6 Essential time-savers that have not yet been invented. My own list!

1. We have photocopies that copy, collate and staple. What about a washing machine that washes, dries, IRONS and FOLDS? It's only fair. I would even go as far as to suggest that the machine comes with built in draws where the folded clothes are then automatically stored.

2. Our weekly clothing wash cycle is sometimes as easy as throwing a pile of dirty clothes into the machine and removing them an hour later to remove cloths that are clean, soft and wearable. Why not a HAIR WASHING MACHINE? I toss my hair in or toss it on my hair and it pushes out clean, soft, wearable hair?

3. A camera that captures smell. I recall the day we had to take our school's ID pictures we spent about an hour fixing the face, shining the shoe and spraying on cologne. But the only thing that showed up was the face. We have video that can capture almost everything else, but nothing to CAPTURE THE SMELL. Ten years from now I would love to remember what I smelt like on 2 May 2015.

4. How about a sewing machine that can interpret, cut and stitch patterns to perfection? That would eliminate my need for a tailor who keeps my cloths for months on end and by the time he's finished I'm 50 lbs heavier with 5 inches added to my waist, hip and bust lines.

5. A body shredder. I've watched many detective series where criminals have attempted to get rid of dead bodies using unique ways. I've also observed that many of our cemeteries are overflowing. How about decreasing the amount of space needed by having a body shredder. It's not cremation for those persons who are against it. I think the process of decomposition would go that much faster. And instead of requiring a 6x6 space you may only need a 2x2? Of course we'll have to figure out a way to keep this out of the hands of criminals.

6. Programmable, hands-free fridge, stove and microwave. It's a hassle preparing meals every single day. How about eliminating some of that hassle by creating equipment in which you can program the required dishes for a week, load the required ingredients, specify the time and temperature at which you want those meals served and Voila! This would make many a housewife happy and many a busy career woman/man choose healthy eating options.

That's my list. What are your suggestions?

The Bible, Women & Marriage: Part 1 - The woman of unmarriageable age

We first meet Leah in Genesis 29:16. Not only was she unattractive or perhaps because of that Leah couldn't find a man. I imagine the years when she would no longer be marketable were quickly drawing near. Leah's age and looks had relegated her to the back of the wife shopping shelf.

Leah represents the kind of woman who can only get a man through schemes and deception. And even after she has snagged the man she'll never be able to win his affection. She is the second-choice wife.

God has shown that He still looks out for those women. Women who think there is no longer hope of finding a spouse. Though God does not support the method by which Laban and Leah deceived Jacob, He was still looking out for the single woman who hadn't been able to find a spouse for quite a long time.

And He kept looking out for her after the unhappy marriage. He gave her the firstborn signaling His approval of the marriage. Recall when Abraham had a child by Sarah's handmaid that God had not accepted him as Abraham's heir. Because He had not sanctioned Abraham having a child with her. In Leah's case God sanctioned this relationship and blessed her with Jacob's first four children. He looked upon her affliction (Reuben), He heard that she was hated (Simeon) and He caused her husband to be joined to her (Levi) so she could praise The Lord (Judah). 

The Wedding Day

The long train of white flowed slowly down the aisle, like the tiny ripples of waves in a calm, tranquil stream. Bright, magnificent flower petals floated on the silky train reminiscent of a watery flow embedded with falling leaves in autumn, leaves gliding slowly along, carried by the push of the wind and the ebb of the waves. The dress was superb, immaculately superb, flawless, the creamy white only interrupted intermittently by the yellowish shades of water lilies. Her tender shoulders peeked out from the box cut of her pearl laced bodice. Her steps – precise, her eyes – focused, her breathing – controlled, her smile – radiant.

