"He is simply di erent," a mocking critique o ered each time I failed to act like a typical teenage

boy.

Being a part of my community came with many expectations and responsibilities. These
responsibilities varied for di erent age groups and genders, and those not complying with them
were labeled "di erent."

I always found this notion of generalizing, such as boys doing boy-ish things, odd. Learning to
ride a motorbike was one of them. Some did it for fun while others because they were supposed
to. I was one of the latter. Feared of this label, I pushed myself to practice riding it every day.
Despite feeling sti ed and enormously uncomfortable, I sat on that seat and held the clutch,
frantically trying to balance it. Each day, as the clock struck four, my heart would begin racing,
and my palms sweating. I concealed my feelings merely to get accepted into my society. Then,
one evening, I got into an accident. As I saw the motorbike in front of me, I knew I would hit it, but
I lost control.

The accident left a conspicuous scar on my left foot. I tried to feel embarrassed. Strangely,
however, I could not. Instead, a sense of triumph emanated inside of me as I glimpsed at my scar.
It made me realize I was not di erent; I was unique. A uniqueness that, now, I proudly embrace.
Fearless of this label, I continue to diversify myself by gaining new perspicuity and aptitudes and
work towards my goals.
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