This school year, my hair and I came to an agreement. 

As a kid I had wavy, coarse, short hair. My mom wouldn’t have to try very hard for my hair to look cute; I would wake up, brush my hair and leave for school. If both of us felt a little extra that day, she would add a hair clip that matched my outfit. 

As I grew older, the texture of my hair changed, growing curlier by the year. I spent a lot of my time trying to avoid my hair, putting it back in a ponytail, straightening it or braiding it, just to ignore dealing with it every morning. 

The thought of having to wash my hair at 6 a.m. made me dread getting up. I would have to wrap my hair in a towel long enough to give me volume, but not long enough to the point where it’s frizzy. I would have to put enough curl cream to have a defined curl pattern, but not too much to the point where it’s crunchy. It became a struggle to follow my routine, only to feel unhappy with how I look. And after all of this work only sometimes it would pay off. 

As I grew up, I did not see many people around me with my hair type. Of course, I saw people with luscious, thick curls that seemed effortless and unrealistically perfect. I would go home and try to recreate the same look, but when I did it, I would always end up with aching pain in my arms and my hair looking like an absolute mess. I had already felt like I did not fit into South Asian beauty standards, but my hair just made it worse. The normal beauty standards were women with voluminous thick, straight, luscious and shiny hair. When I realized that’s not what I had, I couldn’t help but feel like the odd one out. 

The more I grew up, the more I realized the importance of embracing my curly hair. I remember sitting alone at a big family party, slouching over my phone, wanting to go home as quickly as possible. My hair was not curling in the way I wanted to and was sticky from the amount of product I had put in. Through the corners of my eye, I noticed a girl staring at me. She walked over and told me that she loved how my hair looked and that she wished hers would look like mine. 

Even today, I often feel annoyed and angry with my hair. But now I realize that a lot more people, including my friends and classmates, feel a similar way about their hair. Even if I do not like my hair at times, I know that my curls will always be a part of me. 

 I realized that I cannot change the texture of my hair, regardless of how angry or annoyed I am, so I might as well learn how to appreciate it. 

Although it still hurts to wake up at 6 in the morning, my hair is a big part of me, with each curl having its own story to tell. Even though I still can’t figure it out yet, I know I enjoy trying. 

 Follow Greeshma (@GreeshmaM123) and @CHSCampusNews on X.