There is something in people's hair that shall always intrigue me. One simple glance at someone's hair can tell me so much of them; how their day is going, if they are happy or if they had time to take care of themselves for the day. It's a kind of sixth sense that I've developed thanks to the long fight that I had with my own hair.

When I was a kid, I had no say in my hairstyle. My mom and dad always preferred for my brother and I to have short hair. It didn't matter the season and it didn't matter the price, we always left the hair salon with short hair.

I always hated it. My haircut never made me feel comfortable with myself but what I said didn't matter. Back then, boys had to have short hair and girls had to have long hair. If you are a boy with long hair, you were either seen as feminine or "as a girl." Clearly, no one wanted to be that if you are a boy.

I began my transformation as an individual the day I decided to grow out my hair longer than usual. I was a teenager starting high school. I had managed to convince my mother to allow me to let my hair grow longer than usual. I had what you would call a "skater" look even though I didn't know how to ride a skateboard. My hair touched my elbows and I felt....different and different felt good.

That is until I let the comments from other people get to me.

"Guys shouldn't have long hair" was thrown at me on the daily. I became angry, not just with myself but also with my look. What once made me feel free now made me feel like an outcast. My black locks of hair started to make me feel like I was wearing a helmet. I felt as though eyes were on me judging the way my curls beautifully hung at the back of my neck. Even though I knew I had good hair, I felt vulnerable and uncomfortable with my look..

My constant fear of how my hair looked cause me to pick out the rest of my flaws. I don't walk straight, I have a hunchback, I have a lazy eye, I smile weird, I laugh weird. Everything that I was once oblivious to suddenly became the top of my worries.

I then had my sister bleach a part of it because, why not? I was looking for another change to get my mind off of all those worries and my hair no longer made me feel good. She bleached the back of my head where my curls were prominent. Though the change felt good, it was still not what I was looking for. Dying it red was also not so great of an idea since it turned into pink and then into a disaster.

My search for a comfortable look seemed endless. I combed my long hair to the opposite direction than I normally did for a month but it was a struggle to keep my stubborn hair down everyday so I eventually stopped combing it that way. I would always wake with a "cow's lick" at the very back of my scalp which only made my "odd" hair more noticeable. Except, I didn't want to be more noticeable, I wanted to feel more comfortable with myself and it took years for me to accept my change in hairstyles. I had tried hairspray, gel, mouse and other products to try and get my hair to stay the way I wanted it to. It was a constant battle. I sometimes won, but my hair won most of them. I came to the conclusion that if I couldn't win the battle against my hair, then I'd just have to accept it. I'd start focusing in other things instead of trying to drown in people's judgments. Once I accepted my stubborn hair the way it was, I had accepted myself.

That is why I believe that I am my hair. It knows me better than I know myself sometimes. My hair and I don't fight anymore. It knows when I am tired, it knows when my day is going to be good and it knows when to stand tall and look its best. So I'll just let it be. Nowadays, I only need to pass my hands through my hair and stick with whatever comes out. I don't use much of hair products because my hair doesn't like it. Frankly, neither does my wallet. I guess you could also say that my hair looks out for me financially as well.