Analaysis of Binary Operations - Essay Example

Binary Operations Froth freshens daily in Hawalli, Kuwait, the air smelling vaguely of fish as it usually does after a downpour. The light gust of cool October breeze felt strange against my legs, now depilated and faint. What have I gotten myself into? I wondered. My head was flooded with worry, and I felt my knees trembling a bit, making me feel little uncomfortable in the uncustomary footwear – elegant heeled shoes. The friable pebbles on the chilled pavement sent ripples spiraling from my ankles to the nape of my neck whenever the balls of my feet hit the ground. Onward I marched, heading for high school, a part of me absolutely enraptured, hindering my apprehensiveness. To be honest, that day I felt like I was going to take my judgment-seat. Every step sounded a silent echo in my head. "What will they think of me? What will they say? "I felt, like I was doing the most venturous thing in my whole life. Nevertheless, I knew it was worth it. I couldnt give up on this like everything else I have ever wanted. It was my opportunity to challenge gender with all its boundaries, I owed that much to the girl in me; the girl I have always known myself to be. Dark cut stones appeared to define the building, piled upon each other, and offering no warmth. That autumn morning I released myself as a transsexual for the first time, my hair bleached blonde and a push up bra profiling my breasts. After years of befuddlement, I finally came to terms with who I was. It wasnt easy at all, realizing that youve been born in the wrong body. Acknowledging the fact that my appearance and physique is a Creators mistake, the result of the wrong move of the Gods chisel, took enormous effort, both for me and my dearest and nearest. Nevertheless, today, I am a pre-operative transsexual viewing the character I have built for myself as my greatest achievement. This is by no means a rash decision, but rather a choice born of a lifetime of constant battle to find my unfeigned self. Those closest to me suppose my early childhood conditioned my transsexuality, but I do not believe this at all. My dear mother kept me close by her side. She was the closest person for me, always by my side, providing love, attention and care to me, her beloved child. Enfolding me with loving warmth, she raised and cultivated me into womanhood, although I do not believe it was her intention to do so. Some of my friends and relatives emphasize this was the reason that led to a strong and persistent feeling that I was living as the wrong sex to take over my childhood; I knew something was nagging me although I could not find out, what the aggravation was. I was not like those I was supposed to be kin to, boys, but instead always identified with my female playmates. I too wanted to be styled in ribbons and frills, making me envying them profoundly. In my opinion, it wasnt my mothers love that turned me into a girl. Mom loved me more than any other parent can love her child, but its impossible to change someones sex by loving him. I believe transsexuality is an inborn condition, a tragic mistake of the Creator, or of the Mother Nature, a fallacy that has to be corrected. I molded my identity at home, in the hours all alone, free from the questioning and criticism of others. I dressed up in my sisters’ attire and lived in a whimsical fairyland, hoping one day it would come true and I would not have to live the life I dreamed of on the sly. The impossibility of being who I am in all the spheres of my life, the necessity to look and behave like a boy, were the greatest tragedies of my childhood. On occasion, I was baffled as to why my parents were dressing me up in boys’ fashion; I thought they were imprudent. Now as I evoke memories, I never fantasized myself putting on a spectacle and playing another character before the mirror. It was nothing but inherent to me; I was my guileless self and there was no stopping it. I envied girls, who were allowed, and, moreover, had to dress up to school, with all of their tidy skirts and dresses, their long hair, and manicured nails. I felt I had to look like they did, but, again, I had to put on my jeans, T-shirts, and sweaters. In an Islamic hamlet of life that is strictly black or white, I was a flaming hot pink. High school emulated traditional notions in Kuwait, a monocultural country where nothing was out of the ordinary, but those restrictions have never influenced me. This led to my rejection by my peers at school, and times became unbearable. I did not get beat up or something like that, but others would make fun of my appearance and gestures I made. Even though I dressed up as a boy, people thought I was a girl. I confused instances of substitute teachers who were not sure what I was. I sparked confusion in my classmate’s minds, strenuously studying me in an endeavor for scrutiny. Some students came up to me, asking mockingly whether I was a boy, or a girl. Those harassments made me really withdrawn, but in spite of great odds, I emerged as the inamorata I always aspired to be. I celebrate my difference; it is an explosive on a balanced scale. Every morning I wake up with the thought that it will be a good day, as I dont have to hide any more. I managed to perform my coming out, to confess my identity both to my surroundings, and to myself. Being an individual does amazing things for me. Once I became an outsider, I created my own path, and creativity came from that. Nowadays I probably see things that other people do not - it made me more compassionate. Now I know that people sometimes are not what they look like, and that to know a person you have to look under his/her social mask. But the main thing my experience taught me was that there was nothing more valuable than an opportunity to be myself. I feel I would never deny anyone this opportunity. That October day as school let out, I took a new shape in order to achieve reveal my true self. I looked back to the building, desperately in need of new paint, reflective of the attitude of the school. The starch white sunlight blinded me curtly, and what a wondrous light it was! It did my heart good to see it. That day was a signpost in my life; I became the genuine article, having left behind 17 years of deception and despondency. When you meet me, you are see a person who knows how to love, knows how to appreciate herself and, as a result, knows how to love and appreciate others. How many "normal" people can claim that distinction? Read More