I am not my hair

I am not my hair ...

My hair – 9^th April 2013 

... but what will it be like tomorrow? 

© Marjorie H Morgan (2013) 

“You have good hair”

“Is it real?”

“Can I touch it?”

“Have you got any weed?”

“Ha! Jackson 5 hair.”

“Is it all yours?”

“It feels like a carpet.”

“Can I use it for a weave?”

“How do you do it like that?”

“Do you have bad hair?”

“I like it when you wear your hair down.”

“I like it when you wear your hair up.”

“Can I play with it?”

“Is it hard?”

“Is it soft?”

“Does it hurt?”

“It suits you.”

“I don’t like your hair like that.”

“How often do you wash it?”

“Can you comb it?”

“Does it feel like a Brillo pad? It looks like one.”

“Your hair is so soft.”

“You have tough hair.”

“Have you ever cut it?”

“Don’t cut it.”

“Cut it, it’s too long.”

I am not my hair. My hair is part of my identity. Or so it seems. People always have a lot to say about other people’s hair. I have been no exception. I have shared a few of the comments I have heard over the years. These are all fresh in my mind now because I am thinking about cutting my hair – much shorter.

I have no idea why this thought process has taken so long to come to any sort of firm conclusion so I’m releasing them here to find some clarity.

For years as a child I was told that I had “good hair”. What is that exactly? What makes hair good or bad? It’s ability to grow faster than other hair? I guess so because mine did (and still does) just that.

I am on my second lot of locs. The first set I cut off completely about 9 years ago. Back then I grew them down my back, pretty much the same as I have now; this lot is longer – I can almost sit on them now. My history of locs seem to be a cycle of letting them grow and then cutting them off, but the cutting time also appears to have been delayed by me right now. I’ve been musing on a quick trim, a medium cut, or a totally new start for a while but still I hesitate and the scissors stay sheathed. Why is it such a big issue to cut my hair right now – I think it’s starting to become a big thing so I’ve been reflecting on the history of my hair and hair as part of identity.

I’ve looked back at my photographs and remembered what I was doing when I had different hair styles. My hair really does tell a journey of my growth and change in different circumstances. But surely that was my hair changing and not me? Different hair styles show a difference but they don’t show all of me. I am not my hair.

However, I do like having some hair. You see, I’ve been thinking about the loss of hair – through accident, illness, age, or choice. Each situation has a different affect on the person involved. Hair is more important that I first gave it credit for. It’s part of a uniform, a means of entry or exclusion from different groups; it is a badge of identity. Hair has a character all of its own. Hair is both political and social. How your hair is worn has links to gender divisions, theories about sexuality, images of beauty and power and concepts of ‘wrong’ or ‘right’ hair.

Hair speaks volumes whether a skinhead or locs-head. Hair, like eyes or clothes, is a window into a person’s identity.

This has led me back to thinking.

I am not my hair ... or am I?

To snip or not to snip? That is the question ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_5jIt0f5Z4

India.Arie - I Am Not My Hair ft. Akon

Are disguises ever good?

To truly disguise yourself you have to be believable as the person you are pretending to be. You have to hide your real self and become the projected self.

The master of disguises is adept at observation and mimicry. They are skilled at the process of transformation. 

Me

People who practise the art of disguise with regularity are skilled human chemists who practice their talents long enough to become alchemists – effecting a complete transformation from one state to another, from one being to another.

When reading about actors and artists who use disguises as a form of performance, as a show, I asked myself a series of questions. One that I was unable to resolve was, ‘Why would someone want to retain a disguise instead of being themselves?’ It is a prickly question that is often difficult to answer. I’m guessing that at some point the existence is no longer a disguise but it becomes the new reality of being. This fluidity of being - of identity - is not a disguise. I think it is a period of change and of growth.

At times like this I feel that the disguise serves the purpose of a cloak - to hide the real work going on out of sight.

So, are disguises ever good? Maybe they are if they lead to positive permanent change. But as a means to hurt or deceive others or self, I’d have to say that everything that is disguised is designed to hide the truth of the moment and should therefore be avoided. But, how are you to know what is the truth or a facade?

