No two strands are alike when it comes to my family. My dad's hair is stringy and like wire, unable to misshape. My mom's hair is dark, dark yet full of life as it flails through the wind. But I, I am different from my family. My hair is soft as silk, silk that has been dyed a dark brown. Those who touch it stand in disbelief, asking what shampoo I use or what conditioner I smother my scalp with. My hair has no boundaries, it goes where it wants whenever. When wet it's still as soft as the moment it is dried. The task of keeping my hair out if my eyes is quite daunting. My hand  pushing its smooth surface back, keeping its spiked tips out of my delicate vision.