As a kid, my hair was straight. I don’t know if it was naturally straight or if it was because my hair was always brushed out. But, since puberty, my hair has become unruly and curly.
No one tells you how hard it is to care for hair that no one else in your family has. When I was younger, my mom would spend a lot of time brushing and detangling my hair to put it into intricate hairstyles to tame it. I would hate having my hair done. It was always too tight and too stiff. But my hair was so long that it went past my waist.
Then, I started experimenting with my hair, I dyed it many colors and had it at many lengths. It was here when my hair started to curl and frizz. I didn’t know how to deal with curls or waves, so I would brush them out and hope for the best. But, slowly, I started to do research and experiment with things until I settled on a routine that works and gives me what I want. Finding the right products took forever! I would buy one thing and hope that it worked, and if it didn’t, I had to finish the product before I could buy something new.
If you go back through the yearbooks, you’ll find me and my brushed-out hair from freshman year. But you’ll also be able to see how much I’ve learned and grown. My hair and I as a person.
This school year I have noticed that I have been a mess. I used to put my self-care over everything. I have fallen out of my routine and must start picking up my old habits because they used to bring me so much peace.
I used to be very strict about hair care. For my hair, I would always oil it before I washed my hair. I would specifically use rosemary and castor oil on my scalp and argan oil on my ends. I would leave it in for two hours in a claw clip and would use my scalp massager to stimulate hair growth. I would always go to bed wearing a silk cap to prevent gaining split ends. I was so psycho about it that I would refuse to let my hair rest on my pillow without my cap. I would never use heat on my hair to make sure I was getting dry hair with split ends. This year, I never oil my hair, use my silk cap, and use heat on my hair every day. I have noticed a significant difference in my hair and it feels so much more damaged.
Last year, I struggled a lot with acne. My skin would look horrific and then it would begin to clear up and break out bad again. It was a never-ending cycle. I had listened to what my dermatologist told me exactly but it didn’t seem to work. There wasn’t one day I would miss my skincare, even when I would go on camping trips. I wouldn’t put any makeup on my face because I was concerned it would make breakouts worse, even how badly I wanted to cover it up. I refused to touch my face without freshly washed hands. I always wore sunscreen when I would go out. I finally switched to a different dermatologist months ago and it has significantly improved my skin. Now that I rarely break out, I don’t take as good a job with my skin. I use makeup products on my face that aren’t that clean and I don’t clean my face three times a day anymore. During the day, I rest my face on my pillow although it isn’t freshly washed which is something I never would have done last year. I never wear sunscreen now. Although my skin isn’t bad anymore, I’m not taking good care of it and overtime I will be able to see it’s damage.
There is so much more self-care I used to do last year that I don’t do as often now. I am an a very clean person still, but putting my self-care first gave me clarity in my life and brought me joy.
When I was young, I had straight hair: golden, shiny, long curly hair. People would say, “Olivia, your hair is beautiful, don’t ever touch it.” In a sense, I felt quite pompous because of my hair. I knew people were attracted to it. My mother called it mermaid’s hair and I took extreme pride in the comment. I loved the attention my hair drew; it became key to my identity. Being young and blind to cultural and social cues, I flaunted my hair and reveled in the jealousy of others.
But then I grew up. I stopped living in the trance of my innocence. I became aware of the culture of my family and I didn’t know where I fit into that.
Being African American, Filipina, and Caucasian, I was surrounded by many cultures at a young age but grew up in a town where the ethnicity was mainly white which was reflected in my appearance with my long, straight, golden hair. The blonde hair that tickled my back as I walked side to side was a label for things that I didn’t understand at five years old, and that was my heritage. My hair was not the type of hair that you would see on a little black girl.
My African American family and my Filipina grandmother would always have something to say about my hair. It was too frizzy or too straight and never right for their standards.
As I grew older and insecurities rose, my hair became frizzier, longer, and harder to manage. During my middle school years, I was confused and grappling with a loss of identity. With no relationship with my heritage, and trying to guide myself through my pre-teen years, my hair reflected the struggles I was facing. My hair was developing, and so was I, but I didn’t know how to control it. It and I were lost, and this struggle for a sense of identity lasted years.
Then something happened during the summer between my freshman and sophomore year where I felt a sense of need. So, I cut my hair, all of it, and I felt fantastic. A fresh, ear-length, haircut was what I needed to not only feel confident but awake.
photo credit: pinterest.com
My sophomore year of high school was a major awakening for me and my relationship with my ethnic identity. I understood the history of blacks in America as I began to read poems from Maya Angelou and read about corrupt African American communities in the works of Toni Morrison. I explored music relating to the struggles of black men and women, and began to experience my culture. I also felt a need to connect to my Filipina heritage as well. I began to cook more of my grandmother’s traditional Filipino recipes and shared them with my friends and family that didn’t understand my culture.
