When one looks at my parents, one will see my mother with brown and straight hair and my father with black and curly hair. I was born with brown. I wouldn’t say my hair is neither curly nor straight because it seems that my hair sometimes has a mind of its own. At a young age my hair was unmanageable, wild, and out of control and it still is today. No words are able to describe my hair but let’s just say it looks like what happens after a cartoon character puts their hand in an electrical socket. If I don’t blow dry or brush my hair out after my shower the next morning my hair will be a catastrophe. And there are just days when I don’t want to deal with trying to get the tangles out. My one rule I have always had about my hair was to never let anyone except my family see my natural hair, mostly because my hair is simply embarrassing to show people when it’s not done and presentable.
In the second grade when Halloween was around the corner my mother decided that I should be a cavewoman. I was excited at first because I was thinking I would be dressed with an animalistic type of outfit. The one thing that I didn’t remember to ask was how my hair was to be styled. I was in the surprise for my life the morning Halloween arrived. Normally every morning I would wake up and go straight to the bathroom so my mother could brush my tangled hair. Unfortunately this morning she told me that the key part for my cavewoman costume would be my hair, when she said that I didn’t know what to think. Really my hair, I was freaking out because before I knew it she had a comb in her hand. My mother began teasing my hair to make it an even bigger puff ball then it already was. I couldn’t bear to even look in the mirror because I didn’t want to see the outcome of it when she was finished. When I arrived at school my friends were in shock, they have never seen my hair look like anything that’s close to my natural hair. After a long day of my classmates staring at my hair I promised my self to never forget the rule I made to not let anyone see my natural hair again.
Ever since my dreadful revealing to my class about how my hair really looks like I did everything I could to make sure my hair was perfect. That included straightening my hair every single day. Years passed and trying to make my hair amazing was always my goal. Sometimes it would take more than an hour to straighten given that I have so much hair. I even felt bad a few times for my hair stylist, Lily, when I went in for a haircut; only because there were a couple times when I would be in the salon for about two hours, since she would cut, blow dry and straighten my hair.
When I entered high school I came up with a ludicrous idea to change my hair color. It was the summer of my junior year that I was finally able to dye my hair because my mother caved in to letting me after months of nagging and begging. It was a Sunday morning in June when my cousin Stephanie took me to Target to get hair dye. I decided that I should go with a lighter brown. When we came back to my house she quickly started on my hair because she had work in two hours. We worked on my hair in the bathroom and about an hour into the dying we had to open up a window because the smell was covering the entire room. After the dying was done I was not a fan of the resulting color. I thought it was too light and it made my skin look even paler than I already was. My cousin said to give it some time and eventually I will grow into liking it. About six months passed and no change into liking the new color, but a new problem was arising. I noticed that my light brown hair was turning orange. And when the fiery orange was clearly coming out the thoughts of regret began to flush out. I realized that I should have listened to my mother when she said that I would regret it. I felt like crying because I thought the best way to make me more comfortable with my hair involved dying it. And it definitely wasn’t. The only option for my hair now was to dye it again. By this time it was December, from what I heard you always go dark in the winter. So I figured that the ugly orange color would only go away if I went with a dark brown and oh was it dark. The ending color result of the dark hair dye completely satisfied me. And it’s the color that I use when it comes around the time to dye my hair again.
Constantly trying to make my hair perfect included hours of straightening and harsh chemicals being put in my hair. Now my hair is fried, dead, and I can’t even remember my natural hair color anymore. I completely regret my decisions for perfection always being my goal. Instead of looking at all the bad things about my hair I should have seen the beauty in my crazy and uncontrollable hair. A good characteristic about my hair is its ability to grow long and I took it for granted rather than be grateful it can actually grow. Today I continue straightening and dying my hair to make it presentable as possible, I now know that perfection in hair doesn’t exist and I wish I would have realized this a long time ago.
No comments:
Post a Comment