Two years ago, I wouldn’t be caught dead with my natural hair.
I mean that quite literally – I would think about my funeral, and how I’d have to leave instructions for my friends and family to ensure that my hair was flat-ironed if it was to be an open casket.
I thank God that I’ve changed.
It is because I realized – if one cannot love their most natural self at 21,
(Before they have reached the prime of their life,)
(Before they have reached the prime of their life,)
How is one to ever love themselves at 83?
I don’t want to be the old lady who laments her youth.
I want to be the old lady who closes the photo album and then stands proudly with arms outstretched to say “if you think I was something then, just look at me now!”
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