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I Braid My Hair

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As a little girl, my hair was always down. My grandmother would basically have to fight me, in order to braid my hair. I believed my hair deserved to be loose and free. Even after a bad haircut, that earned me the nickname of Dora among my fifth grade classmates, I still felt comfortable with my triangle shaped hair.
However, sixth grade was the year of teased hair, skinny jeans, Aeropostale and Converse. I began to pay more attention to my self image, more specifically to my hair. Most of the girls in my class had thin, glossy, pin straight hair. The type of hair someone could easily run their fingers through. As opposed to mine, where someone's fingers would be probably become stuck. I desperately begged my mom to buy me a straightening
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All of us girls were gathered in the restroom. As I was looking at myself in the mirror, I saw one of the girls from my class smirking behind me. She was tall, had a high pitched laugh, and for some reason had always intimidated me. She stood there, head tilted and arms crossed, really studying my hair.
“Oh. Yolanda you actually wore your hair hair down today?”
“Yup I did.”
“So what do you have though? Hair or a nest? Actually I would not be surprised if birds even lived up there.”
Never had I felt a more intense slap in the face as I did at that moment. She laughed, turned around, and left. I just stood there, my eyes stung, and my cheeks were burning. I wanted to hide. I did not want anyone else to see the “nest” that was my hair. Her comment really dug a home for itself in my mind since she pointed out an insecurity of mine, which only reinforced the negative feelings I had towards it. From that day on, my hair was always in a bun because I thought if people saw my natural hair, they would think the exact same thing, my classmate did.
One day out of sheer frustration I asked my mom, why I didn’t inherit her straight her.
“But, your hair is so pretty mija” said my mom.
“Mom! Obviously you’re going to say
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