Mandy Millington

HUMA 1100, Barton

7th Period

5/9/21

Crafting a Fictional Character Journal Assignment

I watch in the mirror as I run my fingers along the crown of my head, brushing through

my messy black hair. It’s got this strange, unpredictable wave to it that I’ve always hated. It

makes me look pretty, but I don’t think I’ve always wanted to be pretty. I eye the electric razor

on the rusty bathroom counter and huff out a breath of air. I’m terrified to shave my head. What

would my parents think? My friends? What would they say when they found out I don’t want to

be a girl anymore, when I want to present myself as something in between a gender?

I live in New York. I came here when I was 15 from the Philippines as immigrants. My

dad led me and my twin brother here after all the unrest in our country from natural disasters,

and there was always the possibility of better employment in America. That was just three years

ago. We’re still getting used to life here; my dad goes in and out of jobs while my brother and I

work weekends and put as much drive as we can into finishing school. I feel so selfish focusing

on my own sexual crisis when my dad can hardly afford to put food on our table. I know

transitioning could just make things worse, my dad never approved of anything LGBTQ in the

Philipines. And as much as I hate to say so, I didn’t like the way my home country handled the

LGBTQ movement either. Until the past couple years before we left, people were punished for

being feminine when they were suspected of liking the same gender as their own. For someone
like me, stuck in a rut and forced to act feminine as a young girl, I felt like it was against the

whole point. I didn’t want to be masculine, I wanted to be...neutral. Why was I forced to “act like

a woman” when acting like a woman was what got people so bent out of shape? Did acting like a

girl mean I was straight? Did it mean I wasn’t? Did it mean anything, and only affect the men in

my life who liked boys. I remember a boy in my high school named Daniel, a few years above

me who never spoke up or out, until one day he came out as bisexual and said he would finally

dress the way he wanted. People hated it, even if people respected him on the surface, there was

talk everywhere. For me, I never admitted I liked girls. But then again, maybe I just convinced

myself I did because of how unfemenine I wanted to be, defining against the hatred for femenine

behavior in gay people. Or maybe it was because I was forced to be femenine, my mother

reminding me “that’s not ladylike” or “time to act like a woman”. Maybe it was neither, and I

really just had no clue what I wanted.

Another stress on my life was the Catholic church. My father made us attend every week,

and read the bible almost daily. I never connected with it, never believed it. It never felt real to

me, but I could never tell him that I didn’t believe in a higher being. It would crush him, just like

telling him I didn’t want to be a woman would, or that I didn’t like boys. It seemed anything in

my life beyond the surface would make him disappointed in me. But should I let that dictate my

life? I’ve always been so worried about what other people will think and say about who I am or

what I look like, I’ve never done anything for myself. All I’ve ever wanted for my life is to be

myself, and be seen the way I want to be seen.

I cast my gaze down to the counter one more time, then grab the razor and turn it on.