turns out, I was fighting my hair instead of taking care of it
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The girls’ school bathroom used to be a horror scene for me. Every time I tried to avoid it, I’d get dragged in anyway.
“Come on, I realllyyyy need to check my hair, just for a sec,” said my friend.
I try really hard not to make eye contact (how does that ever work?) with my hair, but it ends up taking up my whole vision anyway, because of the sheer mass of it. Floating from all angles, frizzy and pyramid-like — my thick, black curly hair couldn’t catch a break. While my friend calmly ran her cute brush through hers, I desperately took both palms and tried to flatten my hair on both sides. It doesn’t work.
“Okay, I’m done! Let’s head down to lunch.”
But I’m not. I frantically cup water from the taps and splash it onto my head — pressing, stretching, running my fingers through it, pushing every funny little frizz down. I look in the mirror and — woah, it actually worked. With a small victorious grin I walked out the door, tiny droplets dripping from my hair. The look only lasted five minutes, before it all sprang back curly again.
Turns out, I’d been fighting my hair instead of actually taking care of it.
I blamed the lack of products and guidance, never realizing that my curly hair is quite different from my friend’s sleek, straight type. That’s what this diary is for — figuring out the difference, one wash day at a time.
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