By a lake, I sat. Lake, sea,
river, or an ocean. It doesn't matter, does it? Passers never noticed me. I am
not sure why. I am not short, you know. Are my features that negatively common,
like "GOVERNMENT IS GIVING EGYPTIANS FAIR LIVING" title in daily newspaper?
I don't know. And yes I care. I won loads of notice in my previous life. I
changed myself entirely to escape those attractions. I changed in a way no one
can ever imagine, no one can ever bear to hear about. No, this isn't a story about a man who committed suicidal and hadn't
known that he was a ghost already.
Well, I am not a man. I was a girl who lost her hair. No, not cancer.
No, I didn't get the punk skinhead either. I used to look at myself daily in
the mirror and I saw my long hair. My changeable long hair. Curly today,
straighten it tomorrow. Cool, right?! Oh, those days…
Time painted on me layers and layers of thoughts. I became a wall of
thin reddish blocks, covered by dozens layers of cheap paint. If any hit that
wall, leaves of color will shed off in a smooth motion as if it's stepping down
airy stairs of failure slowly. When I realized that, my hair was gone. I couldn't
see anything, but a wig. Medusa wig. Each thought I had on mind was a snake growing
out my head, might bite you and hurt you, but it was too short to go around my
neck to suffocate me. My brain couldn't hide anymore that those snakes were my personal
singers. I forgot they were short, but could reach my ears, whispering their devilish
spells into them and in a blink of an eye, my vision blackened.
Ding dong, the clock yelled. I woke up to know that staying in this
enclosed room wasn't healthy anymore. I had to go out. To be honest, I got out;
cause there wasn't any food for the snakes in that room. I went outside
searching for anything to feed them. Anything poisonous. When I did, the wig
melted in the sun's rays. Its beams weren't that beneficial, though. They burnt
my skin as well. My eyes were shut. I don't know why they were. Maybe because bloody
reality had been under the spot light of the sun, or because the light was so
strong that it was about to blind me?
From a dark room and Medusa head, to a wanderer in the street with hair
thrown on shrugged shoulders, life went on and winds started to blow. They blew
the fire set in my world. I couldn't know by that time if it was that time when
you blow the candle cause already lights are on, or you blow the candle cause
darkness as anonymous fan sounds more friendly. I didn't care to answer all
these questions. All what I minded was, the wind bought all the dust on its way
to hand that gift to me, so I'd breathe it in, which was the thing I did, and
that was where it lived. I liked it. It was my special type of drug. The dust
soaked the smells of everywhere. Home, old people, museums, paints, food,…
everything! And hello, everybody, that was my delicious menu on which I fed daily.
Yes, I gained weight that a wish list had grown inside of me!
Endless wish list it was! I wish I could walk in streets. Just quietly walk
without words raining on me like knives. I wish I could ride on a bicycle with
a flowery dress. I wish I could go to the beach dressed in tee and shorts. I
wish I could shout and scream without being criticized. I wish I could hang out
with everybody, boys and girls, without buggy people sending me no-parents-raised-you-up?
looks. I wish I could cut my hair short without called Americanized. I wish I
could run in the street without being anatomically analyzed by whoever was
passing by. I wish I could tell my parents I am going for a walk alone without
forcing me to picture the most horrifying crimes which might take place if I
did so. I wish I felt I can have no supervisor. I wish I hadn't to have a
partner all my life, in each and every stage of it, wherever I go. I wish I could
get my head out of the car's window, and let the air brush it, sing aloud and
imagine myself a part of a music video. But no, I can't. I am not beautiful,
free nor allowed enough.
That was it. When I fell to my knees, (nop, I ain't a weakling chick) I
did to adjust my vision at the level of what my society had planned for me to
see. I didn't do it, because I was hopeless. I did, because I was planning for
a major change. Remember when I started the whole thing with "I was a girl…."
The change I am talking about was…… transformation. A gender transformation.
Not real enough for a conservative society in Egypt, right? But believe
me, it's easy when you move to a city where no one knows you. Parents? Oh, I
forgot to tell you that they are abroad. "Securing your future," they
say. I can't deny that daily I peel off a part of our community's major
obstacle to have money enough for a one-day survival, but forgiveness wasn't creative
enough to make up an excuse for my parents to leave me facing the copycat
traditions on my own.
I became that guy who doesn't talk to any. That oh-la-la rational guy
who shares stares here and there, looks back to his book, updated to fashion.
Bottom line, a male model, hard to be found (my experience as a girl previously
helped me to understand the whispers, to interpret the moving lips.) To be
honest I loved it. I didn't talk much. My moves weren't girly to drive attention.
I thought guys' world was amazing! No one judges you and bla. No one keeps
watching you and be a spy on you. No one gets on your way, out of nowhere,
telling you "don't do so. I am just advising. Have a good day." Such
quiet life guys have.
After being a guy for two weeks, I was informed that my dear close
friend (I knew back then before I got on my new identity) died. As a guy, I
shouldn't cry! I stayed home, smelled bad, doing nothing but eating up to
swallow the tears along internally. What a misery a dude has to go through!
When my experience lengthened I realized that hanging out girls and
boys, is mostly blamed on boys, not girls as I got it before. The guys say
"girls won't deal with you as a friend. It's a lie. You're whether a
second choice or a tool to make another jealous. If she deals with you as a
friend truly, then she sees you as a girl. Where's your dignity, man?" I
wanted to scream that no, not every girl is a Lindsey Lohan. I wish I could know
who told them those lies! Are all of their gabby talks, a bunch of assumptions
which have been shared for long that they became rules instead?
Surprisingly, on parents side, they give the guy a look like "you,
a**!" So, what's friendship? Girls all together outdoors, are bad. Guys
all together outdoors, waste of space. Guys and girls all together, are b*tchy
girls with corrupted so-called boys. Bye-bye, normal social life.
My neighborhood noticed I came home late. I spent my whole day at the
library then at oriental distanced places. They have that impact on you that
you feel each face you look at, writes in your head his story with no talks.
Anyway, days passed on and I noticed my neighbors ignored me. After a while I
had been told that I was pictured as a drunken person and a drug dealer. Yeah,
the clock is that sharp to cut my prestige and reputation into pieces; see!
That time made me realize guys had the freedom to collide with the real world
more than girls, but the word "collide" isn't the one to describe it
all. If there is more aggressive word to describe it, you may use it. How
exhausted I'd been, makes my wish list, colored by bloody splashes. I wish I
could drive fast and press the breaks with all force I had and cry. Cry aloud
without being called "fagg*t." I wish I could get late without being
doubted to be a criminal or a sinful man. I wish I could work at any age
without calling me "poor" or giving me look of sympathy or
disrespect. I wish I could get my skateboard and walk in the street shirtless
without hearing the loud "brainwashed!" I wish I get on bicycle
without being laughed at.
A boy or a girl, I had the same sorrowful wish list. I know, different
demands, but the same frame. The same section where both will be hung. The same
sigh is exhaled. If I just had a stony heart and jelly-like brain, my life
would have been easier.
