In our Understanding the Self class

My teacher asked what had shaped us to become our present self.

I think about God because He’s the author of life,

Then I think about myself, my free will,

And my classmates who called me Chrissy Sissy.

I think about Daniel and the tiny mole above his lips,

Then the romantic films I watched alone,

And the underwear brochures I skimmed through alone,

My ballet teacher in his 30s who still looked good in his tights,

The neighbor who flashed his dick and let me touch it,

And the fried chicken with its apparent injected hormones,

My mother who used to apply lip balm on my chapped lips,

My older brother who took showers with me.

Then I think about God because he is the author of life,

And the Bible, but I wasn’t written in it so I think about

My father instead. Maybe it’s a family thing.

What would he say if he were alive?

I think about Uncle Tom who consoled me the night 

Father died. “I’m here,” he said.

He stared at me, came closer to hug me because he said I needed warmth.

So I let him. 

Let him move his hands on my thighs because he said I needed to forget.

So I let him. 

Maybe it’s what I needed more than a father’s touch.

This literary piece is part of Katitikan Issue 4: Queer Writing.