“That dress must have cost millions,” the robust female sitting directly in front of me whispered to her annoyed neighbor. She had been making similar derogatory remarks all through the morning and was relentless in her criticisms despite receiving no response or acknowledgement from her chosen audience. The lady seemed determined not to permit anything to interrupt her. She had entered the church like everyone else who turned up early and planted herself succinctly into one of the church pews. Her shoulders were erect, motionless, staring straight ahead towards the altar, her eyes glued and unswerving. I couldn't see her face but I could figure out exactly where her gaze was directed. She remained in that almost motionless position even during the bride’s entrance and, unlike everyone else, did not stand to ‘ooh’ or ‘aah’ at the magnificence. Her eyes remained fixed on that one target, even when her view was blocked by the standing audience. 

He was nervous, like all men usually are. I've attended over a dozen weddings in my lifetime and only on one occasion did the groom not appear nervous. In fact, he did not appear at all. That was most likely because he spent the time he should have been waiting on his bride in the female bathroom with one of the uninvited guests. Of course he was no longer the groom by the time the feisty flower girl, who, even after being paid off, made the shocking declaration to the entire waiting audience “aunt Camille and Jesse are doing it in the bathroom.” I guess he didn't pay her enough to keep her mouth shut.

As she reached his side and he unveiled her face I could almost see, even from my distance very close to the back, the trembling in his fingers. “She doesn't deserve him,” the robust lady continued. “This poor, parent-less brat doesn't deserve to be married to a man of his caliber. What does she have to recommend herself to him? She doesn't even have a decent family.” There was no reply, as usual from the lady to her left.

“Did you get invited to the reception?” Carmen asked. Carmen was a close friend of the family.

“No I didn't,” I responded. “I’m told only his family are invited.”

“Well I can understand why,” continued Carmen. “Given how poorly she has been treated by the skeptics I am not surprised that he didn't want any of those two-faced hypocrites to pretend they were happy for him.”

“Probably it was her idea not to invite any outside guests. She is the reserved type you know. She’s probably still very much afraid of the cynicism surrounding the marriage of a beloved man in the community, with a practical nobody.”

“Don’t say that, Aijah,” she isn’t a nobody. “And besides it is apparent he loves her. Have you seen how much he dotes over her? He spoils her rotten.”

A thunder of laughter pierced through the audience so I looked up to see the source of the amusement. “It’s not time for the kissing yet,” the priest interjected, with a little smirk on his face. “Don’t race ahead of me son, you’ll get your chance in a little while.”

“She does make him happy and that’s all I can say.”

Carmen smiled “yeah he’s happy.”

As I returned my focus towards the impeccably decorated altar my view was temporarily blocked by the lady in front moving from her seat. There were layers of silk, the color of sunrise, sunset and winter, plaited around the columns on the altar. Lovely lilies and columbines dangled off the edges. They were standing, staring into each other’s soul, lost in their love, almost cut off from the world. “I have something to say,” the deep, almost masculine voice interjected. The lady, who had only moments before sat before me, was lumbering towards the altar. There was a pause in which images and expressions changed. The bride looking up and locking gaze with the intruder, looked stunned and her skin gradually took the color of her gown until it seemed as if she had disappeared – so transparent her color had become. He too turned and their gazes locked – a ghost he became.

There was a long moment of mayhem and confusion in the audience. Curious to know what the discussion up front was about. “I knew there was something strange about her,” said the robust lady to no one in particular. And then there were tears and hugs, as a child, not more than six years old, was led into the church by an elderly man. We were all confused.

“That’s her daughter,” someone behind me said, “she had been taken away from her two years ago and she’s been fighting ever since to get her back. Looks like today is the happiest day of her life in more ways than one.” The ceremony continued with some still in awe and wonderment. The bride, though, couldn't help the tears that came to her eyes and her new husband couldn't help his tears of joy for her.

The Wedding Day  © 2008 - The content appearing on this blog is the exclusive copyright of S.L. Lawrence and should not be copied or reproduced without the explicit written consent of the copyright owner.

