It is a widely known fact that a house of four girls rarely has enough hair ties. And #09-02 Oleanas Residence arguably had one of the lowest hair ties per capita in the developed world. It was in these circumstances that we realised we needed to look out for each other. You see, women have a sacred bond with their hair ties. When they’re not holding our hair back, you’ll often find them around our wrists, ready and waiting for the many crucial moments they will be called upon that day – when the summer heat trickles down your neck, when you want to wash your face or just need to think clearly for a minute.

As a household of four women with hair, #09-02, Oleanas residence was in a perpetual state of these moments. It was common to see hair ties being passed on from wrist to wrist between us – a temporary rental, often negotiated in hurried tones right before a yoga class, or video call on a bad hair day.

“Can I have a hair-tie?” was a familiar question that would follow a familiar knock. We’d lived with each other long enough to recognise our knocks, and know if the visitor had arrived for a loan or debt collection. We would prepare to half-heartedly pull it over our palm and pass it over – the elastic’s grip still fresh around our wrist.

Some days, one of us would walk in with a new bundle of hair ties. For that week, we lived lavishly – using them for any obscure task – holding a box with a wobbly lid shut, closing a bag of potato chips, or saving them in our bags, pockets and drawers for a rainy day.

Much like young love, there’s something about a new bundle of hair-ties that makes the subtle promise of lasting forever. When you go from the depths of having to ration hair-ties between 4 grown women, a fresh bundle of them feels a lifetime supply.

And yet again, we’d forget that hair-ties tend to slip through your fingers without you realising it, and show up weeks later by the microwave when you need it least. In the 4 years that we lived together, #0902 Oleanas Residence has seen both hair ties and young loves come and go.

When we moved out, we went on to live alone or with men and no longer had to compete, plead and negotiate for hair-ties. There was no one to lose them, break them or claim wrongful ownership of them. I can safely say that after we moved out, each of us went on to achieve a healthy hair tie per capita that year, and every year since.

We’ve gone from being just a few steps, to continents away – and yet, out of natural intuition or sheer habit, I still buy my hair-ties in bundles – like it’s for a house of four, not one. I continue to keep my hair-ties in special hiding places – in the drawer underneath the sink, in the middle pocket of my wallet and other important places I will forget the next day. In the slight chance that one of these days, I’ll hear a familiar knock, with a familiar question.