submit Age is only a number

Once upon a time, a 30-year-old woman named Elise decided it was time for a change. Figuring her skills as a stylist could land her a job at anywhere she wanted, she decided to apply at a salon known for its top-notch services and vibrant atmosphere. She pushed open the door to be greeted by the buzz of hairdryers, the soft hum of low conversation, the sharp scents of hair dye and shampoo, and five Korean women bustling around cutting hair. The women were all similarly dressed in skirts with high heeled-platform sandals, their short hairstyles carbon copies, and seemingly of the same age. Elise was immediately taken aback by the uniform look of the staff—this wasn’t quite like the average salon she was used to. A smile still on her face, Elise was waved over by the oldest of the hairstylists, Seyong. Elise walked to the back of the salon, Seyong pointing at a chair for her to take a seat. Before she could clear her confusion, Seyong picked up a pair of glimmering platform sandals. "This is part of your uniform," the older woman said, nonchalantly. Elise's heart fluttered uncomfortably. The demand seemed strange and she started having doubts about the job. However, before she could stand up, Seyong had plucked off her flats and was shoving the platforms onto her feet. They were too small, and a sharp pain radiated up from Elise's feet. The bizarre sensation intensified as she watched her feet morph to fit into the platforms, taking on Seyong's appearance. Suddenly, Elise was hit by wave after wave of memory and experience that weren't her own. For a moment she saw herself as Seyong, living her life, working in the salon. The "real" Seyong, still smiling, released her grip on Elise's new shoes. As if waking from a dream, Elise blinked then, looked at Seyong, and spoke. But it wasn’t Elise anymore...it was another Seyong. Real Seyong looked back at her warmly, somehow fulfilled. "Why are we back here when we have customers?" New Seyong asked in broken English, shocked at her own unfamiliar voice. She vaguely remembered something, someone named Elise, but it slipped away like sand through her fingers. Standing up and striding to the full-length mirror, new Seyong studied her reflection. But instead of the youthful face she seemed to remember, she saw the face she had worn for the past 57 years. Real Seyong watched on as, with her platforms thumping on the floor, new Seyong walked back into the main salon to continue her work. As she left, the familiar chatter of the salon washed over her. There was talk that someone was applying for a job - she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu. Nevertheless, Seyong got back to work, ready to welcome the new applicant.