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Saturday, 25 May 2019

Your Hair, My Hair

Your Hair, My Hair
Saturday, 25 May 2019
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So my hair has been natural for 4 years and the story about how I became natural is so bizarre.  I  was actually going to relax my hair and found that my relaxer had been leaking probably for months into my wardrobe. I remember shitting myself,  thinking my mum would finish me if she found out that I wasted her precious relaxer. So when I took my braids out I suggested that maybe I shouldn't jump to straightening it with a relaxer and instead leave it as it was, surprising her in the process. I carried this spiel on for several months to try and buy time and that was the beginning of the end. Looking back now I wasn't sure why I didn't just tell her the relaxer had leaked, maybe it was a sign. 

Looking at the pictures after, I came to hate the way my relaxed hair looked. It looked weak and dead, it burned and smelt and I was terrified of getting it in my eyes, because even until the big age of 16 I thought it would blind me if it ever got into my eyes. After all, that is what it said on the box. I will be honest with you I had no idea what to do with this new transition hair. Unlike most people who had to have their relaxed ends cut off,  mine fell out on their own, which, again, I deffo think was a sign. I really enjoyed the new volume but my goodness I couldn't style it even if my life depended on it, I used to just scrape it into a puff and didn't even KNOW what a bobby pin was.

It took a lot of confidence to wear my natural hair, there are always  going to be snide comments or backhanded compliments, my old manager told me to tidy my hair under the cap because he saw my hair as messy and two weeks ago a white man walked passed me and told his black wife my hair looked like a mess. My hair was in space buns. The bottom line is that natural hair on black women have been perceived as unprofessional for years, to the point black mothers to this day will encourage their daughters to straighten and relax their hair. The only reason the products even exist was that we had tried to "tame" our hair to fit a certain standard

There is nothing to tame, personally, I love my hair the way it is. It took a lot of growth and patients to be comfortable with who I am. If you told 13 year old me I would walk around with no makeup and my natural hair at 19, she would have cried, disappointed in future me for not trying to be pretty. I like it when my natural hair is out because it takes no more than 5 minutes to do AND it is versatile and fun to play with and soft to touch when I am sad. I think we need to move away from such an ignorant perception that anything a black woman does to her hair will be ratchet and unprofessional. It is OUR choice what we choose to do with the things that grows out of OUR scalp and let us love and embrace ourselves, whether we decide to braid our hair, or even straighten our hair. Black women have always been oppressed because of those choices, but I will no longer allow it. My hair is my hair and your hair is your hair.

White men and women I urge you to simply mind your own business when it comes to our hair, think about what you are saying when you talk to a black woman about their hair. At this point, we are tired of answering all your questions, not only because you can now utilise google.com, but also because the questions are used to make us feel small or embarrassed. No, I will not allow it anymore.

When I was young insults like That isn't even your real hair and I bet you're bald underneath all that, were common. I do not want my child to hear that when she grows up. It's just interesting when Ariana Grande openly admitted to buying her hair in 7 rings no one wanted to comment, instead it was everyone's insta caption for a week but that is another pitcher of water.

I am glad, however, that natural hair has become more common with sales of straightening agents going down. I am also so proud of the black women's nonchalant transparency when it comes to our styling hair. I am glad we stopped caring.

Like I said this is MY hair and I make the decisions around here when it comes to MY hair. All opinions should be kept to themselves.

PS You're still not allowed to touch our, hair it's weird.
PSS I can understand no makeup me can be horrifying erm sorry but like I don't have enough money for surgery someone PayPal me funds.

Emmy xx



Monday, 13 May 2019

Alone

Alone
Monday, 13 May 2019
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Before I went on my trip people had asked how I could go by myself and when I came back the question was still very much remained. So I decided to talk about being alone. Before I start I am being very open and vulnerable, so please be kind and try to be understanding about what I am trying to say, don't take this wrong way. Thank you.

When I was younger I didn't have many friends, I was also the kid that had to wander around and ask people if I could play. Usually, the answer was no. I was heavily bullied in primary school for being born in Germany I was often called Hitler or a German bomber and honestly, it didn't help that I and one of the most infamous men in history shared exactly the same birthday.  It was the worst start to my new life in the UK. There was already stuff going on in the background but I also had this at school as well. My teachers were less than helpful telling me to ignore the racist comments whilst I spent most of my early primary school days in tears. Some of my teachers were also incredibly racist as well.  When kids would say they were starving one particular teacher would say that only people in Africa were starving which is such a toxic image to portray to impressionable young kids. The bullying went on and teachers had neglected me. So to get rid of bullies I was terrible, I was violent,  I was aggressive and I was difficult to handle. I wasn't getting any friends, but at least I was left alone.


I hated primary school and honestly, not being dramatic I cannot stomach seeing anyone from that place again, only a tiny amount of people were kind to me, the rest were absolute devils. The experience still stays with me. I have tried and tried to move on, but it stayed like an ugly scar and there nothing I could do to get rid of it. On top of that horrendous ordeal at school, there was other background noise that was very much disturbed me. Like mentioned in my blog post: Growing up, the school was the only place I was allowed to act like a child and even then it was completely ruined. It didn't help that company I kept continuously ate at my esteem constantly belittling me. The company was kept on and off throughout high school. In the early years I didn't establish good friendships, hopping about from different groups of people and in the near the end I picked up one or two great gems although the friendship group was iffy, to say the least.

