"The other day I was running late for a date after work and stopped by the nearest cafe to pick up a sandwich so that my tummy wouldn’t be rumbling when I faked my knowledge of contemporary art. The cashier was looking down when he was punching in my order and paused when he looked up and saw me. He clearly hit backspace on what he had just typed in and told me that my sandwich was on the house. I was thrown off and asked him to clarify what he meant. He told me the sandwich was free and I asked him why. He told me it was because I looked nice.

This isn’t the first time this has happened to me. It’s not frequent, but it’s happened enough times for me to realize that not everyone gets this kind of treatment. In the moment it feels nice to have cis men offer me free things and carry my suitcase for me when they don’t even know my name or astrological sign. But then I realize that they make all these grand gestures to me because they see me as a Pretty Girl. And the thing is, I’m not a Pretty Girl. I’m a Weird Lil Guy. I feel dysmorphic and strange and unsexy. I feel like my body is a corporeal burden, I feel a little jarred when I look in the mirror and realize that this physical form is what people interact with. Because on the Inside I don’t really feel like how I look like on the Outside. I feel like my Outside is a slimy skeleton that I shed when I come home and I get to sit in my underwear and breathe a sigh of relief.

There are a lot of things I do to maintain a certain level of sanity. I only wear thin bralettes that hide my boobs and I shave my face so that I can run my hands against the grain and feel the thicker hair growing back. I like letting my leg hair grow free like a wild plant. I wear a lot of loose trousers. I slouch when I walk and keep my chin up so that people can see the prominence of my jaw. I see myself more as a Space Alien than a Normal Human.

This doesn’t mean that I definitively dislike having feminine traits. Sometimes being femme is fun and I enjoy being a Girl For A Day. I just feel like I exist in some sort of purgatorial middle ground most of the time."

"At nights, I’m reminded how alone we are. 
It’s a constant thread of loneliness. We’re insignificant, just one speck, one person, in a world of seven billion, in a galaxy of a hundred billion stars, and in a universe of a few hundred billion galaxies.

Some people, motivational speakers, tell us to use this as a source of motivation. That, since no one’s watching us, we’re free to pursue the things we truly want. Why be constrained by the thoughts of others? 
But sometimes, sitting alone, these thoughts turn darker.

We enter this world alone, and we’ll leave this world alone. And there’s no promises of anything outside. Even within, we seek understanding, friendship, love, companionship, all things to stave off this existential emptiness. 
No matter what we do, people drift in and out, friendships and relationships fade, and eventually all things pass.

So few things we build last. Life is ephemeral. Some find meaning in the small things, in whatever they can experience, but in the long term, everything dies. 
It’s hard not to feel cut off sometimes, being in a now-strange city with few true friends.
It’s all too easy to look through the lens of others, in an evermore connected world. To see their happiness, their moments, while realizing that you can no longer be a part of those lives. To see them move on, hopefully fond of your past together, but ever-forward into the future.
And to look back upon yourself, with the worry that some of the most meaningful people, the most inspirational people, and perhaps… love, has already passed by.

Perhaps one day, we’ll be reunited. But some things have to be endured alone, without support, without trust. 
I wish we could build bridges that stand the test of time, that we could create an immortal dream, an endless legacy.
But alas, we cannot. 

We chase these faint memories, these faint dreams, in the hope of something better.
The waves of time carry us further from each other every day, uncaring of our efforts. Soon, the laughter, the tears, will be but faint memories on the horizon.

And then we’re adrift, alone. Perhaps to start again, and perhaps not."