I carefully instructed the hairstylist to iron my hair inward, so it wouldn't look too straight. In fairness to him, he gave his best. And in fairness to my hair, it gave its best too. To defy it. Two days and two washing later, it became so stiffly linear it looks like a wig. Stubborn. Like me.
The rebond is not the highlight of the night. I had been pondering for an infinity if I should cut fringe. I used to have bangs when I was six years old, back in the golden days when I still had silky, shiny, inwardly straight hair. It was during the days of milk and honey when my hair had not yet realized it's meant to be curly, like my mom's and dad's. And I remembered it looked cute on me.
So, after some surveys and reckoning, I did it.
I feel like the story The Emperor's New Clothes. Almost everyone is telling me it looks nice on me, and I'm wearing it grandly. What perturbs me is that I may not have clothes at all and never realizing it. However, there will always be two sides in every story. Two faces in every coin. What's done is done, not that I am regretful, but I welcome change. This is the first time I have fringe after a very long time - one of the many firsts I've done this year. I am choosing to look at the brighter side of it.
Anyway, one of my colleagues said in two weeks' time the rebond will soften, and as the hairstylist said it, it's going to look natural. I believe them. I believe them with every beat of my heart and every strand of my hair. Patience is a virtue. And it is also applicable to stubbornly straight rebonded hair, yes.
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