My hair is a jungle, a jungle whose life flourishes through the intricate spirals that line my scalp. As a jungle, my hair is fierce when defending its territory. The longest battle it has had to overcome was against the weapon of heat that continued the legacy of anti-blackness with the connotations associated with straight hair. Luckily, my jungle of hair is as stubborn as it is thick. This meant that despite the strong fight blow dryers and hair straighteners put up, my curls refused to live in a state of submission. A single droplet of water was the saving grace my tresses needed to liberate themselves from the linear form that was forced upon them. However, constantly having to defend their right to exist wore my 3B pattern away into something that was partially straight, partially wavy, but nowhere near its actual self.
Through the years spent in transition, I learned that my jungle was not the intimidating force I had first thought it to be. It was not something that needed to be tamed, as many advertising agencies convincingly told me. All it asked for was a knowledgeable keeper that knew to use products without sulfates and parabens. It needed soft hands that could slather on generous amounts of conditioner and use combs that mirrored its coiled pattern. This journey also led me to recognize that naturally curly hair is beautiful, and I did not have to live up to a white standard to classify my hair as such.
After some meticulous care, my jungle of hair now roars. It is loud as it sways from left to right with my steps and it is very much an autonomous being that chooses to present itself in the way it wants to. My hair in its very big voluminous state is a source of strength because of its unyielding loyalty to its natural form.
I write this love letter because coming into my curly hair was a big part of settling into my Dominican-American identity, and I refuse to let that identity get swept away in the new terrain of a predominantly White institution. For all of my hair’s grandeur, it still carries the weight of countless negative connotations that contribute to the status of other. As I navigate the tough waters of this terrain, I look to my hair as the captain. It carries the rich history of who I am and it refuses to sail away.