So… first things first:
My play (a 20 minute version of it) will be shown during Angelic Tales New Writing Festival – in Royal Theatre Stratford East!
Died and gone to heaven, me. 🙂
Its title (if you’ve not caught it yet) is… Girlfag. Which, very likely, is what I am.
Let’s back up a bit.
Being a girl was this puzzle when I was little. I loved clothes, colours, make up. But I also got asked “do you want to be smart or beautiful?”. And I wanted both, but if I had to choose, I chose smart.
That’s when it started – a conscious rejection of everything “silly” and “girly”. Later, these were the things that I boosted – thirsty for female companionship. Then I turned to feminism. Even later, I rejected all the social norms (as much as I knew how) and tried to embrace queerdom; conversely, it turned out that I lived outside (in opposition to) my body, so that I wouldn’t have to deal with it.
In case you didn’t know: when you don’t know your gender, your orientation, or even your body, sex becomes complicated.
And I found myself mostly attracted – to gay men. Or at least new, non-standard editions of old male product (which remains the case, still).
Writing Girlfag brought it all back. Who am I? Some days I think I long to be a boy in a dress. It feels subversive, and I want subversive. When I put on a dress, I’m a girl in a dress. Not subversive enough. But I do like dresses.
I’m not quite coming out though – I don’t need to. Most of my friends know I’m a little gender-challenged; it can be observed with a naked eye. I rock my short hair and male shirts alongside-form hugging leotards and crazy skirts. I’m coming in. Into my body. Into myself.
Trying to understand. Trying to express. But most of all?
Trying to feel.
I will not be denied all that there is to me, in me. Not because someone, somewhere, found my wants and needs unacceptable.
And this, as much as anything, is a good fucking reason to write a play…. .