Writing yesterday’s post made me think of an old piece I wrote way back in 2010. I wrote it in the middle of the night as an opening to my novel but ended up not using it. It kind of has the feel of a blog post and, in it, I express very different feelings than in the last post. So I decided to share it today. Here it goes:
I am not a racist or a sexist, but there is one thing I don’t want to hear anybody’s opinion on but from a black woman like myself. That’s my hair. Zero tolerance. Nobody understands unless they’re in the same predicament and to try to explain it almost trivializes it. So I will not explain, I am just going to say that having kinky hair in Copenhagen makes things even more challenging than they already are. And let me make it clear – it’s not a matter of love or hate. It’s more a question of uniqueness. And uniqueness, we all know, may be beautiful but it never made anybody’s life easy.
It’s irritating when white people say “oh, new hair!”. No! I’ve had these braids for 3months!!! “oh, did you do something to it?” No, I just pulled it up in a pony tail, which I do, like, every other day! “oh, ok.” Next day I let my hair down, “oh, new hair!” and we have to have the same conversation all over again. Same happens when I wash my hair, on a sunny day after 3 days of rain or when I use a different color scrunchy to put it up. I cannot tell you how that conversation tries my nerves. I’d rather not engage in it at all but feel I have to out of politeness. And forget about “can I touch it?” Grrr.
Gee, I sounded pretty angry there! Interesting I used the word predicament too. I am glad I have found peace.