dear self ...

i was reading through my journal from elementary school and part of middle school this morning. you know, just to add a bit of comic relief to my morning routine. and with my morning cup of joe and fro in tow ... i have this to say to my prepubescent self:

dearest prepubescent krysta,

i know you feel like your hair is a wild beast that lacks the desire and capabilities of being tamed. and i know the combination of your giant fro, lanky purple legs, small chest and gangly front teeth make you feel a bit awkward and insecure.

but let me say this. one day in high school ... you will discover that your curls can be managed with an appropriate amount of gel. it won't look perfect, but people will eventually stop referring to you as frizzo. you will still spend countless hours trying to straighten your hair with a blow dryer and giant round brush every-so-often, but it'll look much better because you will have also discovered palmade .

when you get to college, you are introduced to a flat iron, that you will claim to have saved your self-esteem as you know it. it makes your hair look like everyone else's who secretly wish they had your natural curls to provide volume that you try so desperately to rid yourself of. your boyfriends and superficial friends will compliment you every time your hair is straight, so you keep doing it ... slaving away to keep frizzo at bay.

but dearest krysta, one day ... when you least expect it (and when you haven't actually taken the time to burn the crap out of your hair that morning), a guy named vince will ask if he can bring you some home made food. you will say yes, knowing that this giant mop that most people call hair can not be dealt with before his arrival. so you make a small disclaimer about the frizzy monstrosity and wait until he arrives. and krysta ... from that day forward, he will ask you why you don't wear your hair in all its frizzy, curly glory every day. you will still fight the good fight a few times a week to make it look more 'presentable,' but one day ... a day like today ... you will wear your crazy mop with pride. because it's you.

with love and gobs of hair gel,
your 26-year-old self

p.s. - you eventually grow out of your training bra (although it takes a while), your legs will always be purple (which is always helpful to break the ice with new people), and your teeth actually straighten up without braces. trust me ... you'll turn out just fine.