Like... my nails. I love my nails. I know women would kill to have them like mine. They grow long, they grow strong. They are spectacular and look wonderful in a variety of colors. But then there are my toenails. They are also grow long and grow strong. You ever see Jurassic Park? Yeah, the velociraptors. Ooh, scary! Big bag mean thunder lizards cut yo' nut sack in twain with a flick of their ankles. Rawr! Yeah... that's me. I cut nut sacks in twain with my toenails. I'm actually quite terrible to sweep with in bed. Or my singing. I sing like an angel. I know because people tell me this. I sing when I work. I remember this one time, way way back, a coworker tried singing at work as well. But the boss told him to shut it, so he goes, "Hey, but you let Alice sing!" And the boss says, "Yeah, but Alice doesn't suck." Proud of myself, felt bad for the jabroni though. But whenever I get too full of myself, I remind myself that when it comes to singing, I actually have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. Music theory? What's that? Or my hair. To be surrounded by white people is not a pleasant experience when you're young and simply not white. Or normal. Because apparently, normal people don't grow hair like I do. My grandmother of course was no help. Being white, all she said was my grandfather used to slick his hair back with vaseline. Ugh. But thankfully, you get older, people change their tunes. Suddenly I'm a cool kid in school instead of some sort of hideous mutant freak. Not that the damage hasn't been done, of course. Get older still, get on the internet. You can surround yourself with individuals like yourself. Other people who have had similar experiences to let you know you're not crazy, you're not alone. A wise woman once said that being a minority means the majority can tell you that your opinion doesn't matter. But it's ok, because I know I matter to some degree. I can surround and drown myself on the internet with images, stories, movies, of other women of color. Light women, dark women, all black, or biracial or multiracial, women whose skin color transcends to flavored food items they're described with and marginalized with. Strong women that tell you that you can be strong as well. Vulnerable women that let you know it's ok to be vulnerable. But women with braids, with dreadlocks, with weaves because weaves are perfectly acceptable and presentable as well. Frohawk punk women, and the afro... mein gott the afro. Is there anything else, a symbol of might and unity and strength that is greater than the afro? Still, there are those times when I'm fixing up my hair that I just feel like it's all dookie. Like it's not worth it, that I should just shave it all off again. Get the big chop and call it a day. The anxiety does fade though. It is worth it. Because if I don't love myself, who will?