Focus On…Roots
Once there lived a boy, who struggled to accept his hairs ability to defy gravity. Having built up the courage to grow it out, he went on a journey embracing his roots.
I love every inch of my hair. Kinky coils and all. It was not always like that though.Through research, conversations and experimentation I learned to love and care for my hair. I can shampoo, condition, detangle, and attempt to put my hair in twists. After that my ability to manipulate my hair immediately falls to zero. And that’s okay. That’s where a stylist comes in.
Whether it’s my mom, cousin or friend from school, most of the time I have someone in the vicinity to do my hair. But being in Seoul takes the cake. I had to actively hunt for a hair braider. I summoned the powers of the Interwebs and did some digging but to no avail was able to locate a stylist. Then it dawned on me, “Why not ask my K-Big Sis?”She’s Korean and Black so she had to know where I could get my hair braided.
The night prior, I did as I always do before getting my hair done. I tried my best to wash, detangle and put it in some sort of “twists”. The twists I do aren’t meant to be worn as a style but to keep the hair from getting tangled again.Pyeongtaek is about an hour and thirty minutes outside of Seoul. I had assumed that the woman doing my hair would be Black. And if there is anything I am constantly reminded of is to “never make assumptions”. I step out of the car and read, “Kim’s Hair”. I look at my big sis in horror. “I thought you said she was Black”. She laughed and replied, “Boy get inside”. I grudgingly make my way to the entrance and say my “anneyohaseo”. I am met by a sweet short Korean woman. The energy and ambience of the salon put me at ease but honestly I was still skeptical. Could Kim truly put my hair in twists?
Kim and big sis speak for a bit while I wondered if I had made the right decision. It turns out that Kim had been working with curly and kinky textures for thirty years. I was speechless. Still part of me wondered how my hair would turn out. Getting my hair done abroad was a journey I did not anticipate taking but I think deep down I was curious.
I sat in the chair and she began what would probably be the least painful hair experience I’ve ever had. Her detangling technique was top tier and she even gave me a sheet mask and blanket to make me feel comfortable.
When the wash was done, I sat up and looked at the mirror like, “there’s no going back”. I happily ate the chips my sis left and thus began getting my hair twisted.
Halfway through her twisting my hair, I look at my fro and her with great appreciation. Here I was in another country getting my hair twisted. I may not have the privilege of having a hair stylist so readily accessible but the fact there was one at all made me feel at home.
At last we finished, or so I thought. Kim went and pulled out a durag. That had to be the cherry on top. She then had me spend some time under a hair dryer.
As I reflected, I became extremely thankful that while thousands of miles away from home, I got to do something that allowed me to further appreciate my hair, more importantly it gave me a greater appreciation for Korean people, specially Ms. Kim and her care and attention to Black clients. Maybe I could get used to this being “Black abroad” thing.
