Okay, so I had a reason not to post yesterday.
I’m making that bold because I do not want anyone to think I intentionally didn’t post, when in truth I was screaming at my computer for not having Wifi, and for not wanting to work with me. I gave it a legitimate chance to redeem itself today on my laptop, but it said no, so I’m just going to be writing this post that I wrote yesterday for yesterday, because you all deserve to read that post.
I am just going to continue this post by saying that I am not at all trying to sound racist or rude to anyone, this just happened to me this week, and I really wanted to share it with you all. My intentions for this post are NOT meant to hurt anybody or upset anyone. I just would really like to talk about this subject, and I can see how the first thing I wrote for the post that you will soon read can be slightly offensive towards people, so I wrote this.
First of all, yeah, I’m black. I’ve never mentioned this on the blog because I’ve never really had a reason to do so. Until today of course, now that I have a post relating to this subject. So because my skin color is black and my ethnic background is filled with a bunch of people from places in Ghana, our hair types are very different.
Our hair grows very slowly, and our hair type is very different from an Americans hairtype.
So we have to braid out hair into creative styles, we have to take care of our hair very well or we can take the chance of it breaking, and we have to moisturize our hair with creams and oils so it will stay healthy and grow. It’s just so many things to do, so because of this I simply wear my hair usually in braids. Not this week though!
My hair is always done in braids and when it’s not.. well, it’s a puffy masterpiece.
So, now, let’s hear the hilarious struggles of me, with my hair.
1. Touching my hair, because, and I quote: It’s so puffy and soft!
Thank you so much. I honestly and truly love the fact that you take the time to stop and recognize my hair and give me compliments on it. That just makes my day that you like my hair. But what kinda makes me feel differently is when you touch my hair because you want to feel how soft it is.
Allow me to tell a story.
This morning when I was getting ready to come to school, I was doing my hair. It was taking a bit of time but I didn’t mind that, because I just wanted it to look decent. And in the day, when people noticed my hair, they would touch the bun part of my hair- because my hair was in a bun- and they’d just be pushing down what I took quite a bit of time to do and successfully accomplish.
So with absolutely no rudeness intended, I suggest you touch the flat part leading up to my bun if you wanted to feel how soft my hair is.
2. The Struggle of Sitting Through you Hair Being Braided.
This for me is already painful to write, nevertheless to have to experience. My scalp is already tender, it’s not that great to have a hairdresser pull and braid your hair so it can be done and completed.
Fun Story: One time I was at one of my mom’s friends’ friends’ house to do my hair. This wasn’t a person that my mom knew too well, so she wasn’t entirely up to having me stay at this person’s house to get my hair done. But she knew she had to, so she let loose and made me go. I reluctantly went, and a couple hours in I fell asleep. My parents called me about fifteen times, I didn’t answer. So they drove over, and they were very worried. Turns out I just fell asleep, so no worries!
True story, and that must explain the boredom of getting your hair done.
3. Cutting my Hair.
The words ‘cutting’ and ‘hair’ in the same sentence already scare me half to death, so when I hear about other girls cutting their hair as short as to their ears I basically start hyperventilating. Not literally, but you know what I mean.
How can you stand cutting my hair, when you see that it’s already short? I know that I want to grown my hair out and all, but I do not see the solution to that cutting my hair.
True story: A couple days ago, my mom was cooking dinner. As she was doing so, she just randomly pulled out scissors and just began chopping- or what she calls trimming- the ends of her hair. And I was basically in shock, holding my hair for it’s dear blessed life. And when she saw my face she said, “It’s just hair, it’ll grow back eventually, I just needed to get rid of those split ends.”
I really have to applaud her for doing that, because I can’t even get my hair cut. It literally worries me because there’s so many possibilities for the things that can go wrong.
Even though that sounded not at all fun, I still love my hair because I think it’s one of the things that makes me feel and look beautiful.
Until next time..
Miss Dino, The Dinosaur Enthusiast.