I simultaneously hate my hair and love my hair or, rather, anticipate a love for my hair when it gets longer.
Though I love the texture of my hair when it's moisturized, I hate it when it's dry, resembling not quite a Brillo Pad but close. But every time I think of reaching for the creamy crack (a relaxer), I see a picture of a natural sistah with hair a little longer than mine but with the same texture of my moisturized hair. And I envy her. I drop my hand off the rough surface of my head, reminded of the journey to which I committed. I knew going in that going natural wouldn't be easy for a person like me, a person with no hair skills whatsoever and virtually no money to allow someone with skilled hands to craft this hair don't into a hairdo.
I've gone natural before, again for spiritual reasons, and I lasted for 18 months. If I hadn't given into the pressure of trying to be picture perfect (I had senior pictures to take), I would have been celebrating my 11th year of being my natural self. But taking that journey the first time wasn't so hard. I had a woman who would twist my hair for just $35 so that made it easy to keep it done. I didn't have to experience the kinks that occur when I don't sleep with a cap on my head.
Now I'm thinking about doing a preventative style, either getting twists, braids, or a sew-in. I'm leaning towards the sew-in because it lasts longer and my hair would be protected from this insane summer heat. But that leaves the question of money. Good hair is about $150 for two packs and getting it done is over $100. How is that saving me money? And the glue used in the cheaper glued pieces instead of sewed-in hair can kill ya.
Argh.
It's enough frustration to drive me to think of cutting it all off and just rocking a low cut. But my hair grows fast and I'm looking at getting a haircut every week. Again, how is that saving me money?
I can just go back to relaxing my hair; that's only $8 a box. However, my hair was quite damaged. And, besides, I read somewhere about a study that found relaxers weren't good for my health, as if I needed more health problems. So, I definitely want to stay away from the invasive/destructive chemicals.
This hair journey is not just a spiritual one but an emotional one. I'm being tested on my (lack) of patience. I want the full wavy hair now! But, like anything, it takes work and time to see the fruits of my endeavors. So, until my hair gets to the length I desire, I'm going to have to stop looking at natural veterans with envy but with hope. One day, I'll be there too.
QoMV
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Friday, July 6, 2012
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Je Suis Americaine: The French Debate
America or, rather, certain pockets of America have gotten it in their head that being American is simply not good enough. I don't say this from a nationalistic standpoint but from one that is fed up with being compared, as a female, to another nation's women.
Case in point, this article, which compares the American woman's approach to love to the French woman's approach to love. Seriously? This is a definite case of comparing apples to oranges.
First off, America was built on the prudish puritanical values of our forefathers, values to which our society clings. *Gasp! I saw a nipple. How DARE she breastfeed out in public???????* So we're not as free-spirited as our French counterparts. We're still fighting for the right to have our insurance cover birth control, to choose what we want for our body, to say the word "vagina" aloud in front of congress.
Secondly, our men, by society's rules, don't give in to passion or show much of it lest they are thought to be unmanly. * Cry in public? For shame!* How can we women give in to "feel[ing] free, passionate, etc." when we're not even sure we're in an emotionally safe space/relationship to do just that? We all know stories or have had experiences of putting ourselves out into the fire only to end up badly singed or consumed.
Thirdly, our men are often reluctant to grow up, choosing to add the proverbial notch in the belt with each female conquest instead of another patch of grass to the yard behind the equally proverbial white picket fence. So going with the flow doesn't tend to be an option unless you don't mind being a f*ck-buddy or just one of the guys or having the man's dipstick checking out the oil in many different engines. Times have changed; terminal diseases (and very unpleasant ones) are rampant. Being lackadaisical about promiscuity is not the way to preserve health.
This is not just an American thing. Look, even Greek women know that getting a man where you want him takes strategy. As said in the movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, "the man is the head but the woman is the neck. And she can turn him any way she wants."
Fourthly, our nation isn't set up for the luxury of singlehood, especially in the big cities like Miami where the standard of living is over $70,000, the cheapest rent for a very decent one-bedroom is over $1000 (if you're choosing to live away from where the work actually is then a car, car insurance, toll & gas money are a must), but, due to this being a tourist town, most jobs pay under $40-45,000 before taxes, insurance, and other deductions take place. So, unless you're one of the professionals who has a well-paying job, being single for very long can be quite a financial burden.
Fifthly (not finally), we, American women, are competing with not only other females but men in a larger number than should be deemed biologically possible.
If they aren't gay, they're married; if they aren't married; they're taken; if they aren't taken, they're caught up in the player mentality; if they aren't caught up in the player mentality, they're momma's boys; if they aren't momma's boys, they're in prison; if they aren't imprisoned, they're dead. Out of the small number of available men, you've got your woman beaters, your crazies, your porn addicts, your video game addicts, your drama-filled baby mommas/past relationships, your I only date x/y/z (short, tall, black, white, latin, thin, thick, models, etc.), and your too-focused/not ready to date. The men who fall into none of the aforementioned categories must be in hiding because there are mobs of women waiting to make them husband material.
While the axiom, "love comes when you least expect it" may be true, what's also true is that love comes with packages you least expect too e.g. kids, divorces, wives, credit issues, criminal records, health issues, etc. So the hunt for love has developed a criteria checklist.
Now I'm no scholar on French living, having been in Paris for a paltry six days (not my favorite city) and having only seen the grassy greenery of the French countryside out of a moving bus's window, but I'm willing to bet that French men aren't exactly like American men.
