Finding myself

I have known since young that there is something not quite right about me.

As a kid, I did not enjoy playing with toy guns, vehicles or robots like what other boys typically do. Instead, I liked to play with my sister’s dolls, and I enjoyed stripping the dolls and changing their costumes. When I went to primary school, boys’ games like kickabouts in the park or dribbling a basketball were anathema to me. You could probably find me with some girls playing hopscotch in a secluded part of the school. I remember that I particularly enjoyed stroking Mei Lin’s ponytail, and then removing the elastic band keeping her ponytail in place, and restyling a new hair style for her. When I grew older and discovered the palette of wonderful colours, the array of feminine bric-a-brac that is used to prettify a girl and understood the differences between shades of foundation, I started experimenting with my mother’s make-up kit. Of course, I did that when she was not at home. I think my sister caught me once rubbing some gooey stuff on my face, and her eyes goggled in wonderment. But being six years younger than me, and probably still undeveloped in terms of her cognitive processes, she went back to doing what she was doing and did not broach the topic to me or anyone else.

In secondary school and junior college, I did not have any close guy friends. In fact guys ostracised me because they perceived me as effeminate. Did I feel alienated? No, I didn’t because girls loved my company. It was not that I was particularly handsome or anything, but perhaps the fact that I spoke softer and was more gentle than the typical boy at that age, endeared me to them. We shared so much tears, so many secrets and so many wonderful moments together that there were many occasions when I regretted not being born a female.

The last day of junior college, I cried together with the girls because I knew I would miss them as I had to serve two and a half years of national service. National service was crap to me. I hated every day. Each day weighed down, pressed down on me with unbearable agony. I hated my bunk mates, hated their disgusting habits and disgusting topics. Every night, I hid myself under my bedsheet, cowering in fear of what they would do to me. They called me names, they jeered me, and they played pranks on me. But I kept my cool. I knew that once I completed national service, I would pay them their comeuppance and regain my salvation.

Two and a half years passed like that. I did not exit the gates of my camp less adulterated in my feminine tendencies. On the contrary, my conviction had grown stronger that I needed to change. Break free from my shackles. Find myself.

And now, I find myself lying on a gurney being wheeled into a room with piercing strobe lights. The olive-skinned nurse muttered something in poor English about the doctor coming in a while. I saw the glint of a scalpel somewhere from the corner of my eye. I saw the taunts of my army mates. I saw myself weaving Mei Lin’s hair into a braid. I saw myself crying in the arms of my junior college classmate whose name I have forgotten. I saw my manhood being ripped off, blood spurting everywhere like a fount. Last, but not least, I saw and finally found the peace I had longed for. In a few hours, I will have re-found myself. My eyelids grow heavy and the radiant ceiling light gradually faded from my vision….