24yo Maori Aboriginal witch that's just trynna enjoy life @aspiringkuia (active acc) a place for my thoughts, inspiration and art My History (True Stories)
This Series is not in chronological order, this is my outlet of my History and it doesn't necessarily come back to me chronologically. I point this out because I know the feels <3
Warning: The following includes themes and discussion of tra*ma.
I am a Maori/Aboriginal Woman. It's important to me because it's been made brutally clear that that is what I am to most people. And that's okay, I'm proud of my cultures. But it has impacted me deeply, to an A N C E S T R A L level. And if we don't mind, I'd like to share a huge part of my life experience >
My Hair.
When I was 7 years old, I had long, straight, shiny and smooth hair. It reached my lower back! Mum had always braided my hair into complex styles, training it to grow even longer.
One time, the braids were so tight it gave me a headache all morning. My friend's Mum was in to talk to her daughter and greeted me, complimenting me on my braids.
She'd noticed that I was wincing asking, "What's wrong, love?"
I told her, "My braids are digging into my head, it hurts."
She offered to help me, I said 'yes' and she carefully loosened the braids at the top of my head, evening out the sides. She was a very kind lady <3
Immediately I was relieved and I swear I felt the colour fill my face again.
When I got home that day, my Mum almost screeched, "Why is your hair all over the place?"
I was 7 years old, running around all day.
She was so angry and I couldn't understand why. When she'd learned about the kind lady loosening my braids, Mum retorted about messing up her handiwork.
Who's hair did this become?
When I was 8 years old, I was invited to my cousin's house to sleep-over one time. I was so excited because they had a pool with poles in them that was bigger than our blow-up pool at home.
At the time, my cousins had head lice, fully infested. And all it takes is one kid to get head lice, and they had a pool. It doesn't take long for head-lice to just lay eggs and take over.
Unfortunately, I speak from experience.
Presently though, looking back as much as I begged on that fateful day, my parents were only saying, "Go on, catch knits then!"
I mean, I was 8, I would've gotten over it and there was always opportunity to hang at the cousin's. Yes, I was persistent, but I was 8 years old. If you're letting 8 year olds take control of a situation, when do you take control of a situation?
So yeah, I got knits and I had them for two more years after that day. Classmates wouldn't really stand near me or sit near me. It was the first time I freaked out if someone reached out to touch my hair.
I was paranoid for a big chunk of my childhood. I wouldn't wear my hair up if I could avoid it.
I was always scratching my head, only at home. It was a nightmare.
And petrol-smelling-treatment after more chemically-smelling-treatment, they wouldn't budge.
The rest of my siblings got head lice, but I was the one with the thickest hair, the longest hair.
It didn't take long for my parents to make a fatal decision:
They shaved my head.
I was ten years-old and when I was in Grade 5, I was wearing a bandana to cover my head. I had some hair, but I just felt so low, so shameful. I wasn't even forced to wear the bandana. If I could describe that feeling, it would be dread.
Sure, I shouldn't have set foot in that pool. But what's a kid to know about those things? I just wanted to swim and play with my cousins. I grew resentment towards them, not really knowing where to direct the anger I felt.
When the real villains were my parents. There comes a time where you have to look at the past realistically, without your pre-conceived notions or beliefs. Growing up in my experience as of late, has a lot to do with neglect in my upbringing. It's hair of all things that just so happens to be the common thread for me, and looking at my hair now, is a clear indicator of "a-lot-of-shit-went-down."
And I did not have a pleasant or stable upbringing at all. And I do credit my parents' reactions to be unconscious and an unfortunate result of the traumas they come from.
But still, every one's responsible for their actions.
My mother would gel my hair back with way too much gel. It got so bad that the skin behind my ears would shed.
When I went back to bandanas, I remember a school assembly (this was 2008) where the Principal opened a panel with the school about Dress Code.
Different students stood up to talk about what bothered them about the dress code. About tucking shirts, buttoning up buttons and wouldn't you guess it:
Head Covers.
This one kid said into a microphone, "I don't like it when people cover their hair. Not everyone wears it, so why go against the code?"
And I just felt wrong in so many ways.
I share this today to really shed light on the town I live in, the town I'm stuck in. And it hasn't changed much in 14 years.
From one traumatic experience to another, it's very strange how these ripple effects happen. But it's real and to this day I cringe whenever someone touches my hair. It is not long, straight, smooth or shiny anymore. It is short, thick, curly, frizzy and wide.
But that's just my natural hair, right?
The way I see it, touching hair is already an intimate act, is it not? My hair is a part of me, my hair is my crown. Why not protect it?
Why not look deeper to how these actions ripple out and the deeper affects they may have?
I had dyed my hair too, and further chemically bleached it a couple of times, that's fair to mention. But if I hadn't of had such a detaching experience with hair, wouldn't I, in turn of knowing its sacred connection to me, wouldn't I have known its worth?
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