MOM I LOVE MY HAIR.

First, I would like to thanks Mom to always tried to make me love myself, and can proudly say today that she have not fight in vain.

1.) Let’s have a flashback: A perfect childhood.

Adopted at 5 years old, the October 9th 2004, more than twenty years ago now.

Definitely the most important day in my whole existence, I remember this day clearly.

A beautiful day.

I never felt like a stranger in my family, even wanted to say that I always felt like a main character.

I love them to the moon and beyond and they gave me my love back.

Grown up in a little city, playing outside all day with my best friends, I had the happiest childhood ever.

I literally had no problems at this time.

My entire family is white, Mom try her best with me and she’ve done a great job.

Mom hairstyle me in a suspicious way but you know, I was cute and I didn't care about my hair. All I wanted was to play the most possible with my friends, biking, skateboarding, fighting in the mud with the boys, built cabana and all others kids stuffs.

One day Mom made me some braids for the first time, I had around 9 years old, not more.

I really liked it, my friends and my professor too. Felt cute with long hair for the first time.

You know I never understood that I was different, no one’s ever made me feel different in elementary school. Cause actually we’re all the same in different appearances.

After that, Mom was making me braids every-time, cause I liked it. She's not a braider, so it was not the best braids and we needed to do it  often.

2.) Racism.

When I enter mid-school, I known nothing about racism, I was far for knowing that some people could hate me because of my skin colour or the texture of my hair.

So, can you imagine the 10 years old me leaving gym class at 4pm this day, passing in front of this three guys, alone?

I was scared, because I was younger than them, and you know, in every country in the world it's the same I think, the older always bullying the younger.

Actually never cared if someone mocked me at school you know, that never really affected me.

But this day was different. They haven't just mocked me, they mocked me for the colour of my skin.

It was the first time, it's surely for that I remember this like it was yesterday.

They said something that I didn't understood at the moment, but I knew it was not really nice, they also made some monkey noises and laughs.

I felt really bad all the way  home, questioning myself, trying to understand what just happened, and trying to figure out the word they said just before acting like monkeys.

I never heard this word before, so naturally when I arrived at home I innocently ask.

"Mom, what is a Bamboula ?" (don't know if that means anything in english actually)

I let you imagine her face. Her mouth dropped and I've seen the fear and anger in her face.

I've always been a curious child, every time I wanted to know or understand something, I just asked.

Mom was upset sometimes, cause I asked so many things about everything and she could not focus on her books.

But I didn't know that this question will change my entire pink world.

I never heard about that before, or I was too young to remember.

But since this day I know exactly what it is, it was the first time but definitely not the last one.

After this day, I’ve seen it everywhere, in everything and in everybody.

Sometimes people said something racist but they don't realise it, you can just prevent them at least.

Some others said something racist and they know it. They want to be racist, they want to hurts and love doing that.

Never understood this strange state of mind. Maybe we’re just all built different.

I didn't  hold it against them, I know how awful teenagers can be.

And I never classify this teens as racists persons, maybe just stupids ones.

Fun fact, one of them try to flirt with me years later. I couldn't resist to tell and him if he remembered this day.

Of course he didn’t. But I remembered for him, he felt ashamed and apologized.

It was a huge win for me. I felt powerful.

*haven't flirted with him btw, way too cute for him.

3.) Now let’s talk about my hair.

( We're here for that after all)

I always show people my confident part, I’m not one of those who gonna expose all her insecurities to people. If we’re not close, you gonna find me sometimes, narcissistic, arrogant, cold or anything else.

But I’m not, I had so much insecurities as a teenager, even as a young adult.

You always had two choices in life, be or pretend to be, if that make sense.

I’m one of those who can be but who sometimes pretend to.

I never talked about my insecurities, even to my friends. For me, if I ignore them, they don't exist.

But it’s never that simple.

I don't know exactly when it started, but I remember that I one day woke up hating on myself, especially on my hair.

Some people were saying that black people doesn't have hair, or saying that they could never have hair like me, saying that my hair was kind of straw & bla bla bla.

I start being envious of my friends hair. All this shiny straight long hair around me, on TV, on Magazine.

That's why representation matters.

I had nobody to tell me to love my hair except Mom, but how could she understand ?

She is my Mom, she never been objective about me, she wanted me to cut my hair super short, saying that I’ll be beautiful like that. But I could never done such a thing at this time.

So all my life until late I was hiding them.

In mid-school when my braids were turning bad, I asked Mom to do it again.

Sometimes because people were mocking me. I asked Mom, even late on a Sunday night because I didn't want to go to school with my braids looking like hell?

Sure Mom was tired and didn't want to.

But I knew how to make her done it, crying.

It was my secret weapon, now when I think about it, I was awful.

Or just scared of the world I was living in?

I wear some wigs, or sew in too, but it such a maintenance you know and cost money.

I’m now 26 years old, and two years ago, I decided to cut my hair really short to make them grow in an healthy way.

I think it’s one of the  best decision I ever made. The 10 years old me will be so proud.

Few years ago, I will never go outside with my short hair.

Now you should see me carriyng them around, so proudly. And it's true that as soon as you start respecting them, you'll see that they will love you back.

It’s such a win against my insecurities and the prejudice I submit in my whole life.

I wish I'd understood that before, but you know, it is what it is.

I cherish  them a lot now, and I’m delighted to say that yes Mom, you win,  I love my hair.

I will put some of my hair routine later on another post, if it can help you to manage your hair in the healthiest way or just understand that you can love them.

In hounor of Chris, the most precious human being.

xoxo B