this story originally appeared in the philippine daily inquirer on May 22, 1999.
I have always hated the fact that I was born a girl, a member of what our patriarchal society considers to be the weaker sex. It’s not that I subscribe to chauvinistic ideas and neither am I a lesbian. It is just that I believe it is more advantageous to be a guy than to be a girl. I dreamed of being a boy when I was a kid because boys seemed to enjoy more freedom.
I wanted it so much that I kept hoping I would find a magic potion or a fairy godmother who would turn me into one. Being the youngest and the only girl in the family, I was supposed to be pampered and showered with a lot of affection and attention. Unfortunately, I grew up with no regular mom around, no sister, not even female cousins to teach me ladylike manners and etiquette. My mother, who was an elementary teacher, was always busy doing lesson plans and other school work. My father was either on our farm or at parish or religious meetings.
Even if I craved for more attention, I didn’t bear them any grudge because at an early age I understood somehow that what they were doing was for us. Playmates and foes Most of the time, I was left in the care of my brother who was three years older than me. So I grew up in the rough environment of boys where feminine characteristics and virtues were strange and mushy things. My brother and his gang have always been my playmates as well as my foes. My brother hated being left to baby-sit his younger sister. Often he would lock me up inside the house while he played with his friends. Sometimes he would bully me and push me away, while his friends teased us about our situation. Well, I was as naughty and stubborn as any kid could be. I would make my way out of the house by going through the roof or climbing down an aratiles tree near my room. As soon as he saw me, my brother would spank me and order me to stop following him ”like a puppy.” At first I would cry and threaten to tell my mom. But since my mom was not always around, I conceived of several plans to make the boys take me on their adventures.
Sometimes I would bribe them or just follow at a distance as they went hiking in the mountains or swimming in the river. There were times when they let me come along after I did some crazy or daring things, like taunting a big dog in our neighborhood or climbing the caimito tree or picking mangoes from the backyard of a grouchy old man. I did all of these things to prove that I was worthy of becoming a member of their gang. Still, they pushed me away every time I tried to join in their games of basketball, marbles and robots, war and wrestling. When I asked why they wouldn’t let me join the fun, they would say, ”You’re just a girl.” It was a reason I could not accept since I had already proven many times that I could do everything they did even if it meant a lot of bruises, a couple of broken bones, two near-drowning experiences and regular spankings and sermons from my mom. Sweet, little things I brought this problem up with my parents, and they just shook their heads and patted mine, while saying, ”It’s just the way it is.” Then they advised to ”go and play with the nice, little girls in the neighborhood.” I liked the little girls because they were nice and dear, sweet, little things, but their games didn’t suit my restless nature.
I preferred the boys. I found the girls to be warmer and friendlier than the guys but I couldn’t be prim and proper like them. I didn’t want to play with barbies and pots and pans the whole day. It was bad for my constitution and I would get bored and cross to the point of ruining their games and throwing away their dolls. The nice and dear, sweet, little things would then turn sour themselves and tell me to go away and ”join the bad boys because you’re like them.” I’d laugh and tease them and make a face, upsetting them some more and hurting their sensitive feelings. In due time my hyperactive spirit, as they called it, was tamed, and the girls became my perfect companions. They were good listeners and sincere in giving their advice, although I suspected that they just wanted to play mother to me. They were affectionate, polite and kind and I really enjoyed the times we exchanged secrets because there were things I could never tell the boys.
This was the soft and feminine side of me which I feared the guys would discover and ridicule me about. There were times when I felt a little guilty about how mean and brutish I was to the little girls. But the girls were good confidantes and so I would discuss with them the silly things in my head as well as serious and corny stuff. The best part of our chats was when we talked about our future plans and dreams. All of them said they wanted to finish schooling, have happy families and a bright future. Most wanted to become teachers, singers, actresses or stewardesses. I guess I shocked them when I said I wanted to be a soldier when I grew up, die in a bloody war and become a hero.
At other times, I declared that I would become a wrestler, a basketball player, a pilot, race car driver or an engineer. There were times when I showed them how I would construct buildings and bridges and even make ”blueprints” of my plans. Unfortunately, I made no permanent friends and playmates although I was described in school as ”ever friendly and ever cheerful.” There were moments when I felt lonely and empty. I longed for companions, but the girls didn’t suit my wild nature and the boys thrashed me because I was not one of them.
Alone I ended up playing alone. I started thinking I must be queer and different from the other kids–odd, blunt, stupid, reckless, rough, ill-mannered, stubborn, tomboy, etc. Many times I asked myself why was I like this and why I couldn’t be like other children. Up to this time, those childhood experiences and questions still linger in my head. I am 20 now and I will finish my course next year. Still I am restless, a little rough on the edges, quite blunt and sometimes brusque, but at least, I’ve accepted the reality that I can never be a real guy. A lot of people still shake their heads when they talk about me. I’m still a wandering soul looking for what really suits my nature.
Sadly, not much has changed since my childhood. Although I don’t dream anymore of becoming a boy, I still hope that someday those bully boys will admire me and admit me into their society. I also wish that the girls will respect me in spite of all my ”oddities” and frank and blunt manners.
I’m taking up mass communication in an exclusive school for girls, but I still want to become an engineer someday, knowing that line of work suits me. So I have decided to take up that course after I finish, even if my mom thinks it’s not a good idea. I know it will be very difficult and I might stumble on my way, but maybe when I succeed my parents, friends and former playmates who sneer at me will change their impression. Maybe I’ll be able to prove to them that I am a sensible, hardworking, respectable and dignified woman of substance, not ”just a girl.”
