Dimelo: Celebrate Who You Are

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It seems that for some people, I just don't look the part. At least, not the part played (in their heads) by girls named Maria with long, flowing tresses. My family and I range from just-barely-able-to-claim 5-ft. to my ginourmous 5'6"; and from lily white to olive skin. Some of us have long straight hair, others wavy and still others thick curls. One of us has been singing "One of these things is not like the other" since she was two and the first sister came along.

My curls are kinky and tight. I'm obviously rocking the curly pixie cut I'm sporting now, but was a hard-fought battle after 30+ years of hating my frizzy hair for being the main reason people assumed that I was what I wasn't and telling me I wasn't what I am.

The others:

I was too tall.

I had too much butt/boob/attitude.

And the hair! I can't tell you how many times I was told I must be mixed, which -- if we're honest -- is a giant possibility. Mexico is a giant melting pot with an unacknowledged African heritage and I've always been very aware of what I look like and how those I'm related to didn't quite match up. As a child I hated the weightless frizz my mother brushed my hair into. I wish I had known that the texture of my hair didn't make me ugly, just different.

 

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