Maybe someday...

This week I had to make a really hard decision. For the last two years, I've chronicled the saga of my relationship with Mystery Man. And throughout it all, despite all my worrying and conjecture, he's remained elusive. So I decided to cut communication with him altogether. I had been holding on for so long because I truly at one point believed that he and I were friends. But then I realized that our interaction was sporadic. We barely spoke, and when we did, it was via BBM or text or something, we never really hung out or spent time together. After I did a quick rundown of our "relationship", I realized that I might've been a bit delusional in thinking that a "relationship", or even really a "friendship" ever existed between us.

And I also started asking myself why I would continue to run TOWARD a person that spent our entire "relationship" running AWAY from me. I wanted him, he didn't want me... it was a waste of time for us both. I got tired, and I realized that it was time for me to move on. But, in order for me to truly move on, I needed to stop talking to him. I needed to foreclose any opportunity to have access to him. So, I de-friended him from Facebook and deleted him from my Blackberry messenger contacts. When I write that down, it doesn't even seem like that big of a deal. Who cares about Facebook? Why do people even use BBM? I mean, so what, right? But, by me closing off those lines of communication - our primary means of contacting one another - I have basically closed the door on that chapter of my life. Without those means, we won't be in touch. That "relationship" is likely over for good.

I was tearful as I clicked "Remove from Friends" on Facebook. I didn't want to let go, but then I realized that if I was ever going to stop wasting energy on someone who expended NO energy on me, and eventually end up with someone who saw my value and worth, then I was going to have to go cold turkey, and end this thing once and for all. So that's what I did. I think...

I feel sad about it, but I also feel like I spent the majority of those two years chasing him, and ultimately never caught up. I feel like life is unfair because if you love someone THAT MUCH, they should be forced to love you back. I feel like a failure... like maybe I didn't try hard enough. Or maybe I wasn't pretty enough, or funny enough, or smart enough (although, this last part is not likely 'cause I'm damn smart! ha!)...

And most of all, I worry that I'll never find anyone to treat me the way I want to be treated or love me the way that I want to be loved because, up to now, it seems like my entire romantic life has been one big disappointment.

I didn't want to delete him from my life, but honestly, I just can't take being continually rejected. I can't take being largely ignored.

I'm better than that, I'm worth more than that.

What I want is someone who will give me their all. Who will love me at my worst, and deserve me at my best. Someone who is loyal and consistent. Who understands that I might not be the smartest girl in the room, the prettiest, the sexiest, or even the most congenial (doubtful! hehe!), but still looks at me with a twinkle in his eye because - to him - I'm as good as it gets.

I am into posting songs lately, and every time I hear this particular song, it makes me smile because THIS is precisely the way I wish someone would feel about me. I'm gonna let Kenny sing to ya for a bit so you can see what I mean. Maybe someday... maybe. Someday.

Here's hoping, girlies!

Kenny Lattimore - For You (Official Music Video). Watch more top selected videos about: Kenny Lattimore

And to reinforce the words, check out the lyrics:

For you I give a lifetime of stability
Anything you want of me, nothing is impossible
For you, there are no words or ways to show my love
Or all the thoughts I'm thinking of
Cause this life is no good alone
Since we've become one,
I've made a change
Everything I do now, makes sense
All roads end, all I do is for you

For you I share the cup of love that overflows
And anyone who knows us knows
I would change all faults I have,
For you there is no low or high or in between
Of my heart that you haven't seen
Cause I share all I have and am
Nothing I've said's hard to understand
All I feel I feel deeper still, and always will
All this love is for you

Every note that I play, every word I might say
Every melody I feel
Are only for you and your appeal
Every page that I write, every day of my life
Would not be filled with without the things
That my love for you now brings
For you I make the promise of fidelity
Now and for eternity
No one could replace this vow

For you, I'd take take your hand heart And everything
And add to them a wedding ring
Cause this life is no good alone
Since we've become one you're all I've known
And if this feeling should leave, I'd die
And here's why, all I am is for you
Everything i do now makes sense
All roads end, all I do,
Is for you

It's not easy bein' me...

