The Transition to Microlocs and My Hair Journey in Phases

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Phase IV: I marvel at the length, and I am in love with every strand

Interlocked and cornrowed again. Photo Collage Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I continue to be amazed by this journey. The path is curvy with twists and turns, and on some days, I am unsure where we (Ájá & I) are headed, but I am glad we are on our way.

My last wash and interlocking session was on March 11, 2023. My hair was out and free to grow and lock and become a force of beauty and strength. And it did exactly that.

On Sunday, May 07, 2023, my cousin had the tedious task of washing, re-sectioning, and interlocking my hair. I am no stranger to these methods now; I am a soldier on a familiar battleground, and the war is almost at its end.

Just under two months after my last wash and interlocking session, I am greeted by more length and a fuller head of hair.

There is peace in the calming hands of another

My cousin does an incredible job with my hair. When she washes it, my soul is moved. I can feel the cleansing process while it’s taking place, and my mind is at ease. She scratches it in sections and pays attention to the dryer spots.

She is like a surgeon — the way she dances around my head with her fingers; plotting the best ways to relieve itching. My hair always feels ten times cleaner and lighter after her hands have massaged my head.

She is thorough yet gentle with just the right amount of force to push away dirt and dandruff buildup. It’s fascinating — the washing process. I am not only in an impeccably relaxed state, but I am also overcome with serenity and joy.

When my hair is clean, I know the next steps are to interlock each section and pull any new growth into its rightful places for continued growth and locking.

With every session, my anticipation heightens

Growth and thickness. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

During every interlocking session, my anxiety builds. I am anxious to see the outcome. However, there is also an intense amount of patience — knowing that this process provides added length and replenishes the hair as well.

I wish I had the words to describe how I feel walking around with an ever-changing head of hair. I do not.

We started this process as microlocs, but my hair has loc’d in a way that is clearly its own. My locs will probably be bigger than microlocs or even sisterlocks, and I am all right with this.

Whatever Ájá wants to do, I am on board with it! This transition is one I signed up for and perfection was not in the cards.

I want to see what the end of the year will bring when we make it to a full year of interlocking and patiently waiting.

I want to know what December 2023 Ájá will look like. And I know with my cousin’s hands creating, washing, and maintaining my crown of glory, the sight will be one to see.

I marvel at the length, and I am in love with every strand

My hair is growing. It flows on its own and lands just above the nape of my neck. There are sections that are longer than others, but this is to be expected, as I am also growing out a short haircut.

I stare at myself in the mirror. I gaze at my graying edges and perimeter, and I am wooed by these changes.

New nose ring (had the old stud switched out to the one). Graying all around. Locs doing what they want to. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I am not the same woman. I am changing along with my hair, and every day brings a newer side to me which I am eager to embrace.

The Powers That Be promoted me at work. They have invited me to be a part of our Engagement Team. These novel happenings are keeping me sane and giving me hope for a brighter future.

There is still a deep pain from the loss of my beloved cousin early last year, but I am moving along on a happier note.

I no longer carry grief in my pockets. I hold her memory close to my heart, sit in my favorite chair, and twist my hair because of a new habit.

And with each twisted strand, I think of Chrissy, and I wonder if she’s enjoying this journey with me, too.

I am happy with Ájá’s growth. I admire the length of my hair, and I long to see how long it will get before I become tired of it being too long.

I don’t foresee this happening. I have happily embraced every phase so far. I am positive this will continue.

December 11, 2023, will be one full year

At the end of this year, I will share where my hair journey has taken me.

One year of growing locs and maintaining them is steadily approaching. I am patient as I mark each day off on my calendar.

I have a few pieces of hair that have already locked and my heart flutters at the sight of them.

I am on my way to loving a full head of dreadlocks, and my soul can do nothing but smile.

Transitioning hair is a topic I love to discuss now. There will be more to come.

Part I, Part II, and Phase III

Originally published in An Injustice via Medium.

An Overnight Trip To Charlotte, NC

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TRU by Hilton hotel near the Charlotte Airport on Cascade Pointe Blvd.
The bar in the lobby, business space, TV, Jernee resting #1, Jernee resting #2, and a blow dryer bag.
My best friend’s dogs: Baby Bella Rue #1, Baby Bella Rue #2, & Stacey-Lou and Bella Rue. And of course, Jernee Timid, too.

Tina (A repost)

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A Haibun

Tina Turner, image from Smooth Radio

I have decided to give you your flowers while you’re still here. A wonder–a mystic amongst Gods and the ungodly. You have always been captivating. I never wanted to sing. I never wanted to dance. But I have always wanted to write, and you paved the way for me to have this voice–my voice in a world of chaotic flows and shiftless thoughts. You have conquered a sea of endless pain and lived to testify.

Millions of people sing your songs at the top of their lungs–breaths poured into the air that land at your feet. We still stand in awe of you; so incredibly in love with you, we speak your name . . . Tina.

Legends can be born
To be what legends should be
You are so much more

And now, one of my favorite Tina Turner songs.

Tina Turner, What’s Love Got To Do With It?

I wrote this poem and shared it here on November 26, 2022, when this amazing Queen was still breathing. She still lives. She always will. Rest in Power.

