Searching for where the peg fits

For the longest time I felt I didn't fit in.

When I was young, I was the clumsy lanky child whom everyone picked last in sports.  I was the kid who preferred to sit beneath the shade of a tree and spend the afternoon drawing or reading while everyone else was playing football.  At home, I was the precocious one who enjoyed listening to classical music while my brother submerged himself in 80s tunes and my parents played their cassette tapes containing  songs by the Beach Boys and the Pretenders.    I was the only one who had to be forced to play basketball.  I was the only one who didn't like the idea of getting into fights.

But ironically, I wasn't meshing well with the girls either.  While they enjoyed playing house and dressing up their dolls, I found myself getting bored pretending to be the husband/daddy/baby.  While they talked about cute things and pretty stuff, I found myself fascinated with gross and gory things.  And as the years passed, the girls began to try to steal kisses, the boys found the girls yucky, and I found myself bored with it all.

I just didn't feel I fit in.

High school was no different.

While everyone else was going gaga over girls, I was silently finding a few intriguingly interesting as much as I did some guys.  A curious eye would scan over their bodies, pondering on why her nape or his neck made my lips water.  An uncertain hand would tremble at the thought of the hollow of her back or the glimpse of his armpit.  Around me, classmates spoke of how this girl or that woman made them jerk off the night away.  I would find myself searching for words to express why the smile of someone I knew made me want to kiss him.  Or why the laughter of another one I knew made me want to hold her close til the morning game.  The hateful words were commonly thrown around by that time too.  Bakla.  Binabae.  Bayot.  And while I understood the word's meaning, I did not comprehend why it should apply to me.  Back then, being such required a manner of speaking.  A choice of clothing.  A predilection towards moving in a certain manner.

I could not relate.

I did not see myself wanting to wear women's clothes.  I had no desire to have glitter around my eyes or lashes that reached the tip of my nose.  I had no shame in exposing my nipples or going shirtless.  I had no illusions of making my voice sound lighter or higher pitched.  And last of all, I would never tell anyone I felt like a woman trapped in a man's body.

I knew I was male.  I celebrated the fact I was a guy and loved the emergence of my pubertal growth of hair. My arms, legs, armpits, chest, stomach and crotch area had their share of hirsuteness and I proudly showed it off.  I wasn't interested in being any rough and tumble siga like other guys were, but I had no dreams of going around with make-up or wearing a wig.

I felt lost.  I felt I was alone.  I felt like I was an outsider even among those already deemed outsiders.
I was a geek with goth tendencies.  I was a guy with to some degree feminine interests.  I was starting to realize I was gay... but at the same time, knew with certainty I was not bakla.  I was a man who also liked other men.

College would be the turning point.
It was in college I took the first step in finding where I fit in.