I’m looking for a litmus test for this question and as soon as I find it I’ll pass the information on to you.

For now my conclusion is that disguises are a way of seeing and of being seen. Maybe all parts of us that are revealed in this way are simply aspects of us that we were previously unable to show but through the mask of identity camouflage we are set free.

“Disguises can be liberating ... [you can mutate] into the objects of ... [your] fascination. Ms Sherman takes a detailed interest in others while mastering the art of making it up.”  (Article on Cindy Sherman, reclusive photographer and artist.)

It’s a blessing and a curse ...

This is a familiar line from the Monk detective series. Adrian Monk is usually talking about his skills as a detective - who happens to have OCD.

I have been thinking about something rather different: beauty.

Is the gift of beauty a blessing or a curse?

I’ve heard that it is advisable to use beauty as a business and career asset. What do you think? Have you done it? Does your CV or Resume have - listed under transferrable skills and assets - the legend beauty shown?

I have just been wondering how, if you are beautiful, you go about enhancing this attribute to your best advantage, you know, for rapid career progression.

I know many beautiful people and they have said that being seen as attractive is more often than not a curse because they suffer from the lack of genuine observation of their intelligence or their personality.

They sometimes wish their gift of beauty away or hide it beneath clothes and behaviour. Is this fair?

This made me think about what else, as a natural phenomenon could be used as a business asset?

Should any birthright be cultivated for a career? Maybe Tyra Banks could give me some answers on this ... then more people could become the Top Model in their particular field.  

Voices

It takes time to adjust to new sounds, especially to new voices. And before you know it, it’s as if you’ve heard that voice your whole life.

Before actually hearing a voice I have built up an audio track of what I perceive that voice to sound like. And what I have discovered is that it always sounds – in some degree – like me!

I have a tendency to fashion ideas and project my perceptions based on what is in my head. Then when the real thing comes along I have to make some adjustments. Then, it is all done. And before long, I can’t remember what that previous voice sounded like again ... even though I used to think it sounded different to me. It was me, but not me.

When the new sound is pleasant it immediately finds a place in my memory bank and the old recording is wiped away.

I like voices. They bring new adventures with each cadence and different stress on special words. Voices are more than words, they are individual characters.

Acting in church

On the radio there was a recent discussion about whether or not the Bible and the sermons produced from it could be viewed as literature. This led me to revisit some thoughts I had had many years ago. I wondered if the preachers were more like actors than newsreaders.

You see, in some places that I have worshipped the preacher has had more dramatic flair than some of the people I see on either stage or screen. The pastors build up the tension. They stalk the platform like tigers ready to pounce on some unsuspecting prey, and they do just that – they deliver a killer verse to a nodding congregant.

They are snapped into alertness and all the focus is drawn back to the centre of the stage.

The pastor then recaptures the attention of the entire audience, bringing them back into his web of rapt attention with a few select moves (cunningly disguised as amusing anecdotes) after which he builds to another crescendo before dangling them above the open jaws of the devouring beast he has cleverly pictured; the one that will destroy them if they don’t do exactly as he says.

To complete his act as hero he draws his sword of truth and despatches the monster. The congregants all breathe breaths of relief as they relax in the safe knowledge that they have nothing left to fear as long as they follow the lead of the hero in his slick suit and silk socks.

After witnessing one such entertaining sermon, I was discussing the drama of preaching with my son and he said, “It’s like going to the theatre every week ... but without paying!”

Heart speaks

The contents of your heart will be evidenced from the things that you say and do. This much I know is true.

In the same way that your body can speak, so does your language along with your behaviour.

Some things have different properties. How it is used in your life is partially up to you. One example of this is the Aloe Vera plant, this simple looking specimen is used for its many healing and slimming attributes, but it has also been known as Bitter Aloes because of its pungent flavour on the palate.