My first date

I can vividly recall my first date but not for the reasons one would usually suppose. Actually, in my opinion this ‘momentous’ event hardly meant anything to me at the time and this was reflected in the triviality with which I treated the occasion. My focus at age thirteen wasn't primarily at chasing girls though it should have been. My focus was on impressing my older brother and getting his attention. I admired him in so many ways. He isn't the kind of brother many other boys my age would dote over. He was a ‘study-holic’ and dedicated himself primarily to his school work and the work he did after school. He hardly had time for anyone else, and that included me. I longed so much for those days when he would mess around with me or punch me or beat me and deny it to my parents when I complained. We had both grown up from those days and somehow I feel as I grew older I began to lose my older brother.

My first date was, in actuality, to be a movie and dinner with an extraordinarily intelligent and mildly beautiful young girl with whom I went to school. This date, however, also represented a chance for me to spend some needed time with my brother, even if it was to be only a few hours. I feigned annoyance when my parents insisted he had to accompany me. Being the kind of son that he is he, of course, did not complain. He was all too willing to do as my parents requested and I was all too happy that he didn't have better things to do that evening than spend some time chaperoning his younger brother.
I hadn't spent more than an hour with my brother since he started on his new part-time job with the same company my dad worked. He also did odd jobs around the neighborhood. I hadn't heard the full conversation but I caught on that he and my parents had discussed his college education and they had stressed how difficult it would be to finance his studies immediately after he completes high school. He, however, was insistent that he needs to get into pre-med right away and thus took on the challenge to earn as much as he could to allay the cost burden on my parents. I've always admired his diligence and this in addition to the fact that he was MY big brother and no one else’s, set him apart from all other older brothers.

Francis left early that morning to go to work. My dad always joked that he would soon take over his position because he was always so eager and on the ball. I had wanted his opinion on what to wear but it was too late when I got up and I felt a bit disappointed.

Nevertheless this didn't throw me off at all because I knew that at five o’clock he would be home with enough time to change and get dressed and then we would be on our way to meet the two sisters a short walking distance from our own home. That walk, with my brother, at six-thirty, on that cloudless Saturday evening, was the highlight of my evening and is the memory I most treasure in my reflections of that evening. While we were walking towards the house he ruffled my hair with his fingers, the way he usually did and almost threw me off the sidewalk with a slap on my back. We romped, just like in the old days, for the full fifteen minutes it took us to arrive at their front door and at that time I found the brother I hadn't seen in a long while.

We didn't have a particularly spectacular time with the girls. It was just like a normal date I guess. Susan was alright and so was her sister. They both seemed quite enthused to be out of the dreariness of their home for a change. We chatted about any and everything. Of course some times I brought up some silly ideas and my brother would hunch me in the side with his elbows, or rub my forehead till it burned. It was in those moments that my mind would flash back to our younger days, when he, in his mischief, would do just the same. It felt like magic finally having my brother back and knowing that I was not in danger of losing him to the rest of the world. My first date, the date with my brother with whom I now share a peculiarly close friendship was indeed, a marvelous experience.

My first date  © 2009 - The content appearing on this blog is the exclusive copyright of S.L. Lawrence and should not be copied or reproduced without the explicit written consent of the copyright owner.

Celeste & Josh

Celeste was shivering. She’d started as soon as she left the little restaurant and now, within sight of her third-storey apartment she had to clench her jaw to prevent her teeth chattering. The temperature was unusually low and she wasn’t accustomed to leaving home with a coat. Finally reaching the apartment building she rushed towards the French doors that were being opened by someone leaving the building. Just at the right time, she thought.

As she rushed through the door she was in such a hurry to get through before the door closed that she didn’t notice someone blocking her way. “Darn it,” she said, bending down quickly to gather the contents of her bag that had slipped out of her hand as she collided with the figure that was now towering over her. When she was finished he reached out his hand to help her up but she ignored it and pulled herself up.

Without acknowledging the figure any further she gathered her bearings and rushed up the stairs. As she reached the landing to her floor she raced towards the end of the corridor and twisted the lock on her door. She fumbled in her purse for a few seconds but was not immediately successful. A second time she tried to no avail. She emptied her purse on the worn-out carpet in front her door but still no keys. Where on earth are they? she thought, still sweeping through makeup kit, pens, sunshade, paper, napkins, pain killers, organizer, hair clips, a bottle of lotion, hair spray and countless other paraphernalia she kept permanently in her bag.

