As I sit looking at old photos, I am stricken with one in particular, a teenage girl petting a horse, her profile lit up by the glean of the sun. She is smiling with buttery skin and sharp, lean features, and black gold hair tied up in a bun, curls restrained but not forgotten. Her eyes sparkle, even at a grainy resolution.
I am struck by the fact that it’s me. I am that girl in the picture. For the first time in my life I see beauty in a candid image of myself.
the hair; growth cycle
when I was young,
I grew mine out, thick with stringy curls
to cover the self I was ashamed of
as I matured,
I cut it short, from shoulder to neck to ears
to expose the self beneath
in my mid-20’s
I dyed it light, progressing to platinum blonde
to celebrate this new self
I sit here now, looking at old pictures
you were beautiful all along.
I contain multitudes. – Walt Whitman
what say you?
is there interconnectedness
between hair, identity, and self-image?
rediscovery and renewed appreciation to be found in old photographs?
post your thoughts below!