I Am Not My Hair

For those of you who were around January 2010, I came back from a trip to Miami with a whole lot on my mind...and just as much on my head.

I was tired. Of conforming. Of attempting to grow this long mane of straight hair that my then-husband had convinced me would make me beautiful. Of not feeling quite right in myself.

So I went to Queen, my brand new hair-dresser, and told her I wanted to chop the shit off.

We started slow, as anytime she brought scissors near my head I began to hyperventilate. What the sweet fuck was I doing? Amber-Rose I was not. We threw some color in, styled it up, but still, as I walked out of the salon I was very aware of a lightness in my head that had nothing to do with my feeling that I was going to pass out.

Washing my hair in the shower was an interesting surprise... Short hair washes quick - dries quicker. But I couldn't figure out what the heck I wanted to do with it...and I had the sinking suspicion that, with the loss of my hair, I had turned into a boy.

Being honest here - laugh if you've been there.

I joined a group of women who had dedicated themselves to living with their natural hair, fro'd, free, and fabulous. I wanted to be one of them. I imagined myself with a curly mane that waved in the wind, sending out Foxy Cleopatra vibes. Every month my hair grew more...but not nearly as much as I expected. Feeling down, I scheduled an out-of-salon sit-down with Queen.

It went something like this:

Me: My hair isn't growing!!! I look like a boy! (Sobs uncontrollably into her wine)
Queen: Girl please. Just let that shit grow. Stop putting shit in it and let it breathe. (She nods her own freedom fro to the music, taunting me with it's fierceness)
Me: (a bit hypnotized by the hair bobbing on her head) Erm...yeah...no more shit...free...Can I touch your hair?

That sold me. I had decided to grow my hair straight out of my head, however God intended for it to be, because I knew that, thru my dedication, I would be rewarded with the 'fro of my dreams.

We did different things to get me to leave my hair alone - as I was a bit addicted to pulling it back into a frumpy, unattractive ponytail. Braids, regular styling visits...and settled on "the weave".

Now let me tell you - for years I had been against "the weave". I remembered being in middle school, watching girls be teased for "dat horse-hair in her head". I'd decided then and there that I never wanted to be one of those girls. But here I was, walking into the til then unknown "hair store" buying packs of what I was assured was 100% Human Hair. I felt like a cheat, a sell out...and, after three hours of braiding, sewing, styling, I felt...beautiful.

WTF.

It was a strange reaction. But I looked into my mirror at my curly brown hair and felt like a different girl. Feminine. Sexy. Powerful. I laughed at myself in the mirror, smiled with my eyes, thought of the naughtiest thing I'd ever experienced, and took a picture.

I was very into experimenting after that. Every time I allowed Queen to transform me through my hair, I took on a different persona and rocked it with all I had. And every time we cut the hair, undid the braids, and combed out hair that was rapidly turning a brownish-red, I ran to the bathroom to tell the girl in the mirror "wait...you'll be ready soon...just wait".

Like anything, however, too much isn't good for you. The same goes for "the weave". I had never truly understood what it meant to be addicted to wearing a weave until I didn't. The psychological change was immediate. I felt ugly. Less than. Like an Ugly Betty.

And therein lies the problem.

I took my last weave out a few weeks ago. Decided I was going to rock the natural hair I had finally grown to a desirable length. I washed it, combed it out, let it dry...and watched my 'fro go flat. Curly, yes, 100% natural -absolutely...but foxy and fabulous?

No.

Damn.

One more dream dashed to dust. And I didn't feel pretty at all.

Two nights ago I had a mini hair panic attack. I couldn't do it anymore, I couldn't look at the bird's nest on my head and pretend it was okay.

So what did I do?

Fell off the wagon. Like ALL the way off that shit. I drove to the Sally's down the street, bought a relaxer and some hair dye, went home and processed the shit out of my natural hair...

And then I burst into tears.

I find that this is something a lot of women, especially Black women, go through, this love-hate relationship with their hair. I seriously contemplated cutting all of it off, starting fresh. I still might as, when I look at my processed, black hair, I do not feel pretty - I feel fake.

But my hair is not all there is to me. So I will let it be for now. And maybe, maybe I can learn to reclaim that feeling of feminine beauty, fierce sexuality, funky artistic classiness in spite of what my hair looks like.

Love ya'll,
-Asha

What it Feels Like for a Girl

I know that sometimes I go on about having all these layers to my personality (like an onion), but underneath all of them, I'm just a girl...

Bit damaged, bit wary, bit uncertain of herself...but still.

I have my days where you might have to be fluent in mind-reading to understand what the hell has me upset.

Today will not be one of those days.

One of the biggest things you can do is let me down. I may forgive, I may be able to move on, but I won't forget - not ever. That's probably a bad thing - but its an honest statement.

Last night I couldn't sleep, no matter what I tried. There was something my mind was trying to tell me about today that I was refusing to accept completely... I even had a "stop lying and just feel it" moment with myself. At around 6:30, as the sun was coming up outside my window, I just gave up and cried. Apparently I needed to - just to be prepared for what I would awake to nearly two hours later.

I don't understand why its easy to be this way with me. Dismissive, distracted...perhaps disinterested? I don't know. I know that a big part of the appeal of a person to me is their ability to keep their word - even in the little things...especially in the little things.

I trust you when you tell me you will do something...so when you don't, I lose a bit of that.

And there is no excuse for treating a person this way - especially someone who is your friend.

I know that there are people recently out of my life who to this day speak lies about me, putting darkness into my motives... Here's what they don't want you to know: there isn't any. No darkness at all. I don't go around playing games and pulling puppet strings. If I feel a thing I either say it or let it show on my face, usually both. There is no hidden agenda here.

Things done in the dark are always brought into the light anyway so what's the point.

The danger to walking around as I am is that it makes me a target. Not a victim - just a target. And it makes my life rougher than it should be.

And then there are the other things...

Like that, at certain times, listening to certain songs, you might see tears rolling down my face...

Like the fact that I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night very aware that I'm by myself in my bed...

Like the singing my heart out I do in the shower, wishing I had the courage to be heard in real life.

Like the fact that my heart is so fragile it could break at any moment, so, every day, I put a layer of steel around it...and everyday that layer melts through so that, at moments like these, I am open and vulnerable and more than sad.

Like knowing that, no matter what harm you do to it, somehow I will find a way to blame myself.

I may not leave my bed today. I have sleep to catch up on, dreams to hide in. I have to remind myself that tomorrow is coming, and that I can either meet it or be beaten to a pulp by it - but it will come nonetheless...

All weekend I wished it would rain.

And now, inside this room of mine, it is.

-Asha

(song by Madonna)

Sweet Caroline

Do you feel caged?

Like you are standing on the precipice of something

hugely terrifying...

and that I am going to push you off?

Do you feel scared?

When you think of the hours, days, weeks

of nothing but each other

worried that it will mean too much...

Do you understand who I am?

Compass, not anchor.

No games, no bullshit.

Wouldn't know where to begin,

but I know what I want.

It would just be nice to

hold you for a while

smile into your eyes

laugh together

sleep together

love together...for a little while.

I'm selfish in this - because I miss the strength

I get from looking at you

looking at me.

The comfort that comes from...

time spent wrestling on round red pillows.

And the smiles that come after.

Did you think I forgot?

Late nights discussing and arguing over

what makes a man a "super man"?

Or makes a woman beautiful?

Or how much wine can you really consume before you completely

forget how great a night was?

There is more than one reason I love the rain.

And plenty more that help me appreciate

the sunshine.

I don't bite...unless you're into that ;).

-See you soon.

Asha

Mariposa

Lately I've been questioning a lot of things...specifically where my fire went.

Passion seems hard to come by when you are faced with the reality of homelessness, hunger, becoming a dual-degreed professional who works at McDonalds...

I have my pride still. Barely, but it's there - lingering on as desperately as it can.

I'm not sure that my situation has caused my change...but I am feeling more or less forgotten.

It's this feeling that keeps me in bed way beyond normal, setting small tasks for myself and unable to finish any of them. I find myself embarrassed by the state of my life, the state of myself.

I looked in the mirror yesterday and could find nothing to love in it.

This lack of self-love is probably transferring over into a feeling of unlovableness... Not only am I having trouble loving it, but I cannot imagine anyone else loving it. So there is more than a lonely feeling.

I went to the first school I ever taught at, not sure what I was looking for, maybe a spark of my former self to incite warmer feelings...instead I found what felt like a snapshot of people who have not grown much, moved much, changed much...and they wanted me back, and it felt comfortable enough to try...

But what is comfortable is not always what is best.

Case in point, when speaking to my former husband the other day, I kept waiting for any shadow of former feelings to appear...but they didn't, not at all. The love has changed, waned, become smaller somehow so that my heart doesn't even register it anymore. Yes I still get a twinge knowing that, someday soon, he will remarry, have kids, live a life that I am no longer a part of...but its just a twinge now, not the full-blown Chuck Norris kick to the face it used to be.

Thing is, sometimes this emptiness feels like waiting... Like I am made of flammable material and I'm waiting for my match. All I want is to be set ablaze, lighting up the night sky, undeniable in my presence.

Waiting is hard.

Especially when I feel like I am waiting for myself, for whatever next incarnation of me that is on the way...

Writing this I had a thought...not fully realized but it's there in my head anyway.

I have been meeting and reconnecting with people I either loved or love immediately. There is no waiting period... And I feel like, in doing so, I am assembling an army of sorts, to help me through what may be the biggest period of evolution my life will see. Getting down to the very basic, bare bones of myself may be leading to that potential I see...I dream about it, about having everything I want and everything I didn't know I wanted...

For years I thought I just wanted to belong, to have a family, love in my life, a passion that fulfills...maybe I want that on a grander scale.

It's strange to have people use such compliments for me. I find it both humbling and satisfying. And its amazing that, when I have a life idea for myself, the people around me say "sounds perfect - could totally see you doing that :) "...

I find myself unafraid of doing the odd thing...of putting myself out there to try the new.

I am a little afraid of what the end result of this change will be. Will it be too big? Will it be quiet but important? Will it look like what the release of all this stored up love looks like?

Will I be me at the end of it all?

I wonder.

-Asha