She did not notice footsteps approaching until the figure knelt down beside her, observing curiously, as she scattered her belongings in all directions.
“May I be of any help?” the figure asked in a deeply accented voice. “Perhaps you’d like my help locating something.” She made no attempt to respond but continued rummaging around on the carpet. “I offered my hand to you twice in the last few moments and twice you’ve refused it,” he continued. The hurt was evident in his voice neither did he try to mask the wounded expression on his face.
“I could manage quite fine on my own. I’ve been doing so for years now and I’ve had no complaints from myself so far. Now if you don’t mind you’re in my way.”

Ignoring her request to shift his position he continued with an attempt at humor “actually I don’t think you can.” She rolled her eyes in response and continued searching around on the floor. “And without you accepting my offer for help I’ll proffer it again anyway.” He reached into his pocket and dangled a set of keys from his ebony fingers. “I believe these belong to you. As well a nice and sincere thank you would do.”

She eyed him viciously and grabbed the keys from his fingers. “You snatched away my keys and tortured my poor knees by having me search for them hopelessly and now you have the audacity to beg for a thank you?” She was furious and the heat from her anger filtered through her. She no longer felt cold.

“Well if a thank you is not in order I’ll agree to substitute with dinner. Let’s say tonight, at 8:30. I’ll pick you up here?” He put on his most sexy eyes and stared down into her emerald crystals. With just one look her anger dissipated. She knew better than to hold his gaze and looked away quickly. If she went out to dinner with Josh she’d have to be close to him. She’d have to look into his face. She’d see the way his eyebrows arched and his blue eyes gleamed when he was making a point. The erotic fullness of his lower lip and the hard, masculine line of his jaw might sway her. She’d seen quite enough of Joshua O’Brien’s handsome face and angelic grin for one lifetime.

“You already know my answer to that, it’s the same answer it has always been and it will never change.”
It hurt her to have to turn him down repeatedly. For months he’d been trying to reach her, unrelenting in his efforts, determined that she was too precious for him to allow to pass by. He stood there silent for a few seconds and she wondered what he was thinking. She made the mistake of looking up and staring into those eyes and her heart finally melted. It’s as if his eyes could see into the depths of her soul and hers into his.

“Dinner is not such a good idea tonight. You could come inside instead,” she said, her heart tightening even as she allowed the words to spill from her lips.

She couldn’t see his reaction. She didn’t have to. She knew what it meant to him. She stuffed her belongings back into her bag and opened her apartment door with the keys. Heading straight for the kitchen she noticed him settling down comfortably into his favorite chair. She didn’t want to be going through this again. She was still hurting from their breakup and didn't want to be reminded of the pain once more.

As she prepared tea her mind went over the same things she dreaded going back over. She hadn’t said anything to him that morning. She’d simply packed and left. No note, no call, no nothing. And he had been heartbroken. She knew that for sure. Her friends had not been gentle with her, neither was her mother. Her weekly conversations with her mother stuck to the same script each time. Her mom calls her just to let her know how disappointed she is Celeste has broken up with Josh. These conversations always began, continued and ended with her mother chastising her on what she feels is an ill-judged decision.

Her mother is a robust woman in her late sixties, having had Celeste, her only child, much later than nature usually advices as safe or society determined was reasonable. She was a woman of firm character and had ambitious dreams for her daughter. Celeste was the gem of her old age but she was still disappointed in her. It bothered her that her twenty-eight year old daughter was still single, seeing her own life choices reflected poorly in her daughter. She herself had had one true love in her life but had allowed her fears to come between him and her. They shared a child together and that is all she has left of him to hold on to. She also has memories but they are no comfort to her. They are just constant reminders of the tragedy of her life, allowing the man she loved to slip away from her. Recently she’s been traveling back to those years more often. That’s been ever since her daughter made the same foolish decision she had, to leave the one she loves.