Even if they are, I'm tired of being compared as a woman and made to feel less than. Even Oprah (my (s)hero) bought into the whole be French idea a few years back. If it's not How to Love Like a French Woman, it's How to Eat Like A French Woman, How to Dress Like a French Woman, How to...
Merde. It's exhausting just being a woman (a Black one at that) in America and, now, even that's not enough.
Is it really so far-fetched of an idea that someone can actually fall in love with me, choose to be faithful to me, and desire to build a life with me-- without French-ifying myself?
Should I even bother to continue smoking this pipe dream?
Guess I'll keep waiting for love to do more than bite me in the ass.
QoMV
Case in point, this article, which compares the American woman's approach to love to the French woman's approach to love. Seriously? This is a definite case of comparing apples to oranges.
First off, America was built on the prudish puritanical values of our forefathers, values to which our society clings. *Gasp! I saw a nipple. How DARE she breastfeed out in public???????* So we're not as free-spirited as our French counterparts. We're still fighting for the right to have our insurance cover birth control, to choose what we want for our body, to say the word "vagina" aloud in front of congress.
Secondly, our men, by society's rules, don't give in to passion or show much of it lest they are thought to be unmanly. * Cry in public? For shame!* How can we women give in to "feel[ing] free, passionate, etc." when we're not even sure we're in an emotionally safe space/relationship to do just that? We all know stories or have had experiences of putting ourselves out into the fire only to end up badly singed or consumed.
Thirdly, our men are often reluctant to grow up, choosing to add the proverbial notch in the belt with each female conquest instead of another patch of grass to the yard behind the equally proverbial white picket fence. So going with the flow doesn't tend to be an option unless you don't mind being a f*ck-buddy or just one of the guys or having the man's dipstick checking out the oil in many different engines. Times have changed; terminal diseases (and very unpleasant ones) are rampant. Being lackadaisical about promiscuity is not the way to preserve health.
This is not just an American thing. Look, even Greek women know that getting a man where you want him takes strategy. As said in the movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, "the man is the head but the woman is the neck. And she can turn him any way she wants."
Fourthly, our nation isn't set up for the luxury of singlehood, especially in the big cities like Miami where the standard of living is over $70,000, the cheapest rent for a very decent one-bedroom is over $1000 (if you're choosing to live away from where the work actually is then a car, car insurance, toll & gas money are a must), but, due to this being a tourist town, most jobs pay under $40-45,000 before taxes, insurance, and other deductions take place. So, unless you're one of the professionals who has a well-paying job, being single for very long can be quite a financial burden.
Fifthly (not finally), we, American women, are competing with not only other females but men in a larger number than should be deemed biologically possible.
If they aren't gay, they're married; if they aren't married; they're taken; if they aren't taken, they're caught up in the player mentality; if they aren't caught up in the player mentality, they're momma's boys; if they aren't momma's boys, they're in prison; if they aren't imprisoned, they're dead. Out of the small number of available men, you've got your woman beaters, your crazies, your porn addicts, your video game addicts, your drama-filled baby mommas/past relationships, your I only date x/y/z (short, tall, black, white, latin, thin, thick, models, etc.), and your too-focused/not ready to date. The men who fall into none of the aforementioned categories must be in hiding because there are mobs of women waiting to make them husband material.
While the axiom, "love comes when you least expect it" may be true, what's also true is that love comes with packages you least expect too e.g. kids, divorces, wives, credit issues, criminal records, health issues, etc. So the hunt for love has developed a criteria checklist.
Now I'm no scholar on French living, having been in Paris for a paltry six days (not my favorite city) and having only seen the grassy greenery of the French countryside out of a moving bus's window, but I'm willing to bet that French men aren't exactly like American men.
Even if they are, I'm tired of being compared as a woman and made to feel less than. Even Oprah (my (s)hero) bought into the whole be French idea a few years back. If it's not How to Love Like a French Woman, it's How to Eat Like A French Woman, How to Dress Like a French Woman, How to...
Merde. It's exhausting just being a woman (a Black one at that) in America and, now, even that's not enough.
Is it really so far-fetched of an idea that someone can actually fall in love with me, choose to be faithful to me, and desire to build a life with me-- without French-ifying myself?
Should I even bother to continue smoking this pipe dream?
Guess I'll keep waiting for love to do more than bite me in the ass.
QoMV
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Happy Real Daddy's Day
Normally, I'm not affected by Father's Day but, given the course of the way things have been this year, I've come to realize just how much my kids have missed in not really having a dad, especially my youngest. This realization hit me first in church. Initially, I was all "oohs" and "ahhs" as each pastor spoke with love of his family, showing off pictures of their offspring with a pride that filled the room. But, as the service closed and as the all-male choir sang a song filled with words of a father to his son, I got to understand what my son has missed. And I got to understand the truth of these words: a child/boy needs his father. This is especially true on a day like today, a day when men recount stories of growing up under the guidance of their father or share those stories of pride and love for their own sons. A day that magnifies missed moments.
I didn't exactly help by not dating, though, I can definitely say that those who wanted to date me weren't the type of people I needed to bring around my sons. But those were the kinds of people who were attracted either to 1) any female or 2) a challenge and weren't looking to play step-daddy to no one else's child(ren). Maybe, if I'd been more open to the world of dating and the idea of love, I could have attracted the right type of fellow.
Sigh...Can't dwell on the past, which is why I'm working to be more open-minded. I don't think it's too late for someone to come into my sons' life, to give guidance and love. I've got to be more open. I need someone in our lives to fill that void.
From my lips to God's ears...
QoMV
Update: Just saw a poem from singer/actor Tyrese on fatherhood through the eyes of a child. Click the link to read it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)