Page 27 of New Growth
“That’s…” She hesitated. “That’s really tough, Elliot.”
I nodded as it settled on my chest again. “It’s been weeks, and I still don’t understand it. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it.”
Esther let out a soft sigh. “I’m really sorry you had to go through that. You deserve so much better. But it’s not for you to understand why people hurt you the way that they do. You can only accept the new reality and push forward.”
I looked at her, studying her face, and wondered how she could be so level-headed when faced with so much rawemotion.
“Thanks,” I said, the word feeling like an offering in exchange for her wisdom. “I guess it’s been hard to even think about moving forward. I just…I don’t know how to stop feeling so—” I searched for the word but couldn’t find it. “—played, I guess.”
“It’s not easy to let go of something you thought was real, especially when it’s family involved. But I think…” She trailed off, her gaze distant for a moment as if considering her words carefully. “I think you’re doing the right thing by being here. It’s not running away. It’s giving yourself space to heal. To find something for yourself, without all that trauma hanging over you.”
We both fell silent again. The sun was fully set, and the street lights started to flicker on. The night breeze started to roll in as we both stared out at the darkened pond, deep in thought. I downed the rest of my drink before I spoke.
“You know,” I said after the long pause, “I never thought I’d make a friend here. I thought it would be just me, alone in a foreign place, trying to figure things out by myself.”
Esther smiled softly, her eyes bright. “Well, I’m glad you’re not alone anymore. My mother says having good friends is like having a family but without the cost of blind loyalty.”
I chuckled, “Truer words have never been spoken.”
Purpose.
Estherwasright.
Changing courses might be the best option for me, and the thought filled me with excitement. It felt like a simple fix that could completely shift my outlook on being here. Sometimes, you don’t need to uproot everything when things don’t go as planned.
Sometimes, you just need to pivot, like Daddy said—and it’s important to know the difference.
My footsteps slowed when I passed the classroom labeledHair Care and Styling. The door was slightly ajar, so I pushed it open and let myself in. Inside, I could see a group of students gathered around, focused intently on a demonstration. This was a lesson on styling techniques, and from where I stood, it looked like they were learning how to cut and shape hair using methods I hadn’t seen before.
The instructor, a middle-aged woman with sharp features and graying hair, was explaining the proper techniques for cutting curly hair. Her voice was calm but authoritative, and I could tell the students were hanging on her every word.
“Remember,” she was saying, “with curly hair, you need to understand the natural curl pattern before you begin cutting. If you don’t, you can end up making the hair too short or uneven, and that’s not the look we want to go for.”
The students nodded, diligently taking notes. I got a closer look at the model, and my anticipation dissolved a bit. While she did have beautiful curls, they couldn’t be more than a 3A curl pattern. I shiftedmy weight from one foot to the other, considering whether or not to go in. I wanted to learn more, but this felt like a disconnect in these lessons for me.
As a Black woman, I spent a lot of time learning how to care for my own hair, its needs, and how to keep it healthy. However, there was so little information available in mainstream beauty education that focused on Black hair. European beauty standards like long, straight, glossy hair seemed to dominate every course and tutorial.
It wasn’t just frustrating; it felt isolating.
I wasn’t the only Black student at the academy, but even among my classmates, there was an undeniable gap. Natural hair care wasn’t given the attention it deserved—not in the way I knew it should be.
Granted, I wasn’t expecting an abundance of resources on Black hair care this far into Southeast Asia. But this was an international school, one that prided itself on catering to students from diverse backgrounds.
Was it really too much to ask for lessons that addressed the needs of people like me?
Still, what I was seeing now felt like a step closer. Techniques for curly hair were being taught, and though they were still firmly rooted in European standards of beauty, I had to know more.
Finally, I worked up the nerve. “Excuse me,” I said, raising my hand.
The instructor glanced up, her sharp features softening into a polite smile. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“I was just watching your class,” I began, taking a step inside while the students watched in silence. “This lesson is about curly hair, right?”
She nodded, setting down a pair of shears. “That’s right. We were covering cutting and shaping techniques for curls. Are you interested in joining the class?”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But I was wondering… do you cover anything on natural hair?”
Her brows lifted slightly, and she tilted her head, studying me for a moment.
