Memories shared, between the mother and the daughter, translated…
When I was a child, I’d love getting my hair braided, loved how my mother would, brush my shoulder-length strands of hair, and expected the new hairdo she would be giving me every single day. My mother was especially excellent in the braids, and managed to create an assortment of styles on my head; and, I’d enjoyed looking at my own reflection that changes from day to day, and, looked forward to heading to school, and getting the oohs and ahhs from my friends, classmates, and teacher.
Later on, mom got sick, slowly, she’d gotten worse and worse, I couldn’t bother her with something as miniscule as braiding my hair anymore. Gladly, there was this Filipino household help, other than taking care of mom, she’d also taken care of braiding my hair. She’s very good with the braids, but, she’s not as gentle as mom, would always pull my hair ‘til I hurt. With my entering into elementary school, slowly, I’d formed my own opinions, and would ask her to braid my hair this way or that, and I’d rather, enjoyed it too.
Then, my mom left us, on a gray day, and the Filipino nurse’s aide also went back home, nobody can braid my hair anymore. I’d started, learning to braid my own hair, and, one mirror wasn’t enough, for me, to braid the even braids on my head, I’d needed a second mirror behind me as I’d braided, to replace the eyes I’d needed, on the back of my head. After practicing the methods, I’d finally, learned the simplest braiding methods, but, the elegant styles that my mom and the foreign nurse’s aide did for me, are no more. Most of times, I’d brushed my bangs to the back of my head, tied it down with a hair pin, and that, was considered making myself presentable.
After I went into middle school, there were the strict rules of how we’re supposed to wear our hair, other than can’t dye or perm, we’d also had to, trim our hair to three centimeters below our ears. Before school started, I’d bid farewell to the long-hair I’d kept for a long time, and the lady in the salon asked me if I would cry? I’d told her I wouldn’t, but I was, crying on the inside. My school had a strict code, and, although I’d gotten my hair trimmed regularly, I’d still gotten called in for violate the hair codes; at this time, the office manager would use a pair of scissors, and, trimmed my hair down to the length which he deemed acceptable. It’s the same, trimming my hair, the way my mom and the Filipino nurse’s aide did it, it’d made me happy, but the school official’s way made me sad, it’s as if, while he was trimming my hair down, he’d wounded my pride at the same time.
After I’d entered into high school, the school still prohibited perms, but, we’re now, allowed to, grow our hair longer. I’d worked hard, growing my short hair longer, like it was, a shame. But maybe, it was the pressures from the academics, that I’d just, kept losing my hair, naturally, my hair didn’t grow long at all, it’d worried me so. In order to get on the trains of fashion, to chase after every adolescent girl’s worries, I’d gone to the salons, told the hairdressers I wanted to thin out my hair. And now, I’d had a fashionable enough do, but, the length was still a bit too short, like my grades, no matter how hard I’d worked, but, I just, couldn’t get ahead.
Finally, I’d, gotten into university, my hair loniger, and, because there was NO more restrictions on hair, I could finally feel relaxed, and my hair, started growing back to the original speed that it grew in; but, as I got older, I’d stopped loving getting my hair braided, feared that it might make me too childish. And, after I married, the salon my colleague sent me to, made my hair color lighter, and, I’d, permed my hair to have huge curls, that, was when I’d finally felt, that I had, escaped society’s control over youth.
Last year, my daughter was born, she’s still learning to talk right now, but, I’m thinking, that when she gets older, as her hair started getting longer, I too, will start braiding her hair too, like how my mom had, braided my hair when I was younger; and this sort of passing the torch made me feel warm. There won’t be any restrictions on hair in the future either, I’m sure, that my daughter will be very happy in her teenage years, unlike how I was restricted back then. And, braiding her hair shall become, my show of love for her, I looked forward to braiding her hair very much, and seeing her smiles reflecting in the mirrors.
So, this, is a sort of a rite of passage, kind of passing the torch, because getting your hair braided became so important to you as a child, you’re hoping to help your daughter feel loved, through braiding her hair too, so, you can pass the love from your mother, to you, down to your own young as well.