Blondes Have Thoughts Too

Sick and tired of needing straight hair to be beautiful, needing my fingers to run through it as if they are only a couple of strands. My mother has thin hair and she doesn't like it. She doesn't say it out loud, but I can tell, it's because its a sign of her growing old. But when you have it as a kid, no, when you need it as a kid, its just a way to be more like the models of mags.

My hair might be blond, but its dirty blonde, coarse, no shine, and thick beyond belief. It gets tangled by just sitting in the air and there is no way you can run your fingers through it. No way. Yet even my mother, the one who I get this hair from, says if I wash it with enough with conditioner, I should be able to run my fingers through, as she tries it herself and pulls on all my hair.

Its the pulling that reminds me I am not like anyone else. I was fine, I was learning to love myself and my hair, and my mom finds it a good idea to try the new hair straigtener on, not her, not my sister, who enjoys playing with hair, spending hours on it, the one who was given and gave the gift, no, not them, but on me. I had just washed it, meaning it was at its thickest and coarsest. But I had put it in a braid so it had some waves to it and looked pretty, even if it was thick. And they pushed, said it would be fun, my hair would look like Cher's, straight and perfect. Why does it have to be that the striaght hair is the hair that is perfect.

I am not high-maintenance, most of the time, and I do not want my hair or outfits to be like that either. The pull of my hair and the small comb on the straightener taking one strand at a time, it reminds me, I am not perfect, my hair is not like others, it will never be, and I can never take tips from them. I'm done. I'm just done with pretending to like those people with their perfect hair, telling others how to make their own hair perfect as well. Done with the perceptions of what is pretty. Done with models with ribs showing and then, on the otherhand, being scared to show your own ribs, being scared of bonelike arms, arms and bodies without sustenance. Being awe-struck by babies with blue eyes, their so blue. Well, what of the girls with so green, or gray, or hazel eyes? I'm finished with the entire idea of beauty through media because with most media, you will never see true beauty, never the truth never even close to it. You'll only see pictures, small movements totally directed, acting, lines, nothing of the truth. And I'm going into Communications. Seriously, how will I survive in that field? There is just no way.