“She was terrific to hold hands with. Most girls, if you hold hands with them, their hand dies on you, or else they think they have to keep moving their hands all the time, as if they were afraid they’d bore you or something. Jane was different. We’d get into a movie or something, and right away we’d start holding hands, and we won’t quit till the movie was over. And without changing the position or making a deal out of it. You never even worried, with Jane, whether your hand was sweaty or not. All you knew was, you were happy. You really were.”—J.D. Salinger (The Catcher in the Rye)
I hope you know you’re not the only one who feels the way you feel. You are not the only one who struggles. You are not the only one with questions. You are not crazy. You deserve to be heard, to be known. You deserve love.
You deserve a place that feels like home. You deserve some hands to hold. Hands to pull you past the broken moments, hands to catch you when you fall. Eyes to see you. To say you’re there, that you exist, that you change a room, that your presence is significant. Ears to hear you - hear your stories, hear you laugh. Ears to hear your questions and to say they matter.
I hope you get to a place and wake to a day, where that feels true. You deserve to know it’s true. You are not alone today and you matter very much.
Maybe it’s not only my parents who wished that I was born male. Maybe I’d wish I was born as samuel lim ming zhe.
I would have been the favourite son. A future sportsman under my father’s encouragement.
A gentleman, a God fearing man.
A Reliable bro in need
Strong enough to protect others and myself
I would have been a boyfriend of one of my friends
And found love.
I would have a room painted in blue instead of yellow
Rational, the king of good decisions
Impregnate rather than being pregnant
The NS man who could protect the nation
The ideal son that my family could be proud of.
In another universe, samuel wonders to himself, what will be like to be born as elizabeth- the ideal daughter.
“Why are we worn out? Why do we, who start out so passionate, brave, noble, believing, become totally bankrupt by the age of thirty or thirty-five? Why is it that one is extinguished by consumption, another puts a bullet in his head, a third seeks oblivion in vodka, cards, a fourth, in order to stifle fear and anguish, cynically tramples underfoot the portrait of his pure, beautiful youth? Why is it that, once fallen, we do not try to rise, and, having lost one thing, we do not seek another? Why?”—Anton Chekhov, The Story of an Unknown Man (via depressionparty)