Who Is This?


I never really understood it.


Why I would look in the mirror and cradle myself.

Why I would become so aware and uncomfortable of my chest.

Why I would want to rip my hair out whenever someone said my name.


My… name.


Whose name?


I wish I could forget it. It’s not my name anymore.


But nobody will stop saying it.


How come, anyway, am I so averse to being called the name my mother gave me? If I could only know why it was me who felt so alone, around all of my family, my classmates, everyone.


And I wondered so often, why I would dream to be someone else as a child. Or sometimes, maybe two people at once.

Just anyone but me.


I was alone in my feelings, and I had never thought too much of them. I thought they were normal.


Until I wasn’t alone anymore.


I became so aware of how I had felt my entire life, my body, my face, my voice…


My name.


It never made sense, and it doesn’t, even now.


Why do I hate this body?

Why do I get so scared when someone says my name?

Why can’t I live the way I want to be?

Why can’t I just be?


Who is this in the mirror?