Though I think I’ve grown out of my kikay baby phase, there are still moments when I have strokes of vanity. This is one of them.
Today I’m going to tell you my hair story.
I used to be so frustrated by my acne situation when I was in my adolescence up to my early adulthood. I’m just thankful I became wise enough about my skin care that I didn’t have to deal with adult acne later on.
But one thing that I still have qualms about sometimes is my hair. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I don’t. I’m like on a seesaw with one end tipping toward the “have – it – damaged – straightened – or – curled” and the other to “leave – it – alone.”
It wasn’t always this way though. When I look back at my kindergarten pictures, I found out that I actually had fine straight hair. The kind of hair that you’d love to put pretty headbands and ribbons on.
And then when I was about to graduate Kinder 2, our class had a field demonstration — the one event that sealed my hair’s fate. Because of a childish vanity, I had my hair permed.
Guess who I was imitating?
I’m pretty sure I must have badgered Mama to no end back then so that I could have my hair permed just as she did.
But my theory was, this single perming incident must have caused my bad hair days for the succeeding years. (Then again, I could accept that it’s just in my genes because Papa actually has thick wavy hair.)
From then on, I dealt with my bad hair days either by twisting my hair into a really tight ponytail or cutting it really, really short.
During my highschool years and college years, I would occasionally have my hair relaxed whenever I would have extra money. But for the most part, I disliked my hair because my idea of beautiful (no thanks to shampoo commercials) included having long, straight, smooth black hair.
So when I was already working and earning more than enough for my needs, I finally treated myself to a much coveted expensive hair straightening treatment. I remember feeling so ecstatic when my hair was finally reborn.
But the thing about these treatments is after a couple of months, maybe a year if you’re lucky, your hair will be back to the way it was before. Only a bit more damaged.
So after that, I just gave up. I went back to my old ways of tying my hair up. But this time, I added some sleek headbands.
I was satisfied with my look but still not completely happy.
Until some months ago, I finally had an epiphany. I realized the more I was tying, twisting and torturing my hair into submission, the more I was damaging it. So finally, I just decided that I would take the path of least resistance and I would just let it be.
I combed my hair as best as I could, put on some leave on conditioner and let it follow it’s own wave.
Having wavy hair was not exactly my idea of beauty but when I looked in the mirror I realized this is the kind of hair that suits me. It looks more natural and carefree. Besides, I think no other hair will curl or wave the same way as mine.
I always have good hair days now. Sometimes there are still some unruly days when I can only choose to retreat to my ponytail. But that’s the exception more than the norm.
My simple rule now is, love what you are born with, work with what you have. I no longer hold a rigid idea of beauty, especially when it comes to hair. Whether you are straight, wavy, or curly, your hair is beautiful. You are beautiful. Oh, and I’ve stopped watching shampoo commercials.
One thing I realized for sure: once I learned to love hair, my hair loved me.
What’s your hair story?