I’ve heard of children in Jamaica who were so keen on thumb sucking that they had the sharp and bitter juice of the Aloe smeared on their thumbs to cure them of this social pariah before they went to school. This was a reversal of bitterness. This unpleasantness was obtained from an external source and taken in by the, initially, unsuspecting child.

When the children became aware of the negativity that the Aloes gave them they changed their behaviour; they stopped sucking their thumbs.

In the same way, when bitterness and negativity attack you from an external source, if you don’t want to continue to be affected by it, then you have to change your behaviour. This may be a physical or an emotional change.

I have seen relationships change and the hearts that once professes undying love becomes like nests of vipers. The venom from these attacks always causes pain. So, it is my suggestion that:

“When bitterness seeps into someone's heart, ugliness pours out in actions and deeds. Don't stay around to be contaminated by them.” MHM

Lent? Meaning and importance

It's amazing how some things change over time (writing styles, for example) and other facts never change.
At this time of fasting (for Ramadan) I was reminded of this old piece of writing that I did way back in 2007. It is on the local BBC website.

Lent is a time for giving up luxuries

Taken from bbc.co.uk/northamptonshire:

Forty lines for Lent

Read Marjorie Morgan's poem explaining the meaning and importance behind Lent, set out in 40 lines.

http://bbc.in/riBvJ6

Chameleon-like

What animal are you most like? My favourite animal is a black panther which takes most people by surprise as it is a well known fact that I am not particularly fond of domestic cats – so far in my life I have only met one with whom I am comfortable sitting in the same room; I have even stroke it. But as usual I digress.

To me a black panther is a beast of immense beauty, skill and power. I am mesmerised by it each and every time I see one. I even look forward to being able to get up close and personal with one of these incredible large cats one day. I think I was first struck by the black panther when I was a child and my mother would encourage us to read the National Geographic magazines and the Encyclopaedia Britannica – there were no distracting electronic games or hours of television to distract us then.

I also love lions, cheetahs, jaguar, cougars and leopards; they all make my pulse race faster. In fact I am fascinated by all the big cats and devour nature programmes on the satellite channels whenever I can. Even though I adore the sleek lines and power of the black panther I would not say that my characteristics are most like it. As much as I would like to claim the speed, stealth and survival instinct of this beautiful beast I think I am much more like a chameleon in nature.

I have been known to hide inside myself (or my books) to avoid rejection and more heartache. My way of blending in to my surroundings used to be my main form of protection against my character being destructed. After all, it’s safer inside the world of books as the characters are fixed, they don’t go changing their opinions.

But like a chameleon I now only use my camouflaging abilities in moments of danger when I fear destruction or extreme harm. Apart from that I am become more like a black panther every day.

What animal are you most like?

Why do I blog?

Sometimes I ask myself why I do this ... web log, blog, writing online. And the answer is always the same. I do it for myself (but I am not adverse to others reading it as well – hence the reason why I chose this media).

When I write hidden thoughts and feelings find their way to the page. For me writing strips away all tiredness and worry. Writing is like running the 100m race when I was at school: total freedom and expression of my true self.

Exhale.

Scribe.

Live.

For me, writing is a purity of being – a true expression of me, now.

I do.

Hostage

Two people are in a room. They are aware of each other but do not openly communicate. One because they cannot, the other because they choose not to.

These people look similar but this is not a trick of any mirror. They are totally different on the inside. On either side of the room they exist, separately. They have habitually been kept apart. The first person is blindfolded, gagged and bound to a chair. The other is lying, unfettered, on a bed next to a wall above which is a window. The sun is shining through this window. But the person lays there with their eyes closed. Tears are flowing. Silent tears.

Today the door to this room has been left open. Sensing silence from beyond the room, the person in chains inclines their head to one side then hearing no outside noise they immediately begins to shuffle towards the beckoning cool breeze of the unexpected opening. Being so constrained it is a hard journey but they keep trying; falling over and righting themselves repeatedly. Eventually, disturbed from their private sorrow, the one on the bed turns away from facing the wall and looks at their room companion then speaks, in a low rusty voice, “Why waste your energy? You’ll never get away from this?”

