One sunny day back in the third grade, my classmates and I were quietly doing our English exercises when my teacher called me over to her desk. I was the vice president of my class, and she gave me a couple of reminders.
Before she let me go back to my seat, however, she gave me a long look. I thought she wanted to add something, but then her hand slowly rose and she started to fiddle with my bangs. I stared back in confusion.
“Bukas, mag-lagay ka ng gel, ha,” she chided. “Magulo ang buhok mo.”
Stunned and absolutely mystified, I nodded and just padded back to my desk.
So began the saga of bad hair days that could be the opening scenes of shampoo commercials. Unfortunately, this was no commercial, but real life. In my grade five recollection, my male classmates sheepishly handed me palanca letters that said they were “sorry for making fun of your curly hair.” I never even knew they were making fun of my hair. In grade six, my school paper adviser was tediously trying to trace my school picture with Photoshop (with the Magnetic Lasso Tool, if I’m not mistaken), and when he got to my bangs, he snapped, “Monique, haven’t you ever heard of a brush?”
Years later, even after I had tried having my hair relaxed, the saga continued. It was another sunny day, this time I was a sophomore year in high school. I had gotten used to wearing my hair down after having it relaxed when my friend Pats asked me, “Aren’t you going to tie your hair?” I shrugged and said, “No, why?”
“Magulo e,” he stated, so matter-of-factly, without any trace of insult or malice. I immediately reached in my bag for the emergency hair tie I kept.
For as long as I can remember, my hair has been pulled back into a high ponytail (and even a high-side ponytail à la exotic dancer, which my darling fourth grade classmates refuse to let me live down). I knew I didn’t have hair like those girls in the shampoo commercials, the ones with long, silky and straight hair. No matter what brand or variant, there was always some smiling, mestiza girl running her hands through her jet-black, frizz-free, ramrod-straight hair. I have tried to untangle and brush my hair as straight as possible, but to everyone’s dismay, my thick hair just springs back in waves. Every time I visit a salon, the hairstylists just bury their fingers in my hair and shriek, “Ang kapal ng buhok mo! Pa-rebond natin!”
So I did, convinced that this was the only way to beautiful hair. I sat in the stylists’ chairs for hours, feeling the sting of chemicals on my scalp and gritting my teeth as they tugged on my hair with the brush, until my hair fell in a sleek, straight curtain over my head. I discovered the blissful convenience of straight hair. You wash it, you wear it. C’est tout. Amazing! I loved it.
It was also exhausting. You have a set of rules to follow if you want to keep it straight. No washing for the first three days. No ponytails, half-ponies, or any hairstyles that might leave a mark in the hair. No pushing your hair behind your ears. You had to let it air dry completely before going to sleep. You should put conditioner at the ends to keep it from drying up, or better yet, get a hot oil treatment regularly. It was so straight sometimes that it was just…there. Suddenly, there was no difference between my everyday hair and my blow-dried-for-special-occasions hair.
After struggling with the do’s and don’ts of rebonded hair, hearing horror stories of totally fried hair post-rebonding, and watching my friends Kich and Kris happily bouncing with their curls, I finally had what was left of my rebonded hair chopped off. It was, literally and figuratively, a load off, and my curls sprang back to life. Granted, they need more effort than my wash-and-wear rebonded hair, but this feels a lot more fun and a lot more me.
You may object that straight hair looks better, but somehow it will never be mine. I’m not saying that I’ll never blow dry my hair straight again; I do recognize that it still looks simply classic and timeless. I have just realized that hair doesn’t have to be straight to be beautiful. Sometimes we might be deceived by what we see in the media, but really, there is no single standard for great hair, or beauty, for that matter. (Maybe that’s why the phrase is “good looks,” not “good look.”)
Of course, I’m not saying you should stubbornly stick to whatever you have. It’s a matter of knowing what you have and using it well to suit who you are. In his book Design Your Self, industrial designer Karim Rashid encourages: “If you have curly hair, make it even more wildly curly, and if your hair is ramrod straight, let it fall. Exaggerate your assets,” he says, emphasizing the last sentence. He points out that we often focus on what we don’t have and obsess over that. “Don’t hide the elements in your personal design that could turn out to be your greatest assets. If you have ears that stick out, show them off. If you have a large nose, be proud of it. Those are the features that make you an individual. Those are the elements that make you YOU.”
True enough, my curly hair does fit my bubbly, bouncy and sometimes a little unruly self, and I love it. I don’t know a lot of people whose hair can say the same.