My hair comes from my mother and father, although I do not know my biological relatives. I am a transracial/international adoptee—Afro-Honduran with indigenous roots. My hair is a soft texture, a mix of afro and tight and dark brown curls. I can now see my hair reflected in my one-year-old son’s hair in puffs of curly and afro kinky texture. My hair, as my son’s hair, is reflected from our ancestors but it doesn’t define us, it’s only part of us.
When I cut my mid-length curly hair to a short pixie, you must’ve thought there had been a death in my family based on people’s reactions. “What a shame, she once had beautiful long hair.” But why does length have to be associated with beauty and the concept of “good hair?”
Hair is powerful, but it should never define anyone and I hope that it never defines my son.
My identity as a Black woman is more than my hair, but I do believe we should be proud of our beautiful hair and love our hair as we respect our ancestors.
I am not my hair, but my hair is me because it is the map to my ancestry. My hair soaks up droplets from a rainforest shower and drinks the summer rain. It shapes my face and tells me where I come from and where I need to go and where I will always be from.
With a Perspective, I’m Rosa King.
Rosa King is an Afro-Honduran writer and transracial/international adoptee. She is an MFA candidate in Creative Nonfiction and lives in San Francisco with her husband and one-year-old son.
