My DNA has warned me that if I keep on with this nonsense about growing out my natural hair without locs, there will be hell to pay. I get death threat-like whispers from my cells that I need to restart my locs, or else.
This is a trying time, when the body actively participates in dictating aesthetics. And almost violently invading mind and soul to the point of unrest.
Like elephants, my cells’ memories are keen and strong. They want “their” locs back.