My Hair Dyed For Summer Break-Personal Narrative

My Significant Other; Joshua Schmitz Where It All Began It all started at band camp in 2013. Both Josh and I showed up to the camp a day early, not knowing it didn't start until the following day. Right away, I thought

I admire the author of this reflection, because many of the statements relate with my past experiences. I am also a dark-skin African American female. While growing up I was lead to believe that lighter complexion was more attractive as well as straight hair. I remember the dreadful Sundays spent in our kitchen getting my hair pressed by my mother. I used to love the look of freshly straighten hair. I remember hating the process of getting my hair straight and wished my hair was more like my white classmates. Once I was old enough my mother permed my hair and I recall liking the fact that the chemical made my hair much more manageable. It was at an early age that I learned about textures and thought certain hair was considered good hair

If you told me 5 years ago that I would be taking the plunge to go to Paul Mitchell: The School, I would probably give you a puzzled look and continue slicing the raw meat on the table in front of me. I’ve held many professions--from butcher to tech support, and I never really expected things to take a turn in this direction. What started out as touching up roots and using the hashtag “#hairbyben” on instagram as a joke turned into something more profound and I made the discovery that changed my life. I realized that hair was something I could see myself doing, the only problem was I couldn’t see where I would gain the knowledge to be successful. Luckily, I stumbled upon Paul Mitchell: The School in Fort Myers.

They’re no words to describe my daily struggles. Except for one thing that gets me everyday, I attempt but never succeed. I’ll be ready to go and I look in the mirror and say why me? Each day the opportunity has come constantly for me to buckle down and just get it over with. Who knew fixing your hair could be such a hassle?

It was lust at first sight. His face, his laugh, his body. Everything about him drew me in, matching a moth to a flame. I wanted to touch him. I wanted him to touch who I am inside, but he can’t.

Hair My hair is as plain and boring as school, it is almost always the same, morning, noon, and night. The only time my hair is different is when I run my hand through it. When I run my hand through my hair, it looks as though hundreds of spikes are dancing around, My hair is what you would call “dirty blond” but sometimes it just looks plain brown. When I walk in storms or very fast winds my hair is a train wreck, it's all up and down and sometimes even sideways. In addition, my hair is as straight as a flag pole, but sometimes when my hair gets long it becomes a mess of worms wiggling around the dirt. After I take a nice long shower, my hair starts to wiggle around into place. My hair is currently long enough to become all wiggly. If I were

I'm 10 years old and I have long curly brown hair. I have a love/ hate relationship with my hair. I love having it but at the same time it is just too much work to make sure it looks nice and I'm tired of hurting my head every time my mom tries to comb the knots out. After a couple days I finally decided to ask my mom about cutting my hair. She was very surprised and questioned what I was saying, " Since when did you want to cut your hair? I thought that you loved having it long?? Even I was alittle surprised by the question I was asking because I did love having it long but then again I’ve never had it short so I had nothing to compare it too. I then answered saying, " I do, but maybe it’s time for a change. Change is always good right?” Not completely sure what I was getting myself into I decided that I’m going to actually do it although that I love my hair. Later that night my mom and I were watching tv and a commercial for St. Jude Hospital & the Locks of Love Foundation appeared on the screen. Then I got such a great idea and It was

Was it a normal, ordinary day. Also, it’s my first day at high school and new friends I met. Around I walked, saw a teacher, asked how his day was. Never responded. Maybe I should make sure he could see me, but at least I knew his name, it was Randy. By me, many teachers walked, but they also never responded. It also seemed like Randy had a gas tank with him.

Being natural comes with a ton of pros and cons, but being natural is great. Most people can not manage being natural because they are use to a having a perm in their hair. Once people go natural they will see a change in how fast they will be able to get dressed and how much money they will save from buying perms and booking beauticians. The compliments of being natural are amazing and that is why I love my natural hair journey.

While sitting in my mom’s new apartment one night, I debated what my next “hair project” would be like. I picked up my dyes and brush, and mixed away. The aroma of hair dye mixed with conditioner filled the room from ceiling to floor, wall to wall. From a few feet away, I heard my mom ask, “Are you sure this is what you want to do?” and I replied, “Of course, this is who I am”.

Vibrant colours, outrageous costumes, masks, dresses, stilts, lights consuming my vision making it impossible to concentrate. The early evening air seems to cool my throat as I take deep breaths trying to stay calm. Pushed around by the seemingly never ending crowd, it seems almost impossible to get to my destination. You see I have arranged to meet someone very special right by the hot dog stand and I am determined to get there no matter how hard I have to fight sea of festival goers to do so.

She called out numbers. We got in groups. He was in my group. I studied him and liked what I saw, but even then I didn't feel the attraction. Strange.

It all commenced my fifth grade year, not even on the morning bus five minutes. I was the first stop with about an hour-long bus ride. The next stop was a high-school boy who apparently I was neighbors with but never knew well. Two stops later, we were picking up one of his buddies with them laughing and joking around at the very back of the bus. It’s an unspoken rule that all the younger kids sit towards the front and high school students get the back. Me, being the smart fifth-grader I was, decided it was a good idea to sit in the back. At first it wasn’t bad, them talking while I was listening to music, but then it changed when they realized I was a fifth-grader. They treated me like a hindrance, which I did not appreciate. I don’t like giving up so I pretended not to hear what they said and continued to sit there. The afternoon bus was the same story all over again, except with more mean high schoolers. It was inconceivable to me as to why the younger kids had to sit in the front while the older

It was a fall morning in English. We had just been assigned new seats in class. My seat happened to be two seats away from theirs, and it had began. It started with the little things, repeating what i would say, asking for page numbers from across the room again and again, bumping into me on the way in and out. They would make remarks about things I wore, sarcastic remarks. Both of course were part of the popular kids so naturally everyone was beneath them. Class was about 20 minutes in and Josh had started asking me

I met Isaac in vocal class when I was in the seventh grade. We were both with other people at the time. I always thought he was pretty darn handsome and when I was around him I'd get butterflies. We talked every day in class and sat by each other when we could. When summer came around, we lost touch. I knew he liked me and I liked him, but we never told each other.