Every day, the black, wavy, coiled curls luxuriously returned to their original form. With every passing week, each strand of hair was only spiraling tighter in a uniform ringlet. The mirror usually reflected someone with straight black locks. Every day at seven in the morning, the same routine repeated. “Sit and straighten your hair.” However, after a month of ditching the straightener, a whole other person stared back at me in the glass. Quarantine, as eternal as it may feel, has brought light to natural hair. After two years of high school, I’ve practically made everyone think my hair is as straight as the path of a shooting star. Or the lines that Mr. Villarreal does on his little iPad while he teaches collision.I’ve been continuously told, “You gotta bring your natural hair; you gotta bring it before we leave school.”
