By IAN JOZEL N. JEREZ
EDITOR’S NOTE: This piece is one of the works in a five-part series in line with the Dapitan 2019 theme Insureksiyon. All works that are part of the series are written by the Flame’s Letters staffers.
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MY COUSIN told me she saw a man walking along the side of the road last night. She described the man to be dressed like a woman, to which I responded: “How could you tell?” It is not difficult to distinguish a person’s identity through the clothes they wear, she explained to me.
She went on to provide a more vivid description that illustrated how the man so obviously appeared not to know how a woman walks and, in particular, how a woman speaks. I was barely listening to her as I was lost in my thoughts. The (wo)man my cousin saw walking along the street last night was no one else but me.
Two days had passed since I conversed with my cousin. We barely know each other, but we live in the same household. As someone who is not comfortable being with anyone, I always distanced myself from my family, especially my father, whom I feared the most.
I remembered that day in my childhood: that afternoon when he pulled out his belt and thrashed me hard
on my behind as I knelt on a pool of mung beans. He asked me in a terrifying, masculine tone: “Are you a boy? Answer me, you freak!”
I did not respond to his question, afraid that the belt would bring further detriment to my delicate skin. I implored him to stop, but he did not. Behind him, I saw my cousin staring down at me with a familiar glare of condemnation on her face. From that day on, I decided not to talk to anyone unless they approached me first. Looking back on that horror, I realize now that I lived not only in fear but in perfect remoteness, as my own home failed me. They had failed me. I had no one but myself.
That night, before going to bed, I decided to release myself from the burden of my clothes. I went through my wardrobe in search of better clothes to wear. I found the first dress that I ever bought, but had never worn. Holding it in my hands, I wondered what had gone through my mind, as it was not even necessary to wear a dress to bed. Once more, I was bombarded with thoughts that undermined my worth. I knew that I had recently been bothered by what my cousin told me, but another part of me felt satisfied that she had seen me wearing a woman’s clothes and a wig. If only she had recognized me, I would have loved to see that familiar look of distaste and that hideous frown on her face.
With no hesitation, I put on the dress, but left my wig by the table this time, as I had always kept it hidden in the lowermost crevice of my wardrobe. Finally, I surrendered myself to a deep slumber.
In my dream, I heard voices. They were not whispers from underneath the surface of my bed; they came from the darkness that lay ahead before my eyes. No one was behind me. I was all alone. I sensed everything around me slowly vanishing into thin air. As I turned around, a red curtain rose, and I was suddenly standing on a stage in front of a crowd who screamed no one else’s name but mine. It was the name that I swore to take as I transitioned into a new persona.
This was what they had always feared, and this was my resistance.
I looked down to see that I was wearing the same dress I chose from my closet, and as I looked up, I saw a balcony full of audiences cheering as gracefully as the ones who were seated in the orchestra. I could finally assure myself that no one was here to hurt me. Amid the crowd’s thunderous applause, I heard a voice whispering in my head: Go ahead, my dear, and fly!
I smiled and took a step into the spotlight. F