, far enough to not interfere with his work but that I could always see where they were. On the other side Chua had laid out his trade neatly, quite Japanese in symmetry and alignment. The so called tools of his trade weren't many and Chua was certainly old school at this point.

At this point I had made myself comfortable in the chair which wasn't really difficult with the nice padding it had. I settled in to savour the next hour. Chua was already in place, standing just behind me with the first order of business in his hands. It was a neatly folded and freshly pressed cape, a simple white colored cotton with some trimming. In one simple, well practiced movement, he unfurled it and swung it over my head, letting it drop gently as it draped itself perfectly over me, another Japanese like detail to perfection and precision. Chua now just merely tended to fastening the cape to my neck with a simple clasp, but it was done deftly making sure that it was snug though not tight enough to be uncomfortable.

All the while we exchanged pleasantries as could be expected, perhaps a comment on the day's weather.

Now it was time for Chua to get down to serious business, and he had to have a better lay of the land as one would say. The comb wasn't a long one nor short or small for that matter, just right for Chua's hands and his way of working. It didn't feel cold because it wasn't of metal nor was it made from some type of cheap plastic. More than likely, from the looks and the coloration, it was probably cellulose acetate based, the same as high quality vintage eyeglass frames, something that is typically handmade. He would quickly comb to put every single strand of hair in its rightful place and with that he could visualize the work ahead.

Over the years, given the likely predisposition, what used to be abundant, in time became a balding scalp. There wasn't much Chua could do or say. Then in more recent time, greying made its appearance, and that open the door for Chua to suggest some natural remedies. He wasn't peddling, just being thoughtful. I guess my response was always that I'm fine in my own skin, what others think or expect makes little difference to me. Interestingly, Chua has been the only one who never asked me how I wanted to have him work - short, long, whatever, he just proceeded and I never once felt that I would end up not looking the way I wanted.

As a first impression you would be tempted to think of Chua as a diminutive man given his genteel manners, but once he started talking you would find it more difficult to actually describe him as he didn't fit any immediate stereotype. His tone was subdued but it had strength without being agressive or assertive, maybe given the particular role of being at your service. Still, to questions or comments, he always talked in clear terms and thought without hesitation or uncertainty. At the same he never came across as someone who wasn't willing to consider your point of view. At times you could think that it was a matter of courtesy, but he never tried to turn a different point of view into a debate. They say you can tell a man's soul from his eyes, but frankly with Chua nothing ever presented itself as if his eyes were there and not there at the same time. Then again, I only met Chua a few times over the years, and the relationship was a simple and superficial one at best. I only came to understand later that Chua, just like any human fellow you could encounter on the street, and a complete stranger to you, still has a life that is not inconsequential and is always a story to be told.

And the work started. The regular clicking of the shears snipping, and for the most part it was always at a constant and fix rate, you could say it was Chua's pulse. It was like a sculptor who taps his chisel methodically and each with their own signature tempo. Although I couldn't really see I could still sense that Chua snipped away in small bites so as to give everything time to settle so that he could be sure of progress without mistakes. There were regular pauses as Chua rested his hands and as well to take a step back for a better view. It took him ten minutes to do one side, another ten minutes for the other, and twenty to do the back, and this was just the first pass. If things looked right, and the most certainly did every time, Chua would do a second pass, a gentle refinement. Invariably this concluded the half mark right about half an hour into the session.

In time, what was messy tussle of hair, turned into a presentable form albeit for an artist the final touches had yet to be made. Being groomed by Chua nonetheless was an extraordinary experience unlike in other countries where the pace was quicker and the service somewhat abbreviated, a quick turnaround. Chua would carefully swivel the chair around so that I could stretch backwards for the wash, although this probably varied a little depending on the type of styling required. I hadn't asked for anything special but still Chua took matters seriously. He would carefully worked the faucets so that the water temperature was just right, warm and. relaxing, not always a simple feat if the hot water pressure and temperature could vary quite a bit. Once he had it right it was time for the first shampoo which was basically to rinse away the loose hair from the cutting. Then came the second shampoo which was applied and worked with a massaging of the scalp. Chua's fingers were firm and soothing at the same time. There was the gentle kneading from the bottom of the back of the neck, up to the sides, and around. Maybe not even half a minute had passed, but when the right spots are pressed, time became irrelevant. Chua would then rinse everything off before applying a round of conditioner. Another rinse and then he would towel up, and almost by magic an unwieldy towel turned into a turban like wrapping.

