today, on the super short two block walk from work to the parking lot, i was stopped by a man i didn’t know and was told that i had dropped something. for those people reading this who know me, this makes complete sense given my general carelessness and long established tendency to loose things. plus, the earrings i was wearing were infamous for falling out without me realizing. anyway, so i stopped.
this is my fourth year in the twin cities and in america in general, and i guess three years of immersion into a culture should be enough to understand how this country works. but i still struggle, and continue to be intimidated by just how different everything here is. plus, ive realized that its not easy to let go of what you know in order to learn what you need to. in karachi, if a random guy came up to me, i would spend a second or two giving him the death stare and then run off before things got stranger. but in minneapolis, surrounded by all these super nice people who say good morning to you even when they dont know you (whats up with that btw?) i was fooled into thinking that mr random man just wanted to make sure i didnt loose my stuff. so then i start checking my stuff like a crazy lady and made sure both my earrings were still where they were supposed to be while at the same time looking blankly at the floor to try and figure out what i had dropped. this is when mr random man comes closer than most americans do (studies say three feet is considered to be an appropriate and comfortable distance between two bodies) and asks me if my hair was real.
this is what happened next:
mr random man: so.. is your hair real?
nonster: uh, yes.
mr random man: damn i thought that shit was a weave.
nonster: uh, no
enter: scaredy cat sensations with a side order of weird whats-going-on feelings
mr random man: can i touch it?
on my way home i was thinking about how i answered mr man, and the funny thing is that my hair isnt really real at all. what he saw, was hair post drying, straightening, serum-ing and hardcore brushing. i take my hair very seriously. one of my favorite things about america is the fact that most days are good hair days. but why did he think i had a weave? what was he trying to imply by asking if it was a weave?
why am i still thinking about this?
hair politics = nuts.