For years I fought with the bird's nest that sat on top of my head-my Medusa  hair.No matter what I did and how hard I tried, in no way could I make my unruly  hair to my satisfaction. Growing up in a Russian-Jewish home with parents who thought North American styling products were something illegal such as drugs, I was never allowed to put them in my hair. "Why buy hair gel? Your hair is so beautiful naturally." my mother would say.The teens at school did not agree.From boys' not wanting to kiss me when we played spin the bottle in Grade 7 to being called the mop, I suffered from my hair. When I got to university, I believed my hair was a wall that stood between me and everything---finding a part-time job, getting a boyfriend, etc. If only I could find a way to manage the curls and put it behind bars, I told myself, I would feel secure and sexy.I tried everything: rollers, hairspray, gels and, at one point, an iron.Then, in my second year, a miracle happened.I was asked to be a hair model for Japanese hair straightening, a process by which the molecules of my curls would be broken and reset in a bone-straight position.I was the perfect candidate, the hairdresser told me.Although they said how hair relaxing could damage the scalp  , for the next five years I didn't find them to be true. All of the hairdresser's promises were fulfilled: With my hair straight and smooth, I was no longer the " mop". However, there was extreme damage done to my wallet. To keep up the straightening cost $ 700 every six months, and that was considered cheap. While some people thought I was crazy, I was willing to do anything to never again feel like that anxious, curly-headed girl in Grade 7.But when I moved out of my parents' house at age 26 and rented an apartment, the upkeep of my new image became too costly. I couldn't hide from my inner Medusa any longer.It was time to hug her and let her fly.Seeking a choice, I turned to the Internet, Google.After hours of searching, I hit upon a "curly haired" salon, a place designed for girls like me. I doubted these so-called "Curl Ambassadors" could do anything without using machine of some sort, and though I bought the service called the "Curly-Doo", I suspected I'd have the same unruly mop at the end of the appointment. I dragged my feet so hard getting there that I arrived 45 minutes late.I secretly hoped they would turn me away.Instead, my stylist simply said: "You are very late.Let me see your hair". At that moment, my world and beliefs about myself were turned upside down along with my hair. As my head was in a basin full of freezing-cold water, then covered with a jelly-like jam, I wondered what I had got myself into. "Do you really think this will work?" I asked the stylist, Jones." My curls are a disaster." "No curly hair is hopeless," she replied."They just haven't found a way to work with it, that's all." After the hour was over, Jones had completed her work.She had styled my hair using only her hands, water and a mixture of organic jam.I couldn't believe what I was seeing in the mirror: a naturally curly, Medusa-free me.You could argue that hair is just hair. Yet, it is just such physical features that have such a large influence on how we view ourselves. According to Jones,75 percent of the population have a wave or curl in their hair and don't know what to do with it.Men cut theirs short.Women flat-iron theirs to death.When I read through a beauty magazine or take the subway to work, it makes me sad to see so many people repressing their natural beauty. Since then, my world has changed.I have always been outgoing, but these days I seem to be more outspoken and confident than ever.On top of that, friends and co-workers tell me I am looking better than ever, but they don't know the source of the change. I don't need to tell them. My Medusa hair speaks for herself. The writer was_when she went to the "curly haired" salon.
hesitated excited disappointed determined