Hair today, gone tomorrow – the ever evolving mystery of black women and their hair. One day short next day long, one day kinky, next day straight. We can’t deny, that every strand of our hair is coated in art, politics and history.
The silent woman thinks that not speaking about something still equates to speaking about it. To her, silence is not the absence of conversation because not talking is her way of letting you know there’s a storm a-brewing (or she’s trying to prevent a storm from brewing).
The silent woman is baiting you, so don’t be fooled. Don’t try to turn the volume of her silence down by asking questions like ‘are you ok?’ – you know good and well she isn’t.
I’ve done myself a disservice by not writing this sooner but in our hyper-modern, post-racial, ‘we don’t see colour just people‘ society I’ve become weary about sharing my experiences. But now the frustration from not telling this story supersedes my weariness, so please fix the base, adjust that treble and give me more volume on the mike. The melody of this blog will be all too familiar to some; sing along if you know it. For those who don’t like my sound, then please feel free to switch the frequency.