Celeste has tried to reason with her mother, but to no avail. Leaving Josh was a choice she had to make, a choice she’s been regretting since, but one that was necessary nonetheless.

The whistle of the kettle brought her back, reminding her that she’ll soon have to face the music with Josh and at last give him an explanation as to why she had to leave him and why she didn’t have the courage to look him in the face when she did it. She packed a tray with teacups, sugar and cream and headed nervously towards the living room. The moment was now and she could not avoid it.
As she entered the living room she stood, tray-in-hand, observing him move lithely around the furniture, adjusting the little ornaments on the shelves as he passed. He took up a snow ball and shook it, then rested it back down, then turned swiftly around to catch her staring at him. He always knew when her eyes were on him. He locked on to her eyes and held them as he walked towards her and eased the tray from her fingers. She remained motionless during all this, unable to snatch herself out from under his magical gaze.

He rested the tray on the clear glass coffee table that was inset with garnet gem stones, her favorite. He had designed it for her and felt pleased that she had kept it, reminding her of him each time she passed through the living area. She had kept other things too. The twelve-piece set of fish-shaped ornaments that were resting on a shelf next to the fish tank were also gifts he designed for her. He had enjoyed creating things just for her, she inspired him with beauty. He missed his inspiration and has not been able to design much in the past couple of months. His clients, though loyal, were getting irritated. He wasn’t producing what they wanted produced but he alone and the princess that was staring nervously at him knew why. He was now sitting in the deep-red full-length settee and beckoned for her to sit beside him.

She did not heed him but made her way towards the bedroom where she switched on the lights. The lights bounced off the walls that were painted in gold and crimson. It was a fabulously artistic combination and she marveled each time at its forcefulness. She pulled the envelope from the bedside table and made her way back to the living room, planting herself solidly next to Josh. She usually did as he requested.

“Josh,” she began hoarsely. She cleared her throat and began again “Josh, I’ve been dreading having to face up to you for months now. I’ve rehearsed this in my mind so many times that it should be easy for me to explain to you all the whys and the hows and the why nots. But I still can’t. I can’t break your heart even more without breaking down myself.” Tears welled up in her eyes and started to trickle slowly down her cheeks. He stared compassionately at her but made no attempt to comfort her or to wipe the tears from her eyes. He knew her passionately and knew that all he could do was listen and wait. She pressed the envelope into his hands and he continued to stare at her, not moving, dreading himself what he’s been so desperate to find out all these months.

“Open it,” she instructed. “And read what’s inside.”

Slowly he moved aside the flap of the white, unsealed envelope and proceeded to remove the papers that were neatly placed inside. He removed the three leaves and quietly began to examine each. He perused each careful for what seemed like a lifetime and repeated the process again. Eventually he tore his eyes away from the paper and Celeste tore her eyes away from him because she knew she couldn’t stand the tears that she saw approaching his eyes. She didn’t hear him sniffle but she felt his pain. Even greater than she thought he would hurt she knew he was hurting deeply. They sat like that for what seemed like an eternity, his eyes turned towards her and her eyes turned towards the fishes swimming in the tank. Fishes don’t shed tears, she thought, but I bet they hurt too. She had only imagined how Josh would react when he found out but nothing could have prepared her for this. She knew he was sensitive and passionate, she didn’t expect him to cry and to remain so deadly silent. She couldn’t bring herself to look towards him because then her heart would pain her even more. She could only wait, wait until he decided to speak. For what seemed like an eternity he just sat there uttering nothing but saying everything. Her mind went to that Mexican song they had loved so much, the lyrics “una palabra no dice nada y al mismo tiempo, lo esconde todo.” In those times, those happier times, they didn't need to communicate with words from the lips. Their hearts whispered to each other and they attained such unity in spirit that he knew her words before she spoke as she did his. They remained both visibly motionless but falling apart inside. For moments none spoke – not their hearts, not their lips – his spirit was silent and hers was reaching out. She suddenly felt a gulf come between them and knew in that instant that he was lost to her forever.

