My life so far has felt like a collection of vignettes. Moments that I thought were unrelated are suddenly beginning to make sense as part of a greater story whose end I won’t be able to tell when all is said and done. I’m realizing it isn’t the end that matters most, or even the start. It’s the moments in the middle that will leave an impression on my little corner of this world. The best part is I get to tell this part. The chapters about love, grief, hair, and life itself.

After the new year, a friend of mine shared a post from Instagram with an invitation to join a class titled “Braid My Hair,” led by Black artist and writer Alisha Acquaye. Here is how she/they captioned it:

When I read it, I felt a flood of certainty and fear in equal parts. My body’s way of saying “Hell. Yes.” I’d been playing with the idea of writing the rest of my story, after sharing a small part of it through Black & Brown In The Middle. My story isn’t particularly unique or extraordinary, but I’m learning to carve out space for myself to be seen, heard, and understood in the same way I do for my community. I knew I wanted to write it, but I didn’t know how. Knowing me, it would have to be about hair— so much of life is. How does one honor her story and each of its themes in a meaningful way?

Through this class, I was able to explore the idea of telling stories through personal essays, and more fittingly, in the form of a braid. Even better that there could be many braids, as they’ve often been on top of my head. Each strand made stronger by the other, while sometimes having a mind all its own. At times love is thicker than grief, and at other times hair is lost. All of it together makes a life.

In my memory, there has not been one story of one of these without the others. Life. Love. Grief. Hair. Naturally.