Through The Window

Chapter One: Daydream

 I have a recurring daydream every once in a while that takes place on a beautiful sunny day during the months of Summer, when time seems fictional and our actions are merely impulsive adventures. I run outside in just a pair of shorts and make my way to the middle of a field, where I can easily soak up the sun and see the blue sky painted with white puffs. I roll around in the grass, feeling the soft blades brush against the skin on my back. The air and sun surround my torso as I can finally breathe. This daydream always ends with a melancholic realization that none of it is happening, nor has ever happened in my eighteen years being alive. When this dream of mine fizzles away I find myself sitting in front of an open window, looking outside into an actual field. The realization hits like a ton of bricks as I can feel a slight breeze on my chest coming from outside. Being able to go outside and actually feel the world is so close yet so far. If somehow everyone disappeared, I'd be out there living that daydream. I would take that opportunity and never look back. However, the fact that humanity lives by a set of rules that divides me from this dream - it removes me from experiencing simple things, such as feeling the air on my skin. 

The reason this is all just a dream that is out of my reach is because I'm transgender. I wish I wasn't. I'll never scream it from the rooftops, or wave a flag telling you that I am. But if you gave me the option to continue longing for that beautiful field, or going back to feeling so lost that I can't even recognize there's a field in front of me, the pain of longing and feeling separated from the world is heaven compared to pretending to be something I am not.

I was born with a female body, and a male mind. If I could have a female mind instead of a male mind, I'd take it. Or if I could have a male body instead of a female body I'd take that as well. My point is that I wish I had the choice to be born without this misalignment. Because so many people don't realize how lucky they are to be able to walk out under the summer sun and be able to just breathe.

Beginning at the young age of ten, I would drown myself in the carefree world of cartoons. I used hours of my free time creating characters and indulging myself in their made up worlds. The black leather chair in front of my desk is where I'd sit while I was alone in my room - it was a blissful solace. I recall hunching over so close to my sketchbook that I created an invisible cocoon that shielded me from the brutal outside world. As my feet swayed back and forth against the wooden floorboards, and drops of sweat formed on my forehead from the heat of my desk lamp, I would listen to music on my iPod while the characters perched on the pages in front of me would dance and bounce around to the beat of my music. To any other person that opened my sketchbook, my characters were merely happy faces that smiled back, but through the colorful filter of my imagination, those happy faces were alive. I could almost see their vivid movements with my own eyes. Above my desk, plastered across my wall, were dozens of pages showcasing the characters that would wave to me every time I entered my room. These alternate lives were created to mimic my own, but had one noticeable difference - my characters had everything that I didn't.

One character in particular was created in my image and went by the name of Kendall. I gave him short brown hair and glasses and even had him wear a yellow polo t-shirt - a shirt I'd worn to school every so often. Kendall however, was given a perfect life. I created an intricate map of his entire town, a comic book that told the misadventures of prank day with his friends and him. He had a nice house, a dog, went to a good school where everyone was kind to one another, but most importantly, he was born a boy. I didn't realize it at the time, but I'd created Kendall with the subconscious thought of giving myself a second life. A life where everything seemed to work out perfectly.

The reality is, floating around in gender purgatory while constantly wondering if I would ever be understood by another person left too many questions unanswered and too many thoughts roaming around in my mind. I don't recall many memories from that period in time because my mind always seemed to be on a shipwrecked island one million miles away. Cartoons were the optimism that saved me from being consumed by all the pain that lingered inside.

Today as I write this, I feel incredibly open to experience the world I was secluded from in my youth. And I wish to tell people my honest story - where I come from, my experiences, and most importantly the amplified highs and lows of living as a transgender boy.