my hair is thick, wavy, and stubbornly black.
a stylist once had to leave dye in it for double the usual time because it just refused to change colour. perhaps the one time a hairdresser got the better of my mane was when i had it straightened right before prom. it was a battle of jacob vs God proportions and, like jacob, i was duly punished for attempting to change it.
it’s been difficult to come to terms with my hair. i’ve often looked in the mirror and wished it were naturally straight, that it would fall perfectly, that there would be a strand that hangs carelessly on one brow so i could brush it away in an irresistibly attractive manner. some days i thank the waves of fashion for turning so my messy curls would come back in style every 3 years, but most of the time i wonder why i was “blessed” with hair that ages me, that refuses to obey the strokes of my comb.
yet i am reluctant to even buy a discount coupon for another go at changing its colour or taming my curls. if it ain’t broke, why “fix” it?
i realise i now have the same perspective on who i am. just a couple of posts ago, i confronted the reality that i am single because no normal human being would be able to see past the cellulite to love the beatle-crazy wannabe with self-depreciating humour, that i am.
but like how i am accepting of the thick, wavy, jet-black mess that is my hair, i am also accepting of the rest of the mess that makes me, me. i will exercise to be healthy, not to be thin and conventionally attractive. i will appreciate that not everyone is blessed with strong, dark tresses like mine. i will be content with not being robin scherbatsky and that i know just enough football to watch it with the guys and not get laughed at, but not enough to be considered a “real fan”.
better to be who i am than be sad about not being who i am led to believe i should be. if it means being happy on my own…
…i guess that would just be another thick, wavy and stubbornly black reality to accept.