It has changed throughout the years, but it has always remained a part of my identity. It has actually been the one factor that I have the most control over. Despite all my “never again” moments, it was always my choice.
Up until recently, The Hunchback of Notre Dame would be the only time anything on screen would move me to tears. I did not cry as Mufasa died nor did I shed a single tear in Titanic – only Quasimodo resonated with me, he not only rang the bells of Notre Dame, but the bells of my heart.
I am a firm believer that time manipulation is the most superior power because it obviously trumps the other powers available. It is clearly a jack of all trades. The other popular powers can easily be defeated through flashing forward to the future, or skimming back to the past. No matter what power, time can find a way to defeat it.
Time is the only thing that keeps us going, and it is ultimately the one thing that stops us. We are obsessed with time. Always searching for ways to do more with less.
The first shirt that I wore that showed off my figure was a red and white striped shirt that was like a crew neck with a button up underneath. I wore it to go out to eat with my family. And although I looked like a walking candy cane, I remember my dad complimenting me and commenting on the fact that I should begin to dress more like this, more like a girl. Other than that outfit, I typically bought jeans from the boys’ department – carpenter, baggy, and just plain questionable. Not because they were “meant for boys,” but because of the prints on them: green graffiti lettering covering all the pockets. My shirts mainly ranged from 2XL to 3XL, and since I was very slender, I was always drowning in my outfits.
Through providing our ears, we are allowing an unwanted visitor to enter our homes and become a tenant. It is 2018, we should no longer be oblivious as to who our visitors are! I will no longer subject myself to anything that makes me feel that I am less than because I wasn’t born with a penis.
While waiting for the associate to check the back stock, I began to scan through the shelves and found How To Be Black. As I glossed through the first two pages, I found myself laughing (out loud) for real, not the “I will type lol with a stone cold face” way. This was enough to warrant its purchase.
Greek-orthodox is one of the most refined and strictest religions out there, and my grandma is the most religious person I know; making it only natural for me to cause a disruption in her most sacred haven: church. My mother would bring my siblings and I a few minutes before Communion would start because she knew our limited capacity to behave ourselves there. I was feeling under the weather, but having no choice, I found myself at church that Sunday morning.