Being Male

1.Morning

I woke up to raised voices downstairs, which is nothing new. At 18 years of age I can now hear them in my sleep sometimes. That was 15mins ago. I spend a portion of my morning everyday staring at the ceiling hoping I'll get Magic powers. Oh well, another bust.
Now to get out of bed.

I groan. 'I wonder how early risers live with themselves', I thought.

A ping sounds in my room. Ah, my cellphone. I grab it and check the notification but it's just an ad message, so I waste even more time running through my apps. I'm one of those people who complain about a particular thing everyday and still do it again and again. I'll definitely regret repeating my routine when I'm late for my lessons today but what can I say, I'm a bit of a masochist. Who isn't?

Finally, the time catches my eye. 10am. What did I tell you? Regret. I drop my phone and stretch. Then take my bath, glad that all my siblings are boarders. Nothing better than a private bathroom. I rush through it and get dressed. I'm not majorly fashionable. I just put on a maroon T-shirt and a pair of jeans with running shoes and head downstairs. My parents are still too busy arguing to notice me and since I don't feel like being ordained a judge, I sneak by and into the kitchen. Dad storms out just a minute later though. Straight outside and drives off. Eh, better that way.

"Morning mum" I greet my mother as I walk into the living room, glad today's war seems over. "Oh, Clara, are you leaving?" I nod while trying not to cringe. How I've come to hate that name.

My friends call me Jayden or J, mostly because I refuse to answer when called any of my given names. I'm trans but that's not really something you tell people where I'm from so I haven't said anything to anyone. Any sensible person can guess though, cause all's really left is a sign on my forehead. Too bad, sensibility is a foreign trait to my people.

Everyone just calls me a tomboy, general tag for any girl so masculine they decide to group her so they don't have to question their values. Then they advise me to dress more feminine and act more fragile but fortunately I'm the single king of ignorance.

Also, it's not the biggest reason why I hate my name.

"Won't you have breakfast first?" She asks. "Nah, I'll get something in school". Mum's always trying to overfeed people so I'm fighting for my life.

She got 'the' look in her eye. The one that says she's about to try and guilt me for sure. I'm convinced guilting people into a meal is her greatest talent. I wait for it but she relents. "OK, have a nice day"

'Well, she gave up easily today', I thought.

"Thanks mum, bye"

I basically run out before she can change her mind. I was about to leave when my reflection on the guest room window catches my eye. My chocolate skin had whitish patches on it. The best type of skin to tell when the weather is cold or even remotely dry. I rubbed at my arms and legs in an attempt to get rid of them as a regret sleeping in again. Seems I forget to moisturize. Then I just stare at myself.

Tall at 5'9 with a curvy shape that even my baggy clothes struggle to hide. Dark chocolate skin bordering on midnight black. Black hair that grows very long for someone of my race, reaching to my shoulders. Plus a smooth baby face with full pink lips under coffee brown eyes.

People say I'm pretty all the time and I can't deny that, but I guess you can't love even a perfect thing when it just feels....wrong.

I leave the gate of my parent's luxurious duplex that feels more and more like a glass house with each passing day, and hurry down the street. When I get to the end of it, I flag down a bike and tell the rider my destination. Then I hop onto the back seat and we're off.