When I was younger, I used to hate on my male classmates. They had all that I ever wanted. That’s why I grew up to be a butch. In the LGBT world, that means a lesbian cross-dressing and role playing as a guy.
I have at least one lesbian aunt from each side of the family, and I grew up in a largely all-girls university. I say largely because we were the first batch ever to have a co-ed high school, which I resented because that meant more competition (huh! talk about childish stuff).
I know I have been a lesbian since I was young. I would feign discomfort or irritation when my parents dressed me up. The discomfort would then disappear whenever they change my clothes to the much plainer shorts and shirts get up.
I tried to fight my “abnormal” feelings for my female classmates. One, we were in a Catholic school, two, my paternal grandma goes to a conservative Christian church where females are not allowed to wear pants at all, and three, I was scared of rejection.
Such was my fear and confusion that I tried to subdue all known feelings until my grandma passed when I was 11.
And because our school has a larger female population than our male counterparts, the school observed what they coined as “proliferation of boyish girls in the campus”. Needless to say, girl-to-girl relationships flourished. And then I became somewhat “popular”. Armed with all my suppressed flirtatious skills, a membership to the varsity, a by-line in the school paper, and a rank in CAT, I found myself in relationships with some of my schoolmates. Where kissing a girl is taboo, and love letters are sent secretly, my high school life turned out to be fun, after all.
Until I started working, where one incident drove me to “suppress” my chest, for more than a decade now, as most “butches” do.
I was out there waiting for someone when a guy approached me. He said “sigurado ka bang tomboy ka?” (are you sure you’re a lesbian?) and then he looked me up and down, going back to my chest. I flushed crimson right at that instant. That event changed me since.
My insecurity heightened when a past girlfriend openly flirted with her co-worker, and yes, malicious touches involved; and when another past girlfriend cheated on me for a foreigner guy whom she can “introduce” to her ageing parents.
I’ve always wished I had “that equipment”. I wasn’t happy about what body parts I have. The lack of that equipment made me think of myself lowly. But that’s changed now, thanks to the brave who went ahead of me. Thanks to educational materials that readily available online.
I no longer want body parts I wasn’t born with. Yes, I still wear men’s clothes, and buy slightly masculine scents. But the truth is, my name is still Mary Grace and I still go to the ladies room to pee. And I’m happy and proud, that I am a Lesbian.