I currently have a large amount of hair on my head... hair that my own follicles did not happen to have birthed themselves.
Me getting twists was the unfair compromise made between my mother and I. Twists, because that's how I usually wear my hair. And the extensions... well, because I had no choice. Skipper pulled the "Please do this for me?" card. You know where your parents get all nice when they ask you to do something they know daggone good and WELL you don't wanna do? You know what the coy is.... if you say no when they're angrily demanding something, you feel half good about yourself. As if you've stood up for your right as a human being to pursue happiness, despite the oppression. But if you say no when they're asking you a favor, in their calmest, sweetest voice possible... all you do is feel like crap. Cause that leaves them "disappointed". ugh.
moving on.
On Tuesday morning at about 11:00am, I abandoned my pursuit of happiness. smh. The hairs that did not belong to me, went INTO my head.
Right. So maybe it's time for a little background story.
NOTE: Remember those self directed adventure books from when u were a kid, where u had the power to choose the story you read? You're about to experience that power once again... as a grown person. (well... kinda). If you don't care about the background story, then skip the following blue writing:
I started wearing synthetic hair when I was in elementary school- maybe 4th grade. Braids. I loved em. Because they were long... and straight... and easy to style (Plus "Cleopatra"(comin atcha!) was on Disney channel at that point in time. They were kinda cool).
Coming from an entire life of sitting for hours as my mother unhappily slaved over my nappy head of long thick hair... on a weekly basis, in my bathroom, on a hard behind stool that made my butt hurt. well... Fake hair was a blessing. In middle school, I graduated from plastic hair to human hair. smh... I definitely didn't take the name to be literal. But don't be fooled by what was once my ignorance. It definitely was hair that once, in its past life, belonged to another human being. And I would strut around the halls of Radnor High School, flauntin the hairs of Leah (and probably Susan, Kelly, Patty... and Jessica... and Mikah. psshhh. Hey, maybe even Tommy and Brian contributed too). I thought I was cute. I reaallly thought I was cute. smh. Pride is an ugly thing, people. Please don't be deceived.
Last summer, of 09, I decided to keep the braids out and try wearing my natural in twists. Mind you, this was the first time I was about to let my hair free in public... ever. (I mean, I'd straightened it a couple times... but u know the hot comb doesn't last very long sometimes. Not with THIS mess that was on my head. I had that hair that attracts moisture). In went the twists. I did em myself. My hair ended up bein short, frizzy... and hideous. lol. at least the first time it turned out that way. The more I wore it out, the more comfortable I got with the style... even adopted new fasion trends that complimented my short curly hair. I was rollin wit the punches for a minute. =)
And then CMU came along. ugh. Carnegie Mellon... smh. I am making an extreme understatement when I say that everything in Pittsburgh complicates my life. and long story short... due to some of these complications, I neglected my little short, curly head of hair... Like some child-services level of neglect. (plus i wore this hat made outta rabbit hair everyday for like 2 months. That friction musta been makin a mess) THIS right here was my mother's motivation. She doesn't trust me with myself.... basically.
Now. Back to Tuesday. I came home from the African braid shop pretty upset. My hair was tight and my scalp hurt like crazy. I had a good 3 additional pounds more than what I was used to... all being supported by my neck. I felt brainwashed from having just spending 6 constant hours watching cheesy game shows and The Martha Stewart Show. I was very (internally) bitter with my mother for making me put this mess in my hair again. I literally felt like a helpless teenager in colonial England who had just been forced to marry the ugly rich guy. I had made my desires clear... and they had been ignored.
I started to think about how other people would respond to the borrowed hair on my head. What would my friends back at school think?? I revisited a conversation in my memory where I was speaking during a meeting about why young black women feel the need for weave, in order to feel beautiful. I had made a pretty strong stand on it being the influence of popular culture, lack of confidence... blah blah blah. I shared about how I escaped all of those things when I decided to wear my hair natural. Last year, I had experienced life, for an entire year, comfortable with myself, loving my hair, and making it known. My short curly (and damaged lol) hair had become a part of my identity. And even though this all sounds wonderful n everything...
I now realize that I had also embraced a new sense of pride.
I had allowed myself to fall into an identity other than one that's dependent on Christ for confidence. I (literally, just today) realized that I started to get upset about this hair on my head, because I thought that a part of my identity was gone. I felt like I was returning to campus as a hypocrite. I was relying on how I physically portrayed myself to other people, for my appearance as a confident woman of Christ. Even the issue of humility popped up. "Only humble females can give up expensive, FAKE hair in order to flaunt what God's given them". That statement almost looks like it could be true. It's a LIE. Don't you dare believe that the state of your hair can determine whether or not you possess a God-like quality.
1 Samuel 16:7 LITERALLY says, "The Lord doesn’t see things the way you see them. People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
smh. I couldn't have made that mess up. Now, I mean... of course that passage wasn't in direct reference to me and my situation. That's the Lord talkin to Samuel about how to determine who'll be King. None-the-less. It's still talkin about MY GOD. and my God is consistent. If he looks at the king's heart... then he's checkin out mine too.
I was letting my mind tell me that everyone who saw me as an individual, and sophisticated... and STRONG, would change their opinions about me. I thought that these opinions would walk right out the door with my sense of hair freedom.
But forreal? To be completely honest. I don't care, at this point. This individualism, sophistication and strength should be proven to people through my walk. with. God... and nothing else.
Now, don't get me wrong. I still love my natural twists much better than the chopped-off-mailed-over-seas-and-dyed-twists. and OOOOooo!... also. This summer, I discovered something called "daily moisturizer". Ha. Yeah... my hair was much happier with me after this. and even decided to grow back, replenish, soften and cooperate into a little afro puff for a while. This was, of course, before I had to break the news to the head that it would be incarcerated within the confines of the dastardly "product". My hair was perfectly happy. So, I am still not a huge advocate for hair on my head that won't reveal my DNA. But I will definitely be struttin across Carnegie Mellon's campus, proud... but only of the Christ inside of me. My heart, and how it changes my interactions with people, should be the only indication of who I am.
I am beautiful... with or without the twists, with or without the horse hair. I'm beautiful because GOD is beautiful, and he lives inside of me. Reveals Himself through me.
Thanks for reading, I know I'm long winded.
That is all.
Glory to God!
signed.
kent.
P.S. There is nothing that I've found in this life, worthy enough to boast of, other than my God. Everything else has flaws. smh
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