Being a human

I don’t hate much in this world. No matter what happens, I tend to find ways to love it or at least understand. I might understand even those thing which I consider horrendous. I will never support those, but I might understand why they exist. Because some things make our world the way it is - wide and versatile. It gives us freedom, the right to choose. Some can’t choose how will the live, what they will do tomorrow and if they will live tomorrow, but they still can choose how to think.

But there is one thing I dislike, even distaste sometimes. It’s being a human.

I don’t like being a human. It offends me. Don’t get me wrong, I love humans deeply, they are beautiful creatures, even though pretty dumb mostly. But that’s a fact, not a reason for me to hate them. But I don’t want to be one, I don’t feel like one and it makes me sad that I can’t just not be one