He got up and moved towards the door. She couldn't look up, she didn't want to look up, she didn't need to look up. It was exactly like the vision she kept having of this exact moment, his exact reaction. She replayed the image in her head and her soul began to cry.

She saw him walk towards the door, despondent. She heard the door close and his footsteps stepping lightly down the hallway, unhurried, hesitant. She discerned his silent, invisible tears. She felt herself approach the door, fearing to let him go without making an appeal. She saw herself run into his arms, pleading, in tears and in pain. She told him she loved him, she opened her all to him and begged him to forgive her. She knew it would be useless because her sins were unforgivable. Josh did not budge. His face remained expressionless but in his eyes she saw it and she knew it – knew it was time to let him go. As she saw herself walk back to the door her soul was so rent with pain she struggled to make the few steps. “He’s gone!” her heart croaked, but she wished she could get him back. She wished she could find the map to that hidden treasure that they'd loved listening to Carlos Varela sing about.

Caught up in her reverie she didn't notice Josh still standing over her. She didn't hear when Josh whispered I love you. Celeste was in tears and falling apart.

“Celeste,” he lightly brushed her cheeks then used his fingers to turn her face towards him. “I love you, Celeste.” He pulled her into his arms and arched her face upwards then allowed his lips to lightly brush against hers. She couldn't resist and fell into his arms. They clung hopelessly to each other and he drank thirstily from her lips fearing this was his last chance to catch her before she’s lost to him for good. She tried to pull away to speak but he hung on to her, kissing her even more deeply. He feared the words, he hated the words. She belonged to him and that’s all that matters, what he just read doesn't matter, what she did to him doesn't matter, nothing else matters once she is in his arms.
She took up the envelope and its contents and pressed it between them. “Do you know what this means?” He made no response but tried to pull her back towards him. “Joshua O'Brien, do you know what this means?”

He heaved the papers from her fingers and marched into the kitchen. He rummaged around long enough to locate some matches and then returned to the living room. Striking a match he proceeded to burn the papers allowing their blackened remains to fall aimlessly to the white tiled floor.

“Do you know what this is Celeste, my moonlight, the soul of my night. This is a man who loves you, whose heart is worthless without you. This is the heart of a man whose days are darkness without you. This is the day that man refuses to let go of you because these are the arms of a man that can do nothing else but love you. I don’t care what that letter says, I care about what you say and that is all I am going by. Do you love me?”

She stared shocked and awed at the same time, her mouth hanging open, unable to utter what her heart yearned to say. Her mother’s words came back to her “Love can break any bondage, can heal any hurt. Love, Celeste! Love! That’s the one thing that guarantees joy in this life.”

“Celeste Adoria Sullivan, do you love me?” He caught her gaze and grabbed it, she could not release herself from its magic. He stared way beyond her emerald eyes and spoke softly to her soul. Her soul stared boldly back into his soul and in her eyes were those words that let him know that everything was going to be alright. He pulled her into his arms once more and knew that from today his Celeste would forever be in his life because nothing could come between his soul and hers. I no longer believe in fantasies, she whispered in her thoughts, they cannot predict the magic of enduring love.

Celeste & Josh  © 2007 - The content appearing on this blog is the exclusive copyright of S.L. Lawrence and should not be copied or reproduced without the explicit written consent of the copyright owner.

Vow Of Silence (VOZ)

I recall reading this rhyme for the first time many years ago above the desk of the secretary at the school at which I first taught:

A wise old owl lived in an oak
The more he saw the less he spoke
The less he spoke the more he heard.
Why can't we all be like that wise old bird?

The rhyme has stuck with me through the years and the message has had much impact. The message is plain - Silence is golden. Instead of being quick to speak we should be quick to listen, observe, learn and apply new knowledge to improving our lives.