So all that time alone was my only safe option. I protected myself from the outside world. I tried to stop having feelings. It's funny to think, that to think and feel go hand in hand. For me, I thought more so not to feel.  I would rationalise my feelings so much that essence would be lost. The feeling would become a vague thought at the back of mind. It was almost like forcing the food down the sinkhole instead of consolidating the food and throwing the food in the bin. Eventually, the sink would block regurgitating something even more rancid and vile. Those were often aggressive outbursts or other things. In high school I went through that constant cycle, unsure where to turn to ask for help. there was no way I was turning to teachers again and because of a lack of trust, I wasn't turning to any of my friends. Being alone with your thoughts can be so dangerous. Some people are ticking time bomb and let me tell you to ask anyone from my high school what happened to me in year 9, you'll be shocked. Obviously, I will not talk about it in detail.

So being Alone was something I became accustomed to. I still find it hard to trust people. I lost friends because they would get to close and I would have to distance them again out of habit. I could rely on myself and I was very good at daydreaming and escaping through my thoughts, living out my very vivid imagination. There was a time I was never at home, there would be no one behind the eyes. As years went by, being alone becoming less toxic and more of a personality trait. I am really introverted, invitations have to be given to me weeks in advance so I can charge. Every time I go out I have to at least prep myself a little. I am much happier now but prefer to be alone now anyway. I am finally trying to understand who I am so I need my own space to do that in, without the influence of the outside world, because even though I was alone a lot before I was feeding off the insecurities of other people and all negativity surrounding me.

I am sorry it was all a little heavy this week, I'll return to goofy me next time. Also because I was alone a lot doesn't mean you have to be. If you ever feel like it's all a little bit too much please message me I am happy to listen, the same way so many people in my life have.

Note: Being alone and being isolated are two different things



Emmy
xx


Sunday, 5 May 2019

C'est La Vie-An open Letter

C'est La Vie-An open Letter
Sunday, 5 May 2019
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Dear Nobody and Somebody,






































I am writing this letter from the comfort of my sofa after arriving back safely. It was never my outright intention to be in Paris and I had mentioned the city in wistful abandonment to my mother never thinking I would go. Paris was not somewhere I had ached to visit but at least it had my curiosity, and so one day whilst lazily discussing future plans in the cafeteria with my colleague I was intrigued by her trip and decided it would be my coming of age trip. I decided it would be a nice place to celebrate my 19th Birthday.

I went alone.




































I needed my own headspace, there was clutter up in my head, my brain was like an attic with memories and thoughts gathering dust, inspiration had dulled and died, no one was going up regularly to clean it out and get the gears grinding. The clutter accumulated because I thought for anyone and everyone, but I hardly thought for myself. I never really knew how to be selfish and I never really knew exactly who I was. What did I feel and think like with the clutter of the world around me heavily influencing me? That why I was adamant on booking the trip by myself. I didn't want to hesitate anymore I wanted to be inspired and free. 


Paris is a romantic city although I did not find pleasure in the massive grandeur of Paris but rather the subtle things that are woven into the Parisian lifestyle. Paris was a city of leisure, unlike the purposeful rush and productive hum of London, the people of Paris were never in quite the same hurry, taking things at a pace, steady like a heartbeat. There was something delightful about an elderly lady descending into the metro with posies peaking out her handbag, or how at 9 am on the dot every day a rich homely smell of coffee drifted into my hotel room warning me if I didn't wake up soon I would miss breakfast. 

Parisians live to experience life, lounging parks with pastries in hand most would mumble under their breaths to a friend or partner over a steaming coffee at a cafe, sometimes they would glance at those walking by and continue where they left off. I remembered quite vividly during my trip sitting opposite to elderly gentlemen, one was wearing a white dress jacket and a checkered shirt and the other wearing a straw hat and a beige shirt and a loosened tie, they were in passionate conversation and I assumed they were talking about the state of the politics, it made me feel like I was an extra in a movie.

The cobbled streets seemed to trip me up when I moved too fast as if trying to humble me as if telling me I was in Paris now and I had to learn to slow down. I enjoyed standing on the platforms as the train hissed to a stop, inviting a flush of warm air. The streets were always cluttered with chairs from this or that cafe. There was always the tinkle of bicycle bells as someone zoomed past in the lime green city bikes. Lights would flicker from red to green, although the rules of traffic were mostly ignored by motorists or they seemed to follow their own rules, finding their own harmonies.



I remember sitting at the Banks of Seine by legs dangling over the edge watching The Eifle tower light up reminding  me of the story of the  tower, the people of Paris had taught it particularly ugly and an eyesore of the city, looming ominously over them, but now as I watched it sparkle and gleam against the dark blanket of the night sky. I realised that the Eifle is all of us, we just grow and realise our own Cinderella story.

Well, I hope you're well, you should visit sometime it's beautiful. I now know why writers  chose the city as their muse because it has sparked inspiration in me and I hope it does for you

Emmy xx



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