I grew up surrounded by Dom salons. Crazy was I to assume that everyone went to a Dominicana and even crazier of me to think that there would be one waiting for me when I left for college.

Imagine that!

I wanted an education and I wanted my hair to look nice. ¡Qué tonta!

Sin embargo, I found myself calling home every weekend. While my roommates were getting care packages filled with their favorite snacks and treats, mine were filled with jars, bottles and potions that all read, “Hecho en República Dominicana,” or some home made concoction that my mom or her vecinas came up with.

Without getting into my personal details, life was a BIYOTCH in the dorms for a chica like me.

I love braids and think some people can rock the hell out of locks, but I like my hair to sway and swagger. No. I’m not trying to run from my African ancestry, I just like to be able to comb and style my hair as I please. However, I was not willing to let lilly-white-Britney do my hair because she had one black friend who had hair just like mine.

That is when my hair journey officially began.