章節 22: Please Wait, Reconnecting...

A girl's life is less fun than a boy's. I had always loved and wanted to be a boy but my shitty mom's ovum decided to create melons and a diamond.

When I was in elementary school, I hang out with boys too much that people start to think I'm them…but only prettier. I wanted them to keep believing this beautiful lie, that I'm a male, that I'm fun, that I peek at girls skirt and try to lift it up so we can hear their squeaky noise.

So I decided.

To cut my hair.

And my mom didn't like it. And when mom doesn't like something she makes it right. And she has absolute authority over the property. Her big ear noticed that I was hanging around with boys too much. She fears this will harm her family's reputation.

She kills the lie, telling everybody--John, Ness, and even Fron--that I'm a girl. Female. Love to dress, cooking, playing house, and fantasizing about werewolves (or vampires.)

My friend (was mine) felt betrayed. They stayed away from me. I try to be sorry but they reject it in hurry. Then treated me like I'm not even a boy or a girl anymore but a living corpse.

Five days later, I started to hate Fron. This dude actually took the chance to lift my skirt up when I was forced to wear a skirt. A girl! He laughed. Weak and weird.

I don't want to be a girl. I don't want to be a boy.

I want to be happy for who I am.

Couple years of embarrassment, my mom decided for me to change schools. She pushes me in an all-girls middle school.

I didn't like anything that time. I thought hating anything was better than hating myself.

There I met a new person who called me friend when I only asked her the direction of the toilet. 'I can get you there,' she said and as we began to walk down the corridor she started to tell everything she finds fun in herself, that she likes the colour of pink, likes older boy, and sciences and shit. The only thing I know about science at the time is science is stupid and rocks have feeling too.

Even in the toilet, she doesn't stop. As if she's promoting a car. As if she's suggesting me to think about accepting her as a friend.

She's a beauty, prettier and shining than me. If I were someone else, I would get her as my friend.

If only I believed not everybody was cruel that time.

One time I stood in front of a vending machine, staring at the latte can. She came from behind me and seeing my drool, took her wallet out. I tried to reason with her not to--I don't accept donations.

She smiles and puts a green paper in the machine. I watched it swallow as the girl said casually, "I don't need money, so I give to those who need it. Like a latte, I can give to my best friend." her smile shone and I shielded my eyes from it.

It had been almost a month, she was still promoting.

"Why are you trying so hard?" I snapped. It was under an evening warmth and she had decided to walk back home with me.

She only smiles, "because I see you need help."

My mom had taught me how to slap a girl's cheek (by hitting her only daughter, me.) Probably came from the same blood or being a victim of it, I had a grasp how to do it now. You hold up your hand up the air, charging the cruel air of the world, and without remorse, slam it on golden cheek. I did to her, and it was her ear that I hit. It hurt me more than her.

But slapping is not about who's skin hurts. But who's feeling it hurts.

I made it clear that day, I hated her. I hated her cute lips, hated her interesting choice of word ('perhaps, perhaps' for instance) and hated her gender. I despised her pink panda keychain she got from her dead fucking grandmother. Despised her kindness to help my howework, despised her wanting to make me 'not alone' in this god forsaken world.

I didn't believe in friends.

"I don't need help!" I shouted.

And ran as fast as I could to home, not realizing that my mother's cousin saw the scene. The whole scene. And this woman loves to talk.

My mom slapped me twice that night. I admired her. How can she see reputation is important than her daughter?

The next day, the pinkish girl left me for myself.

Then again for another day, I was alone.

And lonely people get bullied so easily. In the toilet, a group of friends start to pull my hair and begin to bring up the old story where I pretend to be a boy. It looked like someone from their group attended the same elementary school as mine. She thought she knew everything. What they didn't know was that pretending to be a boy had built some courage in me. I punched their leader, the tallest one--I had to guess that. The others screamed. Girly but ugly.

Their leader had also shown bravery. She kicked me in my stomach. Encouraged by their leader, they stopped screaming but kicked me with hatred. The hate gradually turns into a fun experience as I have more funny kicks. I hated black shoes since then.

As I felt my body becoming weaker, an armour of soft body shielded me.

The bullies didn't think who just came and continued to use their legs to bruise our bodies.

But then they began to feel bored. And they started thinking. They started to realise who was the other one under their feet.

It's 'her.' The girl who loves science and shit and believes that we're friends.

The bullies ran, hoping that no one saw it.

Twitching and groaning. I looked at her bruised face.

"Why?"

She tried to smile, "because I see you need help."

I was weak that time, both psychically and mentally. So my eyes flooded, cooling my body. I need warmth. And her emotinal words managed to invade me.

I hugged her. I hugged my friend. "Promise me you wouldn't leave me."

She nodded and pulled out her 'pinky' finger.

We lock in. Promised. And I thought that were the strongest contracts out there.

I was wrong.

The day when I told the disciplinary teacher about the girls and she asked if I had any witnesses or proof, my friend had been found wrapped in black plastic floating over the river.

She left me.

And I was hurt. Not just my feeling, not just that trick our mind tells us. But my skin and flesh. I had cut my pinky finger off.

I think my pinky finger is still floating on the river.