Horse in the Fiat
I thought I was having an epiphany about something earlier as I was sitting in the square of town near where my parents live. I sat on the stone slabs surrounding some plants, and I sat and took everything in. Fancy old architecture, some upkept with bright vibrant colors, the fountain in the middle being thrown slightly off-kilter by the wind, also it's raining out. It's the farmer's market, and other places are having local sales. I got a tye-dyed short-sleeved hoodie and a pair of swim trunks from the best local thrift shop I've ever been to, as the men's smalls actually have some variety. I'm excited to be able to wear nothing but trunks, some swim bottoms, and a rash guard the next time I need them. All this, a mom thanks me for holding a heavy door open for her, and men give me The Nod™ as they walk past, tells me something really important about my existence as a queer person.
Nobody wants to be hated. It's not something that people seek out intentionally. I certainly don't want to be hated. I may have been harassed a lot in school. People may have been confused as to how to fix it. The confidence I had in my youth was through self-assurance in all my wonderful weirdness. Students and teachers alike would stamp it out. The crux of my insanity occurred when I was a few months shy of thirteen, at the height of my girlhood and just beginning to menstruate. From there, my relationship with myself and my body changed dramatically. The only change I really welcomed was body hair, as pubic hair especially covered one part of my body that I haven't ever really liked seeing.
I was told repeatedly, especially because of my demeanor, that I was a girl. Even now, at 23, people infantilize me and fetishize a version of me that doesn't exist anymore, for me to be a girl also implies that she is a child, and a child I am not. I hold this in all aspects of discussing queer things online. I am not a trans boy because I am not a boy: a boy is a child, and a child I am not. The confidence and maturity I fostered over the years through self-discover (and like. a lot of therapy. we're not even done yet) was the most important factor at play. People jept telling me I was something that I'm not, and it made me uncomfortable. It's like cramming a horse into a Fiat and wondering why he's not breathing right.
Ever since this horse got out of the Fiat, he's been taking a stab at running for the first time in years. It's a little shaky, and some people try hitting him, but they can't catch him, because he's just as fast as he remembers. It's that beautiful kind of jovial freedom that makes us difficult to hate. I enter the world not arrogantly, but confidently. I walk amongst people unashamedly as myself, and I acknowledge them, for we're all just horses trying to figure out how to get out of the Fiat.