Ouch

31 December 2008

I never realized that getting my hair braided would hurt as much as getting a tattoo. No, seriously – try sitting on a tiny stool so low to the ground that your knees are level with your chest, exposing your butt bones to the wooden slab without cushion of either muscle or fabric, for four hours. Then add in three women pulling mercilessly on tiny pieces of hair all over your head – approximately 250 pieces of hair to be precise – for four hours. As some frosting and cherries, keep in mind that you can’t even distract yourself with conversation because none of these women speak either your first or second language. And don’t forget the aftereffects – 3 or 4 sleepless nights due to being unable to find a comfortable position for a headrest as every surface elicits tiny shoots of pain with any pressure. (And DO forget about trying to work on your yoga headstands – highly unrecommended.)
Torture.
I think I’ll do it again at the end of this month. Why? Because it looks pretty.
I enjoy playing around with my hair. Ever since college I’ve changed my haircut, style or color at least every 2 months. In this much more conservative environment, I’ve decided to forego the color and search for someone who knows how to cut “yovo” hair is still ongoing. So it it can’t be cut or color – it’ll be style. I assume that eventually I will get used to having a prickly scalp and I’ve already felt the benefits of having my scalp open to the breezes – oh how much cooler it is! So it’s a give and take. I will continue experimenting with different styles to figure out what suits me best for both practicality and relative painlessness.

Current reading: Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides