May I first just point out that my hair is... well… let's see here... okay I have decided there is no way to sugar-coat this. My hair is PINK, y'all.
And when I say pink, I mean really, really pink. My ‘fro has been unnaturally colored since about November, and on top of that, it’s also extremely frizzy curly. I think that the whole hair-dying controversy is really quite ridiculous. It is completely unfair to judge a stranger by something as nonsensical as hair color—unnatural or otherwise.
Why the intensely-hued mane, you might ask? Well, when you first see me, you may assume that I’m just another angst-y and angry teenager searching for a new way to stand out and “find myself”.
Not many people know the real reason though.
No, my favorite color wasn’t pink when I first did it. (It is now, though). I actually can’t wait to dye my hair back to its natural brown honestly.
My older sister was diagnosed with breast cancer a while ago, and finally in November we decided to try chemotherapy. I would do anything for her-- especially during this time-- and was ready to shave my head right along with her at that moment, to let her know that she was absolutely not going through this alone. As soon as I told her this however, she took some of my corkscrews into her palm and exclaimed, “What? NO! I would never let you chop off all of your beautiful curls just because of this stupid cancer!” So, I didn’t.
After she received the chemo, when she first saw me, my brown curls were replaced with pink fluff (bleach does some WEIRD things, guys. Maybe that’s just because I did it myself in my.. erm.. bath room-- instead of going to the salon), and I was so excited to see her reaction.
Now is probably the part where I describe her smile, right? Her genuine happiness of seeing how much I support her?
Boooooooringggggg. Real stories don’t have heartfelt moments like those. COLD, HARD, BITTER TRUTH was all that faced me.
“WHAT. DID. YOU. DO.” She proclaimed after a few moments of stunned silence.
“Erm… don’t you like it?” My hands flew to my now-silly magenta hair protectively.
Staring. Lots of staring was the only response she could muster.
“I DID NOT SPEND THREE HOURS THIS WEEKEND KILLING BRAIN CELLS BLEACHING MY HAIR SO THAT YOU COULD JUST GAWK AT IT.”
“I can’t believe you did this.”
“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SMILE AND BE HAPPY ABOUT IT, YOU KNOW.”
Discussing that first post-dye conversation now, we can’t help but throw into fits of giggles about how ridiculous we both were. Her, all drugged up and mad, and myself, after inadvertently inhaling chemicals, having a whisper-screaming match in the hospital.
She hated my hair! What she really hated though was kind of all the fuss being spent over her. Now, she really loves the pink. So, I love it too, pretty much. It makes us both smile.
Yup, my sister’s a trooper, and fighting on through it—even though these last few months have been pretty tough. Everyone in my family will proudly don pink to show our love and support for her.
Heads always turn as I walk into a public place. I could care less about the extra attention I always receive now, my sister and I know the real reason why I dyed it. The pink kind of became a part of me. (Might I also add that by now it’s all settled and no longer intense FRIZZ.)
Really though, I can’t wait to dye it back to brown. That will be the day all cancer is gone from my sister’s body.
So… what do all you think of my hair’s story? Would you ever do something like that for anyone?
Originally published on February 20, 2013.