On the growth of a woman, finally, realizing, that what her hair represented, over the span of so many years in her younger life, translated…
short…not my phoot…
Looking at the mirrors, it’d, dawned on her, how easy, the answer was.
Her hair was so black, so full, but, up until she was two, her head was still bald, it wasn’t until her mother rubbed her head with ginger water, did her hair start growing, becoming everybody’s envy. In kindergarten, her mother had, braided her hair differently every single day, and she’d, gotten on the school bus, like a peacock strutting. Her mother didn’t have the chance to be treated like this. Once she’d gone to visit her maternal grandmother’s for a few days, her grandmother swiftly, put a bowel over her head, then, swoosh, off went her long hair; as her mother mentioned it, she’d told her, how heart wrenching she’d felt, that her grandmother severed that dream of being a princess that her mother had once, that’s never gotten fulfilled.
long…not my photo still
But, it was, just a dream, living life as a princess, the first time her father brought her mother home, her paternal grandmother commented, “So short, what can she do?”, her mother, small framed, in her mother-in-law who owned huge chunks of land, couldn’t even help out in the fields, and, may not be reproductive enough. At that time, those words became, like a CURSE, that’s plagued her mother’s life—her mother became, quite capable, of everything.
The very first child her mother had shortly after she married was she, a girl. Once her grandmother gave some puddings to her older uncle’s sons, but ignored her, who’d held her hands out. Her mother carried her up, and after that, every time, she’d bought her puddings, it seemed like she was making up for something, her mother told her, “Whatever you want, mom will get you.”
In the elementary school years, there wasn’t any time to do the extricate braids, and her mother often tied her hair up into two bundles that stood straight by her ears, and as she did her hair, she’d whispered, “You must work hard, to prove it to others, you can’t be beaten by boys.”, and, her eyes followed her hair that’s, braided upward, and, she’d felt, that she’s the story book character, with the large years. Does her mother want her to be a princess or a strong woman?
braided…not my photo…
They couldn’t have long hair in middle school, her mother would put the hair band on her, insisted that she showed her forehead, that her hair shouldn’t block her face, but unfortunately, she never had the eyes, nose, ears, and mouth that fitted to her mother’s proud features. But, her hair was always, fitting to her mother’s expectations, and, no boys ever caught up with her grades either. In high school, she’d started growing her hair long again but this time, the adolescent’s hair became, the rebellious shape, she’d used her long hair, to keep her face hidden, so she can, sleep in class. The teacher in the G.T. classes woke her up, “you keep falling asleep, I’ll CUT your hair off, and make a wig out of it.” The whole class burst out laughing, this hair, not only was it used, as a cover as she fell asleep, she’d not really cared, like those light that hadn’t begun to shine through on her talents yet.
As she got into college, for the very first time, she’d, trimmed her hair up to above the ears, and proclaimed her hair as her own. But later, her lover said that ponytail looked better on her, she’d grown it long again; as she started working, she’d permed it to curls, so she’d looked more mature. As she could no longer stand how her hair seemed to please everybody else, she’d, cut it off completely. As she got married and had children, she didn’t have the patience, to blow dry her long hair, and didn’t have the mind to keep her short hair long, so she’d always, grow it long, then, cut it short, and wait for it to get longer again, she’d posted her various dos onto FB, asked her friends to pick out the most fitting on for her, and, the conclusion she received was, “They all looked great, a woman’s hair needs the variations of short and long, and, having a good stylist, there’s, no, ugly period for it to grow longer again!” So, long or short, it didn’t matter, she’d not needed to put up with the period of it growing back again, like undoing a curse, she’d felt, that fishbone that’s, stuck inside the throat, slid down as she swallowed.
Her hair is thick, easy for the different hair styles, because it grows fast and is healthy, in the couple of years, she’d had many do’s. Her hair had been, waiting so long, for this moment, wait until she finally understood, that she was, more than blessed. She looked into the mirror, don’t know if she was telling her mother or her self, “You are, good enough!”
so many to choose from, how, will we pick??? Not my chart…
So, growing up, her mother overcompensated for their statuses by making a huge deal out of her hair, and, when this woman was able to break free from it, she took control over her hair (which was a metaphor of her own life!), and, tried many dos, and, in the end, she’d, realized, that it wasn’t the hair that she was trying to see, that it was, her self that she was, becoming.