Previously Submitted

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A few poems that didn’t make the cut

Photo by Imani Bahati on Unsplash

The Weird Games Children Play

The kids play Marco Polo
without a pool
Their little hands flail wildly
in the October sun
No one is IT
Everyone chases the sound
of voices unsure
of what they’re trying to find

The Delivery Guy Is Dyslexic

243 is 234 to a keen set of eyes
buried in the head of an
amazing human being yet
try as I might
I can’t be in two places
at one time

However, he doesn’t know this
My food sits in front
of a neighbor’s door waiting
for me to retrieve it
I send a message through the
app explaining the dilemma

The digital approval of
a refund chimes in
I really just want to eat
what I ordered
without the hassle
|but I’m also empathetic to
the plight of one’s struggle
I’ll order again tomorrow

The Dog Does Not Approve of the New Arrangement

I was feeling frisky the other night
so I decided to rearrange the
living room furniture
Afterward, I cleaned and
noticed the dog focused on this
new maze inside her home

She does not approve

I nod satisfied with what I’d
accomplished and my little
friend huffs in disgust
She sniffs the furniture for clues
of sameness — I explain
everything is still here

She tilts her head up to
look in my direction and I can’t
help but feel as though I’m
being graded on my performance

I did not pass her test

This Is Not Bravery

I don’t think it brave to
exist in skin the color
of spilled lies and wake up
to a face that never changes

I didn’t ask to bleed the same
blood yet I do
and authorities Other me before
I can utter a word

It is not bravery knowing I
can die for making a sharp
right turn without a signal
in a car registered in my name
with all the updated paperwork

One false move and I
could be hashtagged

The type of privilege that offers
safety is what I envision
for everyone but centuries of
racism begs to have its
face at the ball of life
No one’s dancing . . .
we’re all too afraid to move

All poems were written in October 2021.

Originally published in CRY Magazine via Medium.

Darryl & Delilah

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Flash Fiction: A Tale of two squirrels

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

“I’ve named them, you know?”
“Who?”
“The squirrels that keep coming to the stoop. I’ve named them.”
“You have, have you? Let’s hear the names!”
“Darryl & Delilah.”

MacKenzie’s older sister shoots her an odd look — one that questions her name-choosing skills, but the younger sibling stands her ground.

“Darryl & Delilah!? Mack, why on earth would you . . .”

“It’s simple. Remember that song Mommy used to sing when I was like 5? The one by Billy Joel, ‘Just the Way You Are’? I hear that song every time I see them running around, gathering acorns, and hoarding them under the flower pot on our stoop. Their names fit them. They seem like a happy couple — one that can’t live without each other.”

Misha stares at her kid sister in total disbelief. She can’t believe what’s coming out of her mouth, but then again, she thinks it’s best not to question 11-year-old girls whose parents recently divorced. She continues to listen without judgment.

“I see Mommy and Daddy in them. Mommy rushing to gather all the acorns. Daddy hustling to the stoop to lift the flower pot so Mommy can place the acorns there. They make a great team!”

And then the tears fall. Misha watches her kid sister turn into a mush-mouth full of anger and resentment and pent-up sadness on the corner of Circle Way and Todd St. Divorce isn’t simply dividing their family, it is changing them in ways they never thought it would. MacKenzie is anthropomorphizing the squirrels in the neighborhood now. What’s next?!

“Mack . . . it’s okay to cry. You know that, right? It’s okay to just cry. You don’t have to make up stories or see Mom and Dad in the squirrels that use our stoop for storage. You can just . . . cry.”

MacKenzie shifts her thinking head to the left, bats her lashes slowly, and leans into her sister’s personal space. She whispers . . .

“I know. But it hurts less when I make up stories.”

Misha pulls her sister into a tight embrace, smooths back the wispy hair from her eyes, and kisses her forehead.

*Sighs* “I know, kiddo. I know.”

Billy Joel, Just the Way You Are

Originally published in Hinged on Medium.

keratoconus III

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free verse (audio) poem

Scleral contacts in and headed to my optometrist appointment for a cornea check & second opinion on Corneal Collagen Cross-linking. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
keratoconus III by Tremaine L. Loadholt

if you are lucky — blessed — you have 
someone monitoring your health
as best as they can. 
if you’re falling off in any way,
they’re there to pick you back up
and remind you, “There’s still
living to do.”

I now know the importance of
keeping my eyes shielded for 
as long as I can.
wearing scleral contacts for at least
ten hours per day has helped my
left eye, however, my right
eye is progressing.
according to my optometrist, I’m 
still in a range she thinks is “gradual”
and nothing to be concerned about
surgically, just yet.

she agrees with me that we 
should allow the additional six months
and reassess in November to see
where I stand. 
will my sight
continue to betray me or
will it slow its pace in progression
and stave off surgical procedures
for a few years or more?

I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

she also broke down Corneal Collagen Cross-linking
to me in a way that didn’t terrify me or
cause me to fear attending anymore 
ophthalmology follow-up appointments.
she smiled gingerly and said, “I hate to say
this, but most surgeons are trained to give
you the worst-case scenario, and then I 
have to . . . clean up the mess.”

I listened to her as each step was 
explained, reiterated, and filtered to
my understanding, and I breathed a 
sigh of relief. 
if this procedure is needed by the end 
of the year or later, I feel less worried
about the possibility of having it performed.

when one’s vision is steadily running
in the opposite direction of 
the sighted, what does one do?
hope. pray. follow all necessary 
precautions. pray some more.
purchase all the expensive items
necessary for the care and maintenance
of the $3,500.00 each, priced lenses.

Can’t let these go to waste, right?

and as I continue to lose my sight in
one eye, it is strengthening in the other.
what can this mean?
what does this mean?
is there even any meaning to it?

my optometrist is happy with
my vision as it stands currently.
I could see what I needed to see
and people, places, and things
are still sharper in my 
line of sight.
it’s a small thing but a big thing, too.

I only wish you knew how much.

Parts II & I

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.