Chasing Gavin
The castle in the sky
I'm a girl-a female, a lady, a woman, a lass. You know, the average life form contrary to boy-male, guy, gentleman, lad. No, not just your standard kid or youngster or teen or adolescent, but a girl, no matter how you want to put it or exaggerate with other becoming and flattering descriptions, you will eventually arrive into one, unchangeable conclusion: I'm still a girl.
Not that I'm complaining on it, but I can never deny the fact that I am what I am. It's not a mistake, but more of a frustration-I guess I can't do away with that. Everybody has their own slice of cake, and this just happens to be mine...unfortunately.
Why am I creating such a fuss out of this simple, undemanding statement? Mind you, in reality, it takes a lot to endure the melancholy in this dog-eat-dog world, or rather, survive in this state. I'm a girl, and that already diverges me from the society, not in a sense that it's a disease, but a flaw, a slipup, an imperfection, a weakness that lingers in my system like a bright, obvious birthmark placed right on the chin.
Some may consider my idea rather illogical or absurd, for their judgments are poles apart from what I really have, from what I really think, and from what really exists, instead of merely happening. Or maybe I'm just being too one-dimensional-shallow, I must say. I must be rather incapable of accepting what life could simply offer, that I long to reach the high ups of human fancy until it is lofty enough for anyone in the depths of despair to jump down.
I happen to be youngest among three siblings: two boys and me from the opposite gender. How bad can that be? Not much actually, except for a few slipups that you can't do without. These include keeping your room clean (girls should keep it that way), helping around the kitchen (my brothers normally escape from this and it doesn't really matter to my mom), and experiencing the inferiority among my brothers because they think that I'm less capable of doing anything which is undeniably true sometimes. The toughest challenge would be the occasional nagging of my mom on me because I should do this and act like that because I'm a girl.
My only source of solace is my sporadic gazes at the window, daydreaming that I was the exact opposite. Occasionally you might catch me during those dull days of much wall-watching, or ceiling-gazing, or better yet, floor-gawking. If matters turn out to be worse, you might find me spending countless hours trying to conjure a spark from my "wand" before even realizing that it was a measly garden twig all the while. I might be plotting to magically "transfigure" myself into a boy instead (Transfigurus gentlemanus!) and live a life like a fairy tale.
Nah, I wish.
I'm a girl-a female, a lady, a woman, a lass. You know, the average life form contrary to boy-male, guy, gentleman, lad. No, not just your standard kid or youngster or teen or adolescent, but a girl, no matter how you want to put it or exaggerate with other becoming and flattering descriptions, you will eventually arrive into one, unchangeable conclusion: I'm still a girl.
Not that I'm complaining on it, but I can never deny the fact that I am what I am. It's not a mistake, but more of a frustration-I guess I can't do away with that. Everybody has their own slice of cake, and this just happens to be mine...unfortunately.
I guess magic wands wouldn't do the trick nor would pretending and make believing. Though I know one thing for sure. Like all fairy tales I'll be able to accept it sooner or later, and to finally emerge from imprisonment to the much-awaited freedom. After all, who couldn't resist a happier ending?