“I don’t know that,” comes the muffled response from behind the gag, “but I’ve got to give it a go.”

The person on the bed sighs with resignation and swings their legs onto the floor before walking with a stiff gait towards the door. They open it wider for the chair bound person to depart from the room. Then, before returning to the bed, they deftly untie the bonds that restrict their fellow hostage to the chair.

The released man stands in the doorway and glancing out he throws a look at the retreating back of his liberator, “Come with me,” he pleads, “we can make it away from here.”

“I can’t,” comes the sad reply, “I’m more scared out there than in here…. I know this fear now.” The freed man shades his eyes from the temporarily blinding light then saying a quiet goodbye he slips out of the room and creeps along the wall beyond his prison. The shadow of reality that is left in the room gazes at the open door then returns to hug the wall and sob in desperation.

The gold refining process

It’s been a bit of a struggle to focus positively since Mother’s Day. When I started remembering my mother I also remembered what happened when she was gone. It was painful.

It was then that I thought that some records should be deleted.

I have been reading my diaries that I started when I was thirteen years old. At the start of my entries I smiled as I read them. Each day I ended the note with the following words ‘Thank God for today’. Two years into my recorded thoughts I stopped writing that for a lengthy period and while re-reading them I came to the conclusion that some things in our past should be forgotten.

I have been reminded of the terrible sadness and isolation I felt from that young age even though I was part of a big family. On the flip side I also met a strong determined girl who championed fair treatment for all from an early age – even when threatened with being placed in care (and further isolated) for daring to speak her mind to her tyrant father. I stood up to him while barely fifteen because my large family shattered when my mum was gone and it was just me and my younger sister left in a house that ceased to be a home to us, with a man who found us a burden, didn’t want us around and never tried to understand our fragile states of loss and fear.

It was when I recognised my strength that I was glad I still had my diaries to remind me of my past.

I feel as good as gold tried in the fire and refined.

Now I can really say, Thank God for today.

Impressions

In many homes across the world, including mine, there are mementos that have become lasting impressions of a person, a time, a memory. These may be in the form of photographs, objects and books.

Clay is a wonderful medium for retaining impressions.

Children love to play with clay. Adults also enjoy the pleasure of shaping something pliable into a lasting object. Impressing a shape into clay has become a usual way to retain memories. Parents and other relatives marvel at the imprints of the tiny hands and feet of the new additions to the family that have been preserved and mounted high for all to see.

Clay captures details perfectly. Every line and wrinkle is preserved. They catch the moment and last for a lifetime. The moment passes but the memory stays.

As we enter and share people’s lives we also make lasting impressions.

This impression can be when you or something about you stands out in an observer’s mind. It can be a good or a bad impression.

Each person makes an impact that can become deeply grooved into your mind or flit away like a single autumn leaf in amongst hundreds of others swirling through the windswept park.

I have had people come into my life that have been forceful and left a running impression like a deep tyre track in mud, while others that have been subtle and intricate leaving a memory like that associated with a beautiful perfume.

All these people have left a part their character behind even if they have gone away. Part of them will forever remain with me. The way they leave, the way they entered my life will all become part of the overall impression that they have generated and that I remember – fondly or not – when I think of them.

I’m sure that the same thing happens when people remember me.

I know that all impressions change and shape the receiver – that makes me conscious of the potential impressions that I am leaving in my wake today. Will they be strong positive impression that I have made or weak and distasteful impacts? Some people practice how to make a good impression and by doing this they act in a certain way to creating specific behaviour patterns for their own long- or short-term benefit.

It is unusual for anyone to know beforehand exactly what the result of their efforts will be. The effect of being in contact with others is like the creation of a painting: it is made by one person but many others can be influenced by its image.

I reflect on the mark others have made on my life. On so many occasions I have been extremely privileged to be the recipient of a beautiful expression of their characters. Some marks we leave in others' lives are temporary, some impressions are permanent and beautiful.

I hope that all the temporary impacts will be washed away like a sand castle at high tide, while all the permanent imprints will remain like clay casts retaining all the magnificent details perfectly.