‘My confusion of gender feels like a curse’: How it feels to be Gay, Black and Gender Fluid on Temple’s campus

When most kids wished to be like Superman or as badass as Batman, I wished for something simpler―the ability to change my sex.

No, I don't mean shape-shifting, but being able to transform myself into another version of me at will.

By having the ability to change my gender, it not only allows me to fit into any box I choose but in some sense, let's me become that box.

Gender isn’t just pink and blue. It’s purple, magenta, teal, brown, yellow― it’s a ball of light, no color, and yet it can be as bold as a black.

Everyone seems to know their color, yet I don’t. What am I? Who am I?

My Temple experience so far

This is my first semester at Temple University. I’m trying my best to get out and find other people like me, or at least, queer who I can relate with.

During my first week on campus, I was depressed. In this diverse university filled of over 39,000 students, I felt alone and couldn't find my presence.

The loneliness was starting to swallow me up because I didn’t see others like who were like me. Maybe I wasn’t looking in the right places? Luckily now I have friends who understand the struggle we face on campus, and in general, being apart of the LGBTQIA community.

I follow a lot of gay news and politics on my social media and it saddens me when I see black transwomen being murder.

It’s terrifying and discouraging to be yourself because with that can comes a death wish. I have a few trans friends who are scared to talk to potential partners of their identity in fear of possibly being attacked.

Not every case is like that, but it’s still in the back of our minds. I can say I honestly get my strength from the trans community because they know who they are and their happiness keeps me going. I’m struggling with my gender at the moment. I sit up at night crying with friends because I don’t know where I belong. Somedays, I believe I was placed in the wrong body.

Talking about gender can be very tricky. I don’t want to speak for a whole community because everyone situation is different. However, this is just my story and my experience.

Who am I?

“Dude,” “Sir,” and “Bro” all make me angry. Can’t they see? Don’t they know? I’m not a man, yet I don’t look like a woman. What am I? When I correct people, I just say I’m an experience because I can’t pick a box to check off on in the gender spectrum. I can’t choose who I am most days; one day I want to peel my skin off and appear different, but others I’m fine.

When I look in the mirror, I cry because I see a man. So, butch and strong, where are my curves? I wish for long curly hair so everyone can see my femininity. I want to be soft and tender like all the other girls, but, why can’t I?

These questions I ask myself are not getting answers. I buy the expensive lotions to make my skin softer but does it truly work? I buy the fanciest perfume; can they smell this damsel in distress? I need help, but I’m not ready for help.

“Girl,” “Gurl,” and “Mama,” seem to be a gag towards me when people see me. Call me “girl” because I choose to and not because I’m gay. The words are me, who I sometimes identify as and not a joke. I don’t like for them to be played around with because you’re playing with my gender; keep it up, and people won’t take me seriously. No, I don’t want to be your gay best friend, no I’m not a crossdresser for these men sexual fantasy, no I’m not trying to become a drag queen, I’m not that awesome. I just want to be me and have my place in the world. I just want someone to still find me beautiful in this body.

Can a girl be called David? I ask this question every day. I love my name, and it’s a part of me.

Will society turn its back on me even more for being a girl named David? Will keeping my name mean it's a death wish?

I watch the news, and I see what’s happening to my black trans sisters. It saddens me that I fear keeping my name. My confusion of gender feels like a curse.

I’m afraid that if I do get the body I crave, five days out of the week, it’ll have me killed. Why don’t people see the pain I’m in? How is it so easy for other people to be themselves and not me?

OWN YOUR AWESOMENESS!

I should stop turning my back towards the world and let them see me. Life is too short to let another dictate who I can and cannot be. I’m afraid of death, but I’m sure as hell not scared of being me.

I’m the new experience. I’m the new face of gender. I’m David Riley.