4. Art of commentary and self-love 🌻

I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvelous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well.

Psalm 139:14

18/08/17-22/08/17

A week ago today I cut off my hair, it was my twenty-first birthday. My mama she said I was radicalizing when she saw my brown dyed fade and it was not a compliment. Her use of the word radical pleased me, but most of me resented this assumption that made of my actions a social commentary; these restrictions, I think, are the greater commentary.

I cried that day, shamelessly, in front of the barber that my darling had recommended, watching twenty-one years of my beliefs fall to the floor even after telling myself that in my spiritual growth, hair would still only be flesh. I have much to unlearn still.

I cannot say that I did not try to avoid my darling last week. Vanity had a way of convincing me that I had little more than just this body; my daily affirmations have multiplied since then. My darling wondered why I questioned my beauty. He peeled some avocados that day, he mashed and mixed honey into them, set the mask on my face and hair and held me until he could wash it off. Then he placed a flower crown on my damp coils to remind me of the potency of natural things. They were golden daisies weaved into dried twine; flowers, even when suffocated by weeds, never question that God created them out of love. 

My darling was reminding me that I could reflect the sun and continue to light up rooms so long as I remembered the stars in the corners of my smile. We spent the remaining daylight hours at the park taking pictures until I settled into my power again. This power faded as flesh fades. I had forgotten how to project unapologetic demeanor without the consent of outside voices, even though theory dictated that I was fiercely and wonderfully beautiful because God proclaimed it.

My darling cut off his high top, he did it for me. He said that we would start over together in this new period of thankfulness and he offered me my favorite hair milk; coconut and monoi. Sometimes he applies it for me and adds some to his own hair. He bought me a do-rag and we have fun posing in them, so assured of our beauty in those moments, and we also fall asleep in them, and grow in love in them during those late-night talks, and by morning we are riding new waves of serenity sourced deeper than just our hair.

We began fasting from what we had begun taking for granted, from what we had unconsciously begun weaving into our self-worth.

There is a revolution in the romance with myself that I have had to relearn. I’ve had to adjust my value systems beyond this world, and I’ve had to stop arguing with God. Settling for the vanity of flesh is no longer viable. Perhaps this is what others call radical, this declaration of my divine making when we have not collectively mastered love for ourselves and others.  

I am grateful for my loved ones who unfailingly remind me who my God is. I pray that I may remember on my own someday. 🌻