Girls Will Be Boys

Then

I spent a lot of time outside by myself. We lived in an old house on the outskirts of Seattle, where there was a bit more green and a clearer view of the mountains. The house was so old that it was rotten with black mould. In the springtime when we'd arrived, I wasn't sure if I preferred suffering from my seasonal allergies outside or staying inside of the home and suffering from my terrible allergies that the mould caused. I was always sick, though I'm not sure if it was because I was breathing in toxic spores on a daily basis or because I was so isolated from other people that I had no immunity to common colds whatsoever.

My parents didn't like me going outside alone, even though it was still on the property and I was almost always within view of the front window of the house. But I went outside anyway whenever I could, especially when my maths studies got a bit too overwhelming for me. I had severe maths anxiety and my parents' inability, or lack of time, to teach me mathematics properly left me very behind in the subject. I hated it so much and I believed it to be the worst thing in my life.

So, here I was, wandering the grassy field outside of my house, ignoring my maths schoolwork and thinking everything over. How was I going to get to my audition in the UK? Was I going to pass as a boy? Was I even going to be memorable enough to get through the audition? I could barely look people in the eye as it was, and I had a lot of social anxiety when going out to places. Recording and sending in that audition tape was different somehow; I was alone in the house, no one was watching me while I performed, and I sent the video to an email address that I could only assume had a robot on the other end.

I sat down on the grass at the edge of the river and began plucking at its blades. The wind blew softly and I let my long hair down to allow the air to flow through it. I always hated wearing my hair down in front of my family. They always complimented it and said how beautiful it was. But I hated it. Sometimes, like now, however, I was able to enjoy it. When it was just me, I didn't mind my long hair. When I was around other people, however, I just wanted it gone. I wore it in a tight bun or braid all day and I only took it down when I slept. It felt like my long hair was my only beautiful feature and I hated the attention that it brought me.

Why did I hate attention so much when I was so desperate to make it onto this British reality show? Maybe it was a different type of attention that I craved. Attention that praised me rather than scrutinised me. Underneath my parents' compliments there always seemed to be a threat, as though their kind words were telling me I should never be anything but the good girl that they saw me as or else they would grow to dislike me. I didn't want that. I loved my family so much, though I fought daily with my feelings of frustration and hurt that they so often caused me. They were just looking out for me, for my wellbeing and my eternal salvation. I couldn't be angry at them for that. Yet so often I felt very alone and misunderstood by them. Why was it so hard to just be grateful for them?

A ferry passed by on the river and I watched its slow voyage across my field of vision. The water lapping at it was as blue as the sky. I was so young, I remarked to myself. But I felt so old and trapped, like I had hit a dead-end at the age of sixteen. I was too young to start university, too old to play with toys, and I felt perpetually ignorant as to how to live my life. And so I let my parents do that living for me. But when would that end? When would I be old enough and smart enough to make my own decisions and live my own life? Sometimes it seemed like that would never happen. I was getting older and I needed to start figuring things out for myself.

But what if I do that and I ruin my life? I pondered this thought for a moment. My life already seemed so dull and monotonous that the idea of ruining my life almost sounded appealing. Maybe what I needed was to take a risk. If all failed, I could come back home again and restart everything. It wouldn't be the end of the world. My parents would always be there, they said so almost every day. They would be unhappy with me for making such a huge and stupid risk as to travel to Britain to partake in a boys-only television programme. But they would still love me.

And what if I didn't fail? What would they think if I made it onto the show, and they saw me dressed as a boy and dancing and performing songs I wasn't even allowed to listen to? Would they tell the world the truth? No, I realised. They would let me learn my lesson. They would sit back and watch how it would all play out. They would wait for things to go all wrong so that I could go back home to them and say "I'm sorry, you were right. Please forgive me".

My heart was racing now, thinking about all of the consequences and possibilities of taking this huge risk that I'd already dipped my toes into. I took myself out of my anxious thoughts for a moment and looked at things from a broader perspective: what would make me most happy? Would staying here make me happy, in the short- and long-term? Or would taking a chance at a dream I've had since I was little make me truly happy? I could look back on this risk I took as a teenager and laugh about it one day, and I imagined I would feel quite proud of myself for having taken the risk. If I didn't take any risk whatsoever, what would change? Where would I be in ten years? I would be looking back on myself now thinking I should have taken the risk. This could be the most exciting thing I'll ever do.

I took a deep breath and tossed away the blades of grass in my hands. I got to my feet and stared out at the water on the river. I needed to go on that airplane. I needed to stand on that stage and sing, and dance, and perform my very best. I couldn't stay here for the rest of my life like my parents hoped to. I had no connection to this town, to this house, or anyone nearby. I needed to breathe.