Chua then placed a very warm towel over my face, covering my eyes. It wasn't hot, but warm enough to be relaxing. Now Chua would really work through an upper body massage. First the arms, then he would work the hands and fingers, deftly cracking the fingers. By now the towel had lost the warmth and was removed. As a last step Chua would concentrate on the shoulders and back. While I might not have felt the need for a massage, it was undeniable how much tension had been removed.

A typical haircut means a shave as welll. With Chua a proper grooming redefines what a shave is. Chua would shave with a remarkable agility as with one hand he held the skin pefectly taut so that with the other hand, the razor could glide easily, making for a very close shave. He would also sense with hands any remaining area. He also extended the shave to cover other facial hair. Eyebrows would be groomed. The nose as well.

It's funny, but getting a shave as part of haircut, triggered a very precise memory or more aptly described as an automatic reaction. As a child, a barber yielding shears could easily cause some fears as illogical that may sound, but it doesn't take much. Italian barbers easily entertain their clients by a constant chit chat, and while that might not happen with a child, they easily turn to other adults in the vicinity. Imagine observing this multitasking, it's like watching someone driving or parking while texting or chatting on the mobile phone. Doable but at what risk? A barber is snipping away while cutting? For a child if they are keen observers who knows. Maybe not a nightmare yet, but it only took one more thing to set things forever. I don't know who, or how, but somehow I was told the story of a barber who cut a piece of a child's ear. Perhaps I was told the story as way to make me sit still. In the end that always instilled a certain fear that in time maybe dropped into the background, but by the time a barber had to actually shave me, a razor is an entirely different proposition in terms of risk. I can guarantee that I sit still for a shave as I am absolutely petrified.

Drying the hair seems like a secondary act if the goal is merely to have dry hair quickly, but Chua was really old school. He wouldn't use a comb or a brush to work the hair and air, just the hand to style. His hand would quickly change from shielding the flow, to redirecting the flow, to sensing how much hot air should be directed, and it would also tell how much to move the hair dryer closer or further away to control the temperature. It takes patience and an attention to detail to see how the flocks of hair respond.

And then it was back to scissors for a final touch. Just a snip here and there, but it wasn't hurried.

The final act was to return my eyeglasses so that I could inspect with the mirror. Not a single strand of hair out of place. Pefectly balanced. There are some uneven areas of growth in the back of my head and Chua would also expertly work around them ultimately concealing their defects.

I thanked him and we exchanged our goodbyes warmly. A ritual to be repeated at some point in the future. The only nagging thought was - the only certainty is that things never remain forever - and so each time and moment is to be savoured as who knows if there is a next or another time.

This is just the beginning of the tale though. There is a second side to Chua, one that you would have never imagined let alone considered. Being a barber was not Chua's original profession. One could almost say Chua had another life in another reality.

Part 2

Samrit

Before becoming a barber, Chua was a hitman, a gun for hire. That's the simple raw fact. But we humans are infinitely much more complex and one can never simply put things in well defined boxes. Putting aside for the moment that the final act of hitman is undeniably a criminal act that is unexcusable, Chua's simple message is that life isn't so simple, whether by choice or circumstances. While it is not my intent to criticize Thailand, some understanding of Chua's life is appreciated by looking at cultural context. Not unlike many other countries, whether advance or developing nations, power and money bring the worse of human character out. People who are enemies or perceived as threats are dealt with violence. It's particularly visible in criminal circles as in the mafia, but even seemingly innocent situations of family inheritance can lead to similar results. For some not so easily understood reasons, there is a wide breath of Thai society, perhaps more in rural settings where the value of a life is not so high and at the same time there is an extensive proliferation of lethal weapons. Over the years being a hitman wasn't an unusual profession, maybe just talked about in more hushed terms, it became a supply to a demand. People with power and money, particularly when derived from less legal ways, find a natural outlet with hitmen to have the dirty work done while be relatively shielded. Maybe western standards, the "pay" was never high, it was more than enough to take the risk as a profession. It also doesn't help that the service isn't particularly expensive by any means.

