Have you ever imagined this? A lass groping in the dark, stealthily climbing up a coconut tree in the hope of plucking a mature fruit. And all for the sake of vanity!
For most women, their hair is their crowning glory. To say that not all men are attracted to glossy, long, straight, black hair is an understatement. This fact had driven me crazy back then. With a dry, messy, frizzy, and curly hair, I guess you won’t blame me for nurturing a silent yell of insecurity way back in high school. My lack of confidence courtesy of my cursed hair even made me think that mine is a face that would stop a clock.
Nowadays, there is a wide variety of hair polish available in the market. During my teenage years, I heard of nothing other than baby oil. But as we were dirt-poor, having even a baby oil at home is rarer than hen’s teeth. Without a baby oil, my hair is just as messy as that of a witch. So, I’ve got to think of an alternative. I knew there’s more than one way to skin a cat. This prompted me to climb a coconut tree on occasion. I called it a climb for a hair polish. Yes, coconut oil is not just for medicinal and cooking purposes; it can also serve as a hair polish. Your hair is sure to have a strong coconut smell, but I didn’t give a hoot that time.
My first “climb for a hair polish” was done with my elder and younger sisters when I was in 2nd year high school. We did it deliberately at night to refrain from being caught by Nong Pedring, the owner of those coconut trees. I forgot to mention that his coconut trees were just adjacent to our house, so doing the climb at night was not much of a worry. I’m not implying that what I did was worth emulating but, I guess, a loss of a fruit or two wouldn’t starve Nong Pedring to death.
That first climb was not a success, though. While I was midway up the tree trying to get a firm grip on the trunk, I heard father calling us out in a loud voice. He was unaware of our devilish plan, much less that I was already up the tree. Utterly upset and saddened, I climbed down. We went home to find out a male visitor waiting for me, clueless of the aborted plan caused by his visit. I was definitely not thrilled to entertain him because my mind was occupied with thoughts on how my hair will look like the next day without a coconut oil. It was a thought I couldn’t simply brush aside.
At times, however, devil’s children have the devil’s luck. The succeeding climbs were triumphant. Of course, those adventures couldn’t be considered periodic; they were only sporadic because each fruit plucked amounted to a ton of guilt. Besides, I later realized that pulling myself up the tree made me less of a woman, or so I thought.
Those “climbs” are now a notable episodes of my life. I do not consider my dry and curly hair as a curse anymore but as a blessing in disguise. This I realized after my husband told me that he had been dreaming of a curly-haired woman who would give him offspring with cascading, bouncy curls. That was the loudest whisper I’ve ever heard. And yes, I granted him his wish. Am I not like a fairy?