"Oh my gosh, I'm so jealous of your hair. It's so thick. I wish my hair was thick like that."
And no matter how I protest, they insist it's what they want.
Are you sure?
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Wispy. What a gorgeous word. Unfortunately, it's one that will never live in harmony with my hair. Luscious, maybe. Maybe even, someday, cascading. But never wispy. Never dancing in the wind. Never gently caressing my arms like flower petals. Never will my braids silkily fold and wrap around my shoulders. They thunk against my chest thickly, stiff and spilling out of my meticulously-tugged plaits. Never will my face be framed by a simple barrette, clipping back a dainty french-braided section of bangs. It takes, on a good day, two or three twisted chunks, pulled back and strategically stuck sharply with bobby pins at intervals. Never will I be able to wake up, wrap a curling iron through it a couple times, and show up to school with perfect shiny, bouncy curls. For a good half hour or more I hold small sections in until my arm aches, trying like everyone else to achieve the impossible.
But the promise of cascading still hangs, tantalizing, in the air. My hair has its moments, I guess. So I'll keep it around.
That first picture, though! You are gorgeous.
ReplyDelete^ Agree 8 Billion % with Donaven.
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