I have curly hair. So, there! I said it!
I have black, shoulder-length, curly hair, which is frizzy. And by frizzy, I mean that it is a mass of hair that puffs up way above my head, adding a few inches to my extremely short self.
It looks like a bird’s nest, only if the bird made its nest out of black stuff, instead of brown twigs. At its current length (about shoulder-length) the edges frizz out and makes my head look like a triangle, or as Princess Mia (from the Princess Diaries) would say, like a triangle road warning sign.
Each single hair is not curly, in itself. It has more of a half-curled, half-wavy texture, which makes me wonder whether I should call my hair wavy or curly. But, when it groups up, it is a mound of curls.
It tangles in seconds and I can barely brush my hair without the brush getting caught in them. Also, bangs are an absolute no-no!

Since it tangles more when it is left open, my hair’s forever pulled back in a ponytail.

Many people, from the time I was back in the Middle East, used to exclaim things like, “Omg! How do you have such hair!” Or “Look how thick your hair is!” Point to be noted, it is NOT thick, the tangly, frizzy mess gives an illusion of thickness.

But, what bothered me was this. I was the only one I knew with hair like this. Apart from my mother, that is.
Every other person at school used to have this sleek, glowing straight/wavy hair and I was the only one with the tangled mess.
So, one fine day, in Year 11, during a routine haircut, I had a bright idea. I asked the salon guy to straighten it. Permanently. I thought it was going to be brilliant.
My mane would be less of a mane, and more of beautiful hair.

But, that was only till I got home. My mum was furious, because I had gone and ‘ruined’ my ‘beautiful’ hair. My poor dad, nearly had a heart attack, on seeing the sleeky straight haired stranger.
In fact, when I woke up the next day and had a good look at the mirror, I was shocked. I looked different, maybe even pretty.
My parents got over it, but my friends didn’t. They kept saying things like, now your hair looks limp! In fact, the bushy hair suited you.
Then, I was confused. I slowly started getting bored of the stick-straight hair. Especially when it grew longer and the roots turned curly and my bangs grew out curly.
I started missing my frizzy mass of hair.
On another impulse, I went and got it closely cropped. That felt like the best thing in the world.
Now, it has grown out again, to about shoulder-length.

In my college, filled with pretty airheads, I’m again the only one with curly hair.
I’ve endured comments about how much better I’d look if I just get it straightened or at least smoothen it, so that only sleek curls remain.
But, it doesn’t bother me anymore.
I know it is a pain. I know that I can’t get my hair to behave. It is not possible for me to try out all those pretty hairstyles not have bangs. Not those long bangs anyway.

But, I’ve learned to live with it.
No! That’s not right. I missed it when it wasn’t there.
I learned to love my hair.
I love its massiveness, where I believe that I could actually hide a book if I want to!
I love how it behaves like it has a mind of its own.
I love how it doesn’t care about what others think of it.
I love how strong it is.
I love my hair for what it is.

Have you had any hair-related experiences? Or have curly hair? I’d love to hear about it! Do share your stories in the comments box below!