Alone.

I am a rental flat. Where people come home to only when tired and has no other place to go. They don’t even call me home. I am just a place to spend the night, to soak the tiredness away from that body and to abandon by day.

I am a sun. That’s all I am. I give life that is taken for granted and blamed when the rebellious rain strikes. Too hot or too distant.

I am alone. And maybe that’s just how everyone is, too.

Used and useless.

When your feelings, your experiences and you become a minority. Honestly, nobody else cares.

And everyone thinks it is just your problem alone instead of asking how they can help or do better for you.

Because in the end, nobody cares about another person.

Always on the outside looking in.

The wrong gender. The wrong institution. The wrong crowd. The wrong behaviour. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

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Faster days. 

One day, I felt a little change in me. Maybe what I have been hoping for all year has finally happened. Maybe the chemistry in my mind has balanced out or shifted. Or maybe I have aged just a little bit more after turning a year older.

Or maybe I just woke up one day and allthe  little actions I have been taking this year added up and the difference is reaped.

I feel lighter and more free. My eyes are open to possibilities and I feel the forward momentum. Pulling at me stronger and sometimes, I feel like if I jump off the ground high enough I can float.

The days fly by and gratitude has been filling me up. A quiet joy. Slightly less dark days and time goes faster.

I’ve been spending my days writing thank you letters, making art and reading all the books I finally made up my mind to buy. Life’s been good, and if the rest of the year goes like this, I am content.

Gratitude holds such power over my being. And I am grateful that I have things and people, to be thankful for everyday.

A Little Hopeful. 

(October 17th, 7.59pm. Sleepy in the middle of tuition since the kid is working on a full paper. Under exam conditions. This is after I have had a full day of school and it is so stuffy here. The air is moving so slowly around me and my head feels so heavy.)

We have been happy. The last three weeks maybe? I haven’t felt this feeling in a long time. Nothing to worry about, in regards to us, our communication is going alright. Even though there’s friction every now and then, we deal with ease and a casual laugh. It feels easy. I am not stressed out by something he said. He is not ignoring me by always entertaining other texts before mine.

It is going okay.

I can breathe and talk about all the other things cluttering my mind. He would listen, nod or agree. Dish out some impractical advice. Laugh and take another spoonful of food into his mouth.

While all the feeling good is happening, we are mainly apart. Each at our respective schools, with our own friends, doing our own thing and barely texting. Some days, we only check in with each other about once a day. Less than 10 texts. Before submitting to sleep and other distractions.

Surprising.

Other times, I’d be disturbed or mildly petrified. Or he’d be spamming my inbox. He does it less now though, naturally. He has more persons to safeguard his happiness now.

Usually when things start getting better, I start feeling just a bit more positive than my usual self, it all goes to shit.

So here’s a short note of commemoration for myself. That we are happy now. And we can be happy without needing to try too hard.

Happiness is here. It is in me, even if just a small fraction, it doesn’t mean any less.

Rain, September. 

The sky cries softly 

Never a sound before hitting the ground 

Its silent surrender 

Accompanied by lightning and thunder 

Seldom alone 

For its every visit 

Awakens the hollow shell of living 

And we learn to look to the sky once more 

To wash to clean to believe that 

There is a god or we are 

More than just drowning 

Belonging. 

Where do you stand 

Loving both men and women in 

Equal measure for their similarities 

Skeleton skin sins

Differences only in curves gender politics and bias

When you belong to neither straight nor 

Days of being closeted and no bravery story

Or do you just sit in an isolated yellow box 

Pretending to disappear with every puff 

Smoke snaking up into the sky 

Like wishes unmade and justifications you should have said 

Before going back into bed to dream the same dreams again

Week Two. 

It’s been two weeks of growing my hair out. I haven’t touched the shaver since then. Most days, I even forget how I look like. Until strangers stare at me when I take my cap off or am walking around without anything covering my head. 

Funny how gender stereotypes would like to tell you how to even keep your hair. And funny how complete strangers seem to care about how you should look even more than people that actually matter. 

I still remember wearing sports bras and baggy shirts into public toilets when I was completely bald. Stares would happen when I walk in – first on my lack of long luscious locks and then the fact that I have a sports bra on to flatten my chest. 

Can I just say it is weird that one has to make up for the other to prove your femininity? 

Anyway, nobody would crowd around me when I join the queue for the washroom. Nobody would use the sinks next to me to wash their hands. They would rather wait for the other sinks to be available than be next to me. 

Can you imagine if you have to go through this everytime you are in a public space? Or even in the washroom? 

How mundane the chores, but so disturbing in nature. And what it reflects about ingrained biasness and judgments. We all just try to shape our worldview according to our ideals and wants. That’s why violence happens even though we already know how inherently wrong it is.

And violence exists in all forms, not just the physical bloody types. 

Maybe I am just unattached to my hair and how I look, so I am less affected. Which is great. Instead I am just curious and with my hair growing out, perhaps I can witness the behavioral changes that occur with me ingraining myself back into the “normal” beauty standards or how a person with a vagina should look like.