Celebrating freedom, and looking forward to celebrating another freedom, a freedom that is yet to come.
The world is my oyster. Or so I am told when I am young.
I can grow up to be whatever I want to be, for I am free to follow the path of my heart.
But that isn’t necessarily true.
When I am born, someone takes a peek between my legs, speaks one word—“boy” or “girl”—and already, at that moment, society chooses a path for me.
It is decided what toys will one day litter my bedroom, what clothes I will one day wear, and who I can and cannot one day love.
I haven’t had the chance to get to know my own self. I don’t even yet know I exist. Yet already, society claims to know the person I will be. The heart I will have.
If I am lucky, my heart and my identity will conform to those expectations.
But if not, unless I am one of the lucky minority, I will know that I need to hide who I am and pretend to be someone I am not.
For even as a child, I am smart enough to know the truth of the matter.
It isn’t important who I was born to be, or who I was born to love. What’s important, apparently, is what’s between my legs.
Until I am free to love and live according to what’s in my heart, and not what’s between my legs, I am not free to be who I was born to be.
That freedom is yet to come. That freedom is yet to be celebrated.