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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.





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