My Hair and I Essay -- Personal Narrative Writing

My Hair and I At some point in a woman's life, she is, if like most women, unhappy with her hair. A woman with straight hair wishes for curly ringlets. A woman with curly hair wants stick-straight locks. Thick and coarse desires to be fine and thinner. Fine and thin begs for thick hair. I was one of those women. My hair has an energy, personality, and life of her own. I refer to my hair as "she" because, although by technical definition my hair is not a separate living being, and although I have no proof of her life to show others, I know that she not only grows and reproduces (two characteristics by which many measure life), but she responds to stimuli, shows emotions, and can reason. For much of my life, my hair and I were diametrically opposed in appearance, personality, and temperament. On my head is a thick mane of jet-black coarse curly hair. Each hair is muscular, with enough heft and hutzpah to hold a 5-pound dumbbell. I, in contrast, am a very petite girl with the arm strength of a gnat. My hair is wild. I am demure. My hair is boisterous, I, except occasionally, am composed. My hair is an extrovert, gaining energy from those around her. I am an introvert, preferring to curl up with a good book. For many years, I coveted anyone's hair that was anything that my hair wasn't. Despite our differences, we have come to a mutual understanding. And, now, I can say, with some confidence, that my hair and I are friends, not just forced to be together because of genetics. But I can admit this only after years of hard lessons and experience. I can't remember the day my hair and I parted ways. We used to get along when we were young! Displayed in the ponytail fountain on top of my head, she was quite cooperative.... ...at night, I loved my hair, every single strand of it. I loved her ability to be straight or curly, sleek and sexy or fun and bouncy. I found myself brushing my hands through my hair, and she cherished the affection. I bought every hair product Pamela used in my hair, hopeful I could shape my hair myself. And, although it took a few weeks to learn Pamela's styling techniques, my hair and I quickly found a rhythm. We realized we didn't have to be enemies. We experimented with dozens of different hairstyles, lengths, products, and appliances, and my hair was amused by all of them. As much as possible, I tried to enjoy her assets, and she tried to respect my needs. Of course, occasionally, my hair would turn her mood at an inopportune time, but I was no longer caught by surprise when this happened. My hair and I have happily co-existed like this for many years.