My hair reflected the feelings that I was developing for my culture. It was curly, big, darker in color, and felt like me. I finally accomplished the sense of identity that I had been searching for in my young teenage years. I wasn’t just a girl, living in caucasian town with frizzy uncontrolled hair. I was a woman, who knew what she wanted and who she was who just so happened to have big curly locks on her head.
Now, I love my hair just like I loved it when I was a little girl. I am able to bounce my curls all day without feeling the judgment of my family. I don’t care about what people have to say about my looks and how I am not enough in terms of my heritage.
I am obsessed with the song Samson by Regina Spektor. Ask my roommate, she knows.
What I love the most about the song is not the beautiful, velvety vocals but the lyrics (to be specific, the meaning behind them).
It tells the story of Samson through the eyes of Delilah, his deceitful wife. Samson was blessed by God with incredible strength (he could even kill a lion with his bare hands). With that strength, Samson fought off wicked people and God was pleased. Samson was good. He was obedient and he loved God. So, God promised Samson his strength as long as he never cut a hair off his head.
Delilah had given into sin by accepting the bribes of the Philistines. Blinded by money, she sought to find Samson’s ultimate weakness and to bring about his downfall. Every night, he incessantly asked her husband where his shortcomings lied. But every night, Samson gave her the wrong answer. After being given the answer, Delilah called the Philistines to her house to attack her husband, just to have Samson fight them off.
Finally, one night, Delilah got to him. She had told him that if he truly loved him, he would confide in her.
and he did.
Samson lost his hair that night and Delilah sold her husband to the Philistines. Tied to a pillar in their palace, Samson watched as the Philistines celebrated with a feast. Samson, deceived, guilt welling up in his chest cavity, prayed to God for one last chance. He asked for forgiveness and he asked for his strength. And for the last time, Samson got up and used his power to break the pillar that he was tied against, killing all inside the building, including himself.
This story is particularly moving to me because it shows how easily mankind can fall into sin’s trap. Everyday, the story of Samson lives on in every one of us. We are the deceived but more often, we are the deceivers.
Once you branch off from the straight path, like a tree that has grown crooked, you can never go back and straighten in out again. The past will always remain in the past. But life’s goal is to turn back once a mistake has been made. You must live and learn. Let the present be something you will never regret.
Just thinking about the fact that Donald Trump is being considered to be in a position of political power makes me laugh. The whole right wing presidential race is just the funniest thing I have ever seen.
Most, if not all of the possible candidates are either too ignorant or too stupid to be president.
First of all, the Trumpster shouldn’t be running. Why is he? Because he was smart enough to make A LOT of money? No, because he lost all of it once. What possible qualifications does he have to run? Not only is he grossly unqualified for the job, but if he were to be elected, he would make other countries think SO much less of the USA. the Trumpster symbolizes everything people hate about the US. He symbolizes arrogance and excessive pride. His attitude is one of take what you want and do not think of the consequences.
Other candidates, such as Palin, just symbolize plain stupidity. No one should be listening to this woman. The only reason people do, is because feminists think that she is the best thing ever because she is a woman. Just because she is a woman, has several kids (one of whom plays hockey) and is from Alaska, does not mean that she should be held with high regard.
Other candidates are bad too. Gingrich has a head much too large to be president. Ok, I’m kidding, but while he was speaker, there were many ethical charges filed against him. And even the democrats can do better. Obama has done many great things for the country, but when it comes to negotiating, he does not fit the bill.
At a time like this, it is hard to stay happy. Too many bad things are happening, and it is hard to find someone to lead us through it all. Sometimes I just feel like……you know what forget it. When I’m older I’m voting for Trig.
On Thursday, February 10th, 2011, Justin Bieber as the world knew him died. He shaved his head… or so we thought. Bieber, teen pop sensation and major promoter of having incredible hair, went on “Jimmy Kimmel Live” and staged a segment in which host Jimmy Kimmel shaves the young singers head.
When I first heard the news, I have to admit, my heart was broken. “Why would he do it?” was all I could say. “Beiber’s hair is of the gods.” Then it struck me that I should at least look up a picture of his new hairstyle, or lack of one.
This is where I found out the truth. While Bieber did get a slight hair trim, his hair remains present. Again, I was heartbroken. “This means I still can’t claim to be better looking than him.” I moped for a bit, and then, again, decided to look up a picture of his new “trimmed” hair.
I wasn’t heartbroken. I was furious. It looked really good. I sat in front of my computer for a second longer, and then said to myself, “Well, at least he’s still Justin Bieber.” (i.e. a tool)
Even this thought, however, was only reassuring for a fraction of a minute. The sense of security rushed away when I realized that if I had the chance, I’d trade places with the Biebs. Well, maybe not that far, but I’d at least kick it with him.
Either way, I was ashamed of myself for even getting into this whole ordeal. In a matter of minutes, my manhood was destroyed, my looks were questioned, and all off it was done by my very own actions.
I’ve dug myself a hole that I don’t think I’ll be able to easily escape, but I don’t have the focus to write an alternative post to this one, so for now, I have to say, I’ve come down with Bieber fever, and it can only get more intense from here.
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