This is my letter to the Dominican men that know nothing about hair and perhaps colorism
As a kid I remember praying to wake up one day and be completely different
With out a curl to my hair and a name like Melissa
I wanted to be just like everyone else and tried so hard
I wanted to fit in and be accepted
So I would fawn over the Pantene commercials that showed women with long, silky straight hair that fanned out as they shook their head
I wanted to be a chica Mirta
Because if you ran your fingers through their hair there wouldn’t be a snag
I felt so free with my hair loose in a big pajón when my mom would let me
It was as if no one could catch me and I could finally be free
But then I would get excited for the Just For Me hair relaxer that would leave me tender headed with chemical burns all over my scalp
Because ‘el que quiere moño bonito tiene que aguantar jalones’ (she who wants nice hair has to endure the pain)
I didn’t like it when my mom braided my hair
I just wanted it to be straight and loose
So when the time came I made sure to be at the salon religiously every two weeks
I would let the women pull my hair and fry my scalp and brush it after so that I could be a real Chica Mirta (whatever that means)
I worked so hard to have best hair in high school but it didn’t happen and somehow I wasn’t disappointed
Once my mom added a track (extensions) to my forever shoulder length hair
I got so many compliments with it
I could let believe it
I was feeling myself
But then something happened
I went to the water park shortly after getting my hair relaxed
When my hair got wet someone asked ‘quién se desrizó?’ (who relaxed their hair?)
I wanted to die
See when you wash your hair after relaxing it
It smells like sulfur, an egg salad you don’t want to eat
So after that I wasn’t feeling like too much of a treat
That same year I was uptown with my friend
In desperate need of a touch up
My roots were kinky and the rest straight
I walked by a Dominican man that said ‘la que ta peiná’ (the one with her hair done)
How sweet of him to gently hurt my ego
That was the last time I straightened my hair
I went to Spain nervous that I wouldn’t be able to last the 5 weeks with my hair looking nice
It lasted for a bit
I found a fellow black girl to do my hair
It wasn’t the same
I held it back with colored scarves to cover my shame
Then my straight and wavy haired friends encouraged me to leave my hair as it was
And I did
They didn’t laugh
They didn’t say I should do this or that
They simply accepted me and liked me as I was
But I kept on straightening my hair
The ladies at the salon hated me because I put them to work
One told me that she had to take a ‘calmante’ (pain killer) after blow drying my hair—ouch
Sometimes I would be asked if I was a church girl because apparently if we have a love for G-d we no longer care for our hair
The comments at the salon weren’t usually encouraging
It was constantly about trying to change me
So I stopped going
And boy was it hard
Years later I’m still trying to navigate what’s best for my hair
I’m always looking for a better way to keep these curls hydrated
One day may be amazing and another may be screaming out for moisture
Deep instense moisture and love
I’m working on it
Sometimes I braid my hair because it is a protective style
My hair feels more cared for when I braid it
When I don’t braid it and let it air dry some might think that my hair hates me
Tightening up so much as not to let the finest comb in
But I think my hair is really protecting me so as not to let anything but love in
But Dominican men don’t see this or understand this
They don’t know the struggles on our head to make sure these locks feel right
They think it’s abandonment and carelessness of the self
When in reality it comes down to embracing the beauty of being black
With curls in my hair that I shouldn’t hide
Because when I try to
I just doesn’t come out right
So now I just let it be
But not everyone will see
Just how happy it makes me
-Bionica