So why did Chua become a barber? To be a hitman you need to be disassociated with the act so that it is merely transactional. Can a hitman run into problems or the unexpected. Most certainly, and Chua discovered that he had the wrong target, but only after the deed was done. An action that cannot be undone. In what for us is an absurd logic, that the responsibility is the of who pays the hitman, and therfore just a tool, but when the wrong target is hit, it is the hitman who shoulders the responsibility.

Chua must have decided that making a wrong hit was not an acceptable possibility and that he could not carry on. But why a barber? Alas that is never to be known, although presumably because it's a respectable profession that offers some advantages considering where Chua where coming from. It's a trade that could be learned on the job and with some well placed mentorship. Probably not difficult enough to require extensive apprenticeship and that probably eased the transition. It would require focus and attention, something Chua had plenty of. It isn't an on the road type job which meant finding barbershops willing to take him on. Ironically perhaps that was the easy part because of his situation. Chua was part of what could be called gentleman gunmen, where aside the specifics of the profession, they all led a quiet and law abiding life. No drugs, not alcholics, not abusive, and probably active participants in their small communities. The same people in power that probably hired them in the first place, most likely were all part of larger communities and had influence to ensure that these gentlemen gunmen were to be undisturbed. Undoubtedly this all led to interesting relationships of loyalty and trust. One can imagine that when Chua chose to leave his profession behind, while difficult it was the only one that made sense to him, the same relationships offered an avenue for the future, a sort of quiet early retirement. A barber is always in demand and a butler-like barber was a luxury that those in power and money could afford. So Chua simply took the train that was offered and applied himself to the transition.

Maybe Chua found solace as he quickly found out that this transition wasn't all that unique since Samrit had already been down the path. Indeed in time Chua and Samrit ended up as a duo of barbers in high demand, one being the backup of the other when scheduling was busy and clients were happy to be in equally capable hands. Samrit as well, certainly would have gone unnoticed that he too led a different life, after all, he could have easily been mistaken for a doctor or perhaps as an accountant with his serious looks and eyeglasses. Just imagine Ben Affleck in the film, The Accountant, where he too was hitman.

The Accountant (film)

But a life was taken and he was at fault. It does not pass into the background and the immensity can never diminish. Chua had a family, a wife and child, just as would be expected of any respectable member of the community. Years went by. Chua's skills and success as a barber was undeniable considering that he was now working out of Bangkok's exclusive barbershops at 5 star hotels, both local and foreign guests. A regular job and one that was never lacking in demand.

Chua's son met an untimely death due to drowning, an accident. Chua spoke of it in simple words. He spoke with sadness, but he wasn't angry. He had come to accept that this was a debt that came calling. Right or wrong was not to be questioned. One innocent life for another? Years later Chua's wife succumbed to cancer and Chua was left to ponder the rest of years left. He did not expect to leave peacefully but would still have to discover how it would be.

All things being said, this darker side of Chua was not something he ever talked to me about, I just have it from a reliable source. It is quite possible that Chua may have wondered if I ever knew, but he left it that. Did it changed how I considered him? Never, though I probably paid more attention to whatever he said in case there was some hidden message. If anything I had a more grudging respect for an immense strength of character to carry a burden while attempting a knowingly futile atonement, but something was probably better than none at all.

Chua was the only barber that I felt totally at ease during a shave. Yes, he was old style sharpening the razor on the strap, but so that he couldn't nick. These days barbers use simple half razors changing the blade for every client, but there's a difference between a blade made in Japan, which can cost a pretty penny, and one made in China which can be pretty dull out of the box in comparison.

Maybe this is a story of karma, a story of redemption, a story of atonement. Maybe, but it isn't for me to judge. I can only tell a seeminly simplicity, of action and consequences, and that ultimately black and white are just the two opposite extremes of an almost infinite shade of everthing else in between that define us.