To my crowning glory, you were my greatest enemy.
If I were ever to find myself in a pageant being asked the question, “What would you change about yourself?” I wouldn’t hesitate and answer “my hair.” You, a thick mane of untamed locks, were my biggest insecurity. When I ride the jeepney, I often look at the people sitting across from me. The wind would blow past their gorgeous, shiny, uncoiled hair, and I would wish I had the same crown as they did.
My crowning glory, I hated you to my very core—but it wasn’t your fault.
You see, I grew up being fed with a terrible lie. They told me that curly hair isn’t pretty, it isn’t endearing, and, worst of all, it is supposed to be straight. At such a young age, I was taught to see my curly hair as a problem that needed to be fixed with heating irons and chemicals—so I did exactly that. I visited salons every year and hairstylists would work on you for hours on end, painting you with strong-smelling chemicals just to get you to straighten up.
The stylists and I shared the same frustration over you. I would listen to their complaints and I would laugh in agreement. The one comment I would never forget was, “Sinumpa ang buhok mo ate, ‘no? (The heavens cursed your hair.) And for a long time, I believed it was true—that I will be forever haunted by the curls sitting on my head.
After leaving the salon, I would parade my freshly rebonded hair to school for all my classmates to see. I felt like I was a part of the crowd and that I was deserving of the praise “beautiful.” I would enjoy the compliments and the wondrous feeling of self-confidence. But after five months, you would start inching your way back and ruin the moment. This good feeling only lasted for a few months, and then I’d return to hiding you in a tight ponytail until my next rebond the following year.
This was our relationship. I hated you, and you were dry, frizzy, and godawful. I would take you to the salon for a few months of confidence, and then, you’d return to your normal state. For a while, I was fine with knowing that I only needed to make an appointment to have you fixed. But eventually I grew tired of this habit, and hating you took too much energy from me.
I realized I couldn’t spend every year for the rest of my life going in and out of the salon just to feel beautiful for a quarter of a year.
One night, one of my friends shared a YouTube video of another girl with curly locks who decided to let go of heating irons and hair treatments. Because of that video, my friend told our group that she, too, would finally embrace her curls. And then, as if inspiration jumped from one person to another and yet another, bravery surged through me and I decided to ultimately quit the rebonding game. This was a terrifying decision, because it would take a lot of effort and patience. But I was decided. It was time for me to stop believing that you were a hopeless cause.
My last trip to the salon was in 2019. I spent a year waiting for the curls to grow so that I could chop off the rebonded hair. During that time, I endured an awkward phase of frizzy, dry hair that I tied into a ponytail. At the same time, I was doing my research on how to properly care for curly hair. That was when I discovered the curly girl method: a long and bizarre process on how to wash and style one’s curls. At first, I was overwhelmed by the complexity of it. It required a completely different set of hair care than what I was currently using, and other extra things for after-shower care.
It was fastidious and a bit expensive. But I was already too far down the process to quit. Early this year, after memorizing the method by heart, I finally got down to business.
Five months after starting on the curly girl method, I can now boldly go out with my hair down, wild and free. No more hiding behind a ponytail. My trips to the salon have been replaced with a 45-minute routine in the shower. And I feel beautiful every day.
Ever since I started practicing this method, I’ve discovered a profound kind of self-love, one that is rooted in authenticity. I feel like there is nothing about me that I need to physically alter in order to feel good about myself. With this in mind, I am even more motivated to put in the time and effort to give myself what I need. My confidence is finally in my control, and it is no longer time-bound or dependent on chemicals.
So, to my crowning glory, the curly girl method is my sincere apology and love letter to make up for all the time I had wasted wrongly hating you.
My dear curly hair, I’m sorry it took me so long to realize, but I am proud to have you as my crown.
—————-
Ingrid Angelica Custodio, 23, is a communications graduate of Holy Angel University Pampanga. She is a writer and editor.