Lately, I've been having a really hard time just... being me. I guess all women have some insecurities about their outward appearance, but I think I have a harder time than others. I am short (and now... so is my hair!). I am ordinary. I am plump. I am plain. I am brown.

But, as the name of this blog suggests... I am also lovely. Inside and out.

I know it, but sometimes I forget. And on those days, this song helps me put it all into perspective.

So... sing it again, Kermit. I'll just sit here and reflect on the fact that being short, plump, plain, brown... ME... is exactly what/who I wanna be.

It's Not Easy Being Green by Kermit the Frog

LYRICS:

It's not that easy being green
Having to spend each day the color of the leaves
When I think it could be nicer being red, or yellow, or gold
Or something much more colorful like that

It's not easy being green
It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things
And people tend to pass you over
'Cause you're not standing out
Like flashy sparkles in the water
Or stars in the sky

But green's the color of spring
And green can be cool and friendly-like
And green can be big like a mountain
Or important like a river
Or tall like a tree

When green is all there is to be
It could make you wonder why
But why wonder why wonder
I am green, and it'll do fine
It's beautiful, and I think it's what I want to be

My HAIRstory

There was shouting, there was crying, there was fussing and fighting. My dad peered through the door and shouted out, “What are you doing to my baby?” To which my mother responded with a roll of her eyes.

I was about eight years old at the time, and this scene could’ve been snatched out of any given Saturday afternoon. Because Saturday afternoon in my house circa-my elementary school era, meant Hair Day. The day that my mother and I engaged in our weekly war against my hair, which included washing, conditioning, detangling, blow drying, and hot-combing. It was a vicious battle that usually ended with my irritated mom sweating buckets, and poor little me crying buckets of tears. My mom, she felt for me (she really did), and Lord knows my father – who cannot stand to hear me cry – used to find reasons to escape the house on a Saturday afternoon, so he didn’t have to take part in the nonsense.

My mom was of the old-school camp that believed that little black girls should have neat little braids and pigtails with bows and bells and whistles, and a hair shouldn’t be out of place. Unfortunately, my hair didn’t get that memo, and it took a nasty struggle to get it to cooperate. It took a few tries for my mom to get the hang of doing my hair, but in the end, she was able to come up with some really cute styles and I got compliments about how “neat” my hair was. That’s because my mother believed in the hot comb. And hairgrease. Lots and lots of hairgrease.

Now, you might wonder why my mother had to overcome a large learning curve before she became adept at doing my hair. Well, you see, that was because my mother was born (some would say blessed) with beautiful hair. When she wanted straight hair, just a few moments with a blowdryer and her hair would flow down her back, all bone straight and shiny without the assistance of chemicals. And if she didn’t feel like styling it, she’d splash it with a little water, and voila! Her jet black, silky tresses would roll into springy curls almost as soft and sweet as her disposition that would dance and sway around her head like a halo. Much like all the other women on her side of the family who were also born (blessed) with similar locks, she couldn’t walk down the street without hearing someone comment – positively – on her hair. The irony is that she could’ve cared less about it. It was not a point of pride for her. Mainly because my grandmother rejected her own soft, curly hair that at one point during her 20s and 30s, hung to her waist. She saw it as a reflection of the raping and pillaging that white men had done to black women, and didn’t feed into the believe that “straighter is better”, and passed that down to her children.

Well, needless to say, I wasn’t blessed with the same hair texture as the rest of the women in my family. I didn’t hold the winning ticket in the genetic hair lottery. Instead, my hair was coarse, kinky, and not quite curly or straight. A gift from my unmistakably black daddy, that brought my mama nothing but trouble. But despite the fact that my mom was forced to relive Mama vs. Kinks, she never gave any indication that she thought my hair was “bad”. In fact, when I was a kid, and would be emotionally and physically spent at the end of a long day of washing, drying, and straightening, and I’d look up at her with tears in my eyes and say “Mommy, why can’t I have hair like you?” She’d say, “Because you have your own hair, that’s unique to you and only you… and it’s beautiful! It’s tough and stubborn and lively and beautiful. Just like YOU!” I’d giggle and she’d hug me, and then pull me away to hold me out at arm’s length, and she’d say, “In fact… I wish that MY hair was like YOURS. You can do SO many things with it.” She’d pause to tap me on the tip of my nose. “You’re lucky!” she would say with a wink. And for a minute, I’d forget the battle that had just occurred, and I’d actually feel lucky.

I’m saying all this to say, the relationship that black women have with their hair is a complicated one. It may be almost as complicated as black women’s relationship with black men.

Almost.

So, on Saturday, when I sat down in my stylist’s chair and told her to cut all my hair off, well… that was a big damn deal! But, I’d had it. After two decades of relaxing my hair, I became completely natural. And I have never felt so light, so free, so HAPPY about a hairstyle. I’d forgotten my natural texture, and didn’t have a clue what it would look like when I did it, but I must say I’m thrilled with the end result.

By the time I sat down in the chair, I just wanted my hair off. It’s been so freakin hot and humid in New York this summer and dealing with two hair textures has been a challenge – to say the least. I had been setting my hair on perm rods and wearing my hair curly during my transition, but that was getting old. I’d been invited to attend a pretty high-profile and glamorous party, and I wanted a straight look, so I got the bright idea to flat-iron my hair. I stayed up late one night and washed and blow-dried and flat-ironed my hair, and when I was done… it looked great! Considering the fact that I hadn’t had a relaxer in over 8 months, I was definitely surprised by the results. But by the time I woke up in the morning, my hair looked a hot-damn mess. So I was late to work because I was in the bathroom running the flat-iron through my hair again. I fixed it, thank God… but what did that matter, because by the time I made it to my office, my hair was all over my head yet again. I ended up skipping the party, which was being held in Midtown on a rooftop, because I was so unhappy with my hair, and I’m glad I did because it ended up raining on the party. Not a good look for relaxed chicks. I spent the remainder of the week flat-ironing my hair two times per day. It was hot, stressful, and stupid! So by the time the week was over and I made it back to DC and into the chair of the woman who cut my hair short when I was 16, I told her to skip the style and get straight to the cutting. I did not flinch, I did not cry, I had NO remorse.

And my mama, with her beautiful curls (which are short now), was right there beside me cheering me on. When I was done, she clasped her hands together and looked a little teary-eyed when she cooed “It looks beautiful!” And I believed her… because I agreed!

Of course, there will be those that don’t like it. When I told my grandmother I’d cut my hair, she screamed. She doesn’t prefer one texture over another, but she’s 82 years old, so she’s not from the generation that embraces short hair on women. She said she’d do her best to get used to it, though.

And, then, there’s my doorman. He constantly flirted with me prior to the cut, but this morning in the elevator, he stopped me.

“You changed your hair,” he said.

“Yep,” I nodded in the affirmative.

“It’s an afro,” he said.

“Yep,” I repeated.

“It looks alright,” he said.

Um… thanks, Mr. Doorman. But I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s an idiot. And then, that was confirmed when 5 minutes later as I walked down into the subway, a man stopped me to tell me that I was stunning. Not cute, not adorable (these are the two annoying and completely unoriginal compliments I always get), but STUNNING (which I NEVER get). So, eff the doorman. I could get used to the subway guy’s comments.

Of course, this haircut will take some getting used to. And I’m surprised to find that my hair – underneath the remaining relaxed portion of my hair (she didn’t get it all with the first chop) – I have little ringlets all over. So interesting! I never thought my hair had a curl pattern… the things you learn when you let go of what’s “easy”. I am also surprised to find that I have some heat damage in the front and on the sides of my hair from too much straightening. Once heat damage takes over, you basically have to just let your hair grow out or cut it off because it will never be the same. So I will just continue to let it grow, and go from there.

Oh yeah, I think that’s important to mention. I have no intention of my hair being short for long. My plan is to grow it out into a fierce afro, so that I, too, have a halo of curls surrounding my head. Not curls like my mom’s, but curls of my own. I can’t wait!