I take pleasure in solitude. Those who are close to me know that all too well. Ideally, I prefer to lock myself away from the world and remain in with me, myself and my thoughts. However, being in solitude is not the same as being attentively silent. The owl not only sat silently but listened perceptively. That's the part I've yet to master.

Habakkuk in chapter 2 verse 20 advizes the entire earth to keep silence before the presence of the Lord. And it's only recently that this thought has been hitting home. I've been silently praying to God for a breakthrough. I haven't shared my most earnest desires with not even those who are closest to me. There is this one thing that God and I need to work out. It's been months - literally.

But what does silence have to do with God acceding to my request? You see I realized today that I've been doing all the speaking. I've been communicating to God what I desire, even chastising Him for not coming through with what I believe He has promised to fulfill. Within the time I prescribed. As I reflect I realize that I've been shouting at God for an answer. I try to teach my students this all important lesson that I've failed to carry-out in my conversations with God. If my students speak I remain quiet.

I haven't yet allowed God the space to speak to me. His voice is still and silent. It's a voice that only those who are attuned will perceive. Finally that little voice whispered to me today and I heard. It asked me to shut up, to be silent and to listen to God speaking.

Hence my vow of silence. Over the next few days or weeks or months I've vowed to be economical with the words that proceed from my lips, with the conversations I entertain, with the social situations I involve myself in. It's impossible for me not to speak at all. I'm a teacher so I'm paid to speak. Outside of what I'm required to do, in those sessions not assigned to essential communication tasks, I vow to be silent. Silent not only with the words that proceed out of my lips but the thoughts I entertain in my mind. I'll sit, like that wise old owl, and lock myself on top of the oak-tree of my mind and listen as God's still small voice speaks. And as he speaks I hope to grasp lessons that will direct my footsteps in the path He leads.

"Speak Lord - for thy servant heareth" (1 Samuel 3:10)

Vow of Silence (VOZ) © 2014 S.L.Lawrence

Natural Hair Journey - The Big Chop

Transitioning style

On January 6, 2012 I had my last perm. I had decided a few months earlier that I would allow my natural hair to grow out. I was about two months into the process when I had a change of heart. This was influenced by plans I had to attend a formal dinner that evening. I hadn't learnt anything about caring for my hair as yet and couldn't figure out a way to fix my hair that would be appropriate for the occasion. So I permed my hair.

Admittedly even after that last perm I was still on the fence about going natural. In my mind this was a phase I was going through and at any minute I could decide to go back to what I was used to - hair permed straight. As the months went on it became even more frustrating. I've never been one big on combing hair so although I read and educated myself about caring for my kinky hair as well as created a portfolio of different transition styles I could try, the process was frustrating. I hated this phase. I hated dealing with the two textures. I didn't remember what my hair looked like natural and as the new growth came up I became even more uncertain. There was just one big mass of confusion beneath the stringy remnants of permed hair.

The big chop: 1 year before and the after

My intention was to grow my hair out until it was a reasonable length before I cut off the relaxed ends. It was hell to deal with. One faithful day - on 1 June 2012 - after returning home from church I looked in the mirror and I hated what I saw. I wrestled with two thoughts - cut off the permed ends or go for a relaxer as soon as night fell. The battle was fierce as the latter option had the most convincing arguments. My hair was lovely when relaxed. A few years earlier I had decided to grow my hair out rather than cut it after every perm and it was beautiful. People loved my hair and I loved people loving my hair. I loved my relaxed hair!!!!!!!

The natural me

However, I chose the first. That same evening, before the devil could convince me otherwise with his sweet lies, I took scissors and hacked off the relaxed ends. It was liberating!!! And I loved it. As I introduced my adult self to the natural self I'd lost touch with I realized that no amount of perm, makeup, add-ons or subtractions could make me beautiful. I was already gorgeous. My hair is just an accessory!

Natural Hair Journey - The Big Chop  © 2014 S.L.Lawrence - The content appearing on this blog is the exclusive copyright of S.L. Lawrence and should not be copied or reproduced without the explicit written consent of the copyright owner.