25 February 2012

i am not my hair (or am i)

I don't think I have ever been so torn about my hair as I am right now. I actually went to a stylist for the first time in years in early January and have had twists in since then; right at the end of the month I decided to leave them in and start working on locs.
Back in January, when everything was fresh.

But here's the thing. I love my fro. I love my big, wavy, wild afro. And today I started missing it. I miss it so much. I miss my twist out. I miss brushing my hair smooth and picking out a puff in the back. I miss pulling my twists apart and winding up with a wavy sonnet atop my head. I miss pulling scarves around my hair and pulling strands loose. I miss breezes styling my hair into something new and awe inspiring.

The glorious days of fro and flower...
I miss it. I miss it all.

I miss this...
... and this ...

... and definitely this.

But here's the other thing ... I am not--or at least, have not been, lately--a lazy styler, but I have been enjoying the ability to wake up and go. Or wet my hair for a little extra curl around the ends and go. Or wrap a scarf around the twists and watch some stick out every which way and smooth down the ones in the front and feel like a new person.
Twists with a little water.

I love it.

But here's the other thing. Sometimes my twists-transitioning-into-locs are just flat and sad, and I want something bigger.

But here's another thing. Sometimes I miss my teeny weeny fro.

But the other things is it's been years since my hair's been this long and healthy.

But the other thing is my twists are shrinking and nobody can see just how long it is, not unless I shake them loose and stretch myself out.

And that's where I am. Torn. And twisted.

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