My Hair Journey, a.k.a #MyHairJourney.
I start off with this phrase because as these thoughts
were percolating in my head that’s the line that stood out. Why wouldn’t it? It
aptly describes what I was ruminating anyway thanks to recent conversations amongst
friends. Talking about hair and journeys sent me to take a good look at myself in
the mirror ( something I hardly do, and you know I don’t because you would at
some point in time jokingly say: Glen wha gwan fi you, while scanning my head
and face). I sighed just a little while looking at ‘The Bush’ and thought oh how far I’ve come or fallen depending
on how half full or empty the glass is (LOL – yes I just LOL’d, ‘llow me). My eyes
examined my face and head from the mass of fuzz from which my thick lox
erupted, to the flakes of immortal dry scalp that no amount of oil or shampoo
or Tea-tree could murder or render extinct to the hazardous scruff that
multiplies on my face calling itself beard. I said Fuck It and went about my business.
Fuck It. Two words I would never have said about my
precious lox 3-4 years ago. See my hair journey began a year or so before my
daughter, Eva, began Kindergarten (she’s in grade 4 now, do the math). During
those early years of Loxification (my
word) My lox was like my first child (parents you know what I mean, you
peeping and worrying every five minutes, the child kya sneeze or cough, they
kya fall or touch ground, breeze kya blow on them) that was me and my lox. I
was stressing, fussing, pampering and always ogling. What products should I use,
why it taking so long to grow, why it fuzzing so much, YouTubing, surfing,
Blogging, researching all kinda shit and all the while Lox-envying everybody
who had longer, fuller, more mannersable lox than mine. It was akin to warfare those
beginning years, battling negative comments, being self-conscious clinging with
faith to words of encouragement i.e: de lox will come man; it going to look mad
when it grow out. I used to be at my hairdresser every two weeks like clockwork
on a Saturday morning. Now a few years on and a foot and a half or more of
thick, fuzzy ropes I am now that parent whose first child is knocking on the
door of adolescence and the third child going on like he 2 going on 30. So I
say Fuck It, grab two lengths of lox, tie them in a knot behind my head and go
about my day.
The lox must come…. I know that now. It was advice that I
held on to, and advice I gave to friends who came along that journey as well. I
also found out that hair has its own personality and will do what it wants. I
chose to ‘llow it and embrace it. I oil it, twist it and leave it unless my
hairdresser bullies me into styling it, sigh, damn these hairdressers, I love
them though.
I won’t end without mentioning reactions….
…………..
There is no end to reactions concerning lox, granted I give
and I receive. I once saw a Martinique-ian woman with lox that were so thick and dark and beautiful I had to
comment, I wanted to touch it just reach out and caress it….I now understand
why there are persons who approach me with the same vibe…please ask and resist
touching (don’t know where your hand been lol).
I find lox beautiful, in all its forms, iterations, incarnations etc. I
can’t just let my lox grow though despite the fact I just let it hang until the
next hair appoint 4-6 weeks from the last, I’m not that brave. My favourite
reactions hands down would be the ones that are stereotypically reserved for
the Rootsman. There is no end of nods, Big-ups, ‘ail-ups, ‘yes breddren’, ‘yes
Rasta’…., there is also that faint look of admiration in the eyes of those who are
too scared to, can’t grow, aren’t allowed to, or used to. People get out of
your way, watch what they say…all sort of things and I’m amused each and every
time. It’s my secret vanity as well I’ll admit. Just today while I was walking
the streets bookmarking points in my head for this blog the way Shaka does in
Joanne Hillhouse’s Musical Youth, a Rastaman in full regalia flash me the ‘ail-up
and a nod: ‘respect’ and moves on…you know the hail: it’s when the right hand
is positioned over the heart resembling one half of a clasped hand for prayer…yea,
that. I guess the beard also adds to the overall look, who knows.
Phew…I needed to get that out, I know I have far to go
still on My Hair Journey but I just wanted to share this much.
Blessings Rasta
