Let us begin...from the very beginning.
I remember moving into my first official home; a two-story house painted beige with a small backyard in comparison to the house my father later bought in order to separate from my mother who was sick with kidney failure.
I remember making a friend who had previously lived in this home. Her room would be mine, and painted from yellow to pink.
I remember taking her hand excitedly, and insisting that she go with me to explore the house though she had already lived there. We were both six or seven, but I was easily fuller of life as she seemed to have been taken off guard by my ecstatic attitude toward socialization. She was a beautiful girl, and I had always rather identified as a boy. Though, the biological factors of my default sex did play a role in the amount of excitement I experienced by being friends with her.
It's wonderful, being a boy and yet having the luxury to sustain a healthy friendship with someone of the presumably same chromosome compounds.
I also met Betricia; she lived across from me and there were more than one days that I would stay at her house and watch movies like Silent Hill.
What I didn’t like about her was that she would suck the hot Cheeto dust and not eat the hot Cheeto, I would feel terribly offended by that, frankly, but she stopped answering the door and her mom would excuse her from seeing me. I don’t know why. |
Submission Name: autobiography part 1
