male

When I was born, I was given the identity that is called "male" in our culture. Perhaps the doctor was the first to decide this. He saw my genitals and in his mind I was pronounced male without any more thought on his part. And in telling everyone else, he stamped on me an identity in which I had no say. Everyone else from that moment kept telling me what "male" meant. There were no options to be considered. I had to live out what they told me.

Why did I feel the need to follow their ideas so desperately? Because I learned very soon that the punishments were very harsh towards those who dared violate the gender role thrust upon them. The enforcers have always been my parents, my teachers, my peers. My friends. No one got to think about this. And though we may have wanted to protect each other from hurt, our best thinking of good protection was to urge each other to fit in. The threats were too large to mount any kind of a battle against without risking exile from the only families we knew.

But now that I'm an adult, the threats don't look so bad. People are coming to their senses, little by little. I can at least risk talking about the role of male, thinking about it. Some, because of the fear they feel, may scoff and avoid the topic, but I can decide whether or not this identity of male is a crock of shit, to be disposed of properly.

I can't start over, perhaps, but I must begin from where I am to create for myself an identity unpolluted by hurt. I know that "female" is not a better option, at least not for me.

There are good parts of my old male role to be salvaged, and then the rest can be cast away, along with the name.

Man oh man.