I Wish I Had Been Born a Boy

Sometimes I wish I had been born a boy.

When I turned 11 years old, I had my first boyfriend. Nothing incredibly serious, or at least not any threat to my livelihood (regardless of what my mother might have thought at the time.) He was best friends with the first boy I ever had a lasting crush on. In the process of trying to get closer to boy #1, I ended up being close pals with boy #2, until one day I realized boy #2 was way more interesting, charming and compatible with me. So the inevitable happened: little notes got exchanged in between classes, and we became “and item.” For three months I was living in a pink-cloud dream, like any preteen girl would. And then we broke up… and got back together the year after… and broke up again… and then something interesting happened: he came out to me. He told me he was gay, very gay. I don’t know why we ended up giving it yet another try as a couple. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t interested in changing his sexual preferences. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t about sex at all. I guess I just thought it would be cool to hang out with him for a while. This last time happened during my sophomore year in high school, and the breakup was so definitive, that we lost contact with each other for the following 7 years.

We reconnected in my early 20s, and the coolest moments of my youth ensued. And among the many things we talked about during our catch-up conversations, he said “If only you had been a boy, we would have been so happy!” And I agree. Our friendship is the longest one I have: 24 years and still going, still seeing each other whenever we can. We get along fabulously, and I’m pretty sure, just as he was, that if I had been born with XY chromosomes instead of XX, our story would have been different.

For a while now, I have been reminiscing about past romances, and I’ve noticed that a few of the other guys have also turned out to be gay. These are the ones, almost exclusively, with which I still keep contact. I’ve also noticed that, as of late, I’ve been more compelled to surround myself by people with flexible sexualities. The gay men I’ve met lately have been far more fascinating than any others I may have met before. Coincidence? Maybe. But there’s something about an alternative sexuality, a propensity to go against the grain of our conservative society, that makes me go gaga for people. It won’t come as a surprise then that, after having spent a year-and-change adapting to certain unexpected policies in my main (open) relationship, the latest crushes I’ve had are with gay or non-conventionally-sexual men. …of course, me being a girl and all that, this makes my chances of actually being reciprocated pretty close to zero.

So, sometimes I wish I had been born a boy. I know relationships are complicated no matter the sexual orientation, that “the grass is always greener…” etc. But given my current propensity to being caught in the webs of charm of gay men… well, it would have made things much more viable, huh?

But I have no regrets about being a girl. I like being a girl. Sometimes … And sometimes … Well, I guess that’s what makes me–my sexuality, my identity–not quite heterosexual, not quite bisexual, not quite polysexual, asexual, pansexual … queer? And maybe not quite, or maybe more than that? I’ve come to the realization that sexuality, just like all other aspects of humanity, is fluid, a scale of countless shades of gray (DAMN that fucking book!), changeable, mercurial, ephemeral. Labels be damned, I’ll just do my own thing.




PS: Nothing against women, of course… Truth be told, women intimidate me. I would make a cowardly lesbian, definitely single until death do me part from my herd of cats. Any psychoanalyst would have a holiday with me…