Long wild hair, when flowing freely, hangs past my hips; but when the mass is braided, it is locked, one thick row laying over another, twisted and turned to make a bond that rests upon my body. Sometimes it's intensely curled like my Hawaiian ancestors', and sometimes it's straight like the Japanese. Few times it has been slicked with melting snow. And sometimes it's matted with salt water drying in the blazing sun. But no matter what, it is always black as night.
The only person who has ever and will ever cut my hair was and will always be my mother--and by "cut," I mean trim, and by "trim," I mean snip a section of completely drenched and straight-as-possible hair no more than 2 inches every once in a blue moon. In proportion to my body and for as long as I can remember, my hair has never been above the small of my back. It is cultural; it is for Tahitian and dance; it is for myself and my identity; it is for my family and my ancestors; it is a part of me. And maybe I like the long and mysteriously black-as-night connotation. Maybe, it's all of the above.
[black maxi Macy's ThisIsIt $5, black sunhat MStyleLab $20, gold cross earrings F21 $5, rings F21, black wedges Marshall's $50, fur bag** Aldo $50]
**I returned the bag a week after I purchased it. Both knobs on the front of the bag fell off, the long shoulder straps starting ripping off the sides and holes widened in their places, and fur fell out faster than I'd ever want to see happen to my own--all within 7 days. The store cashier claimed it was a manufacturing error and gave my money back in full. I was about to have a BF if they didn't. Aldo should stick with shoes.
