My hair has a mind of its own. Course curls cascade down my shoulders, each bending in every direction, failing to combine in a pattern of any sort. Each strand, thicker than the rest, with sporadic kinks preventing any form of being straight like anyone else’s. The luscious brown-red color waiting to reach the sunlight and become a vibrant, creamy red. Each section slathered in creams and mousses, curls gasping for air in a sea of product, hoping to dry in their curly, coily way. Yet the back never cooperates, drying in its own cloud of frizz like a completely different head of hair. The pattern never becomes one no matter how much I try. 

Callow on the other hand, thick, dark, loose waves cut off right below her chin. Her hair is so dark like an endless black, only the layers underneath are occasionally tinted crimson. An ode to her edge, separating from the basic darkness she was given. And Delia, her dirty blonde, thin, hair always seems to be confused. Curls above her forehead form in the humidity, while the rest flawlessly straighten themselves with no hesitation. It is the calm hum of a bird chirping, effortlessly with the breeze. But my mother’s hair, most like mine, her hair has calmed with age. The deep, dark, coils no longer frizz in the same way mine do. Conforming to the grips of a gloopy gel, it holds its place like the water on an early morning of a still day. I know I inherited my complaining curls from her, the pictures of her disobedient hair so clearly resemble mine. Now my dad, his hair thicker than any one of us. A shortened mess of course strands, jumbled together on a singular head. They are spaghetti in a sticky pot. They are half-cooked ramen noodles, drowned in soy sauce. Their thickness causes an uprising of each clump against each other, fighting to stick out of the relatively tamed mess. Freshly oiled, like the cast iron pans on a Sunday morning when he makes chilaquiles for the family. The smell of frying eggs and tortillas fills my nose in a warm wave of comfort. 

My hair is strange, simply like no other. But my hair is my family, what links us all together in the end.