I love this hat. It is amazing. It's also my grandpa's, but that's beside the point. I'm also wearing my dad's way-too-big gray and black stripes sweater. I feel the best I have in years. I'm free of all the string I tied on my own arms and I can fly without other people pulling me (don't think too hard about that not-very-well-thought-out metaphor, I don't really get it myself).
I was remembering about times long, long ago, when I dressed up in batman, zorro, and strongman costumes, and refused to wear a dress to my aunts wedding. I wanted so much to be a boy. Maybe I had been a hermaphrodite and my parents had chosen wrongly? I wished this had been so, so that I had an excuse for wanting to be a boy. I was five years old.
Now, I love getting my hair cut and watching every strand fall to the floor with the biggest smile on my face. I love borrowing my dad's clothes (as I always have). I am ecstatic when little boys in supermarkets ask their mommies, "why is he wearing that hat?" And I don't care what other people think.
No, I'm not trans. I'm just different; my own person. I try not to follow other people into ditches that I can't dig myself out of. Now I can do whatever the hell I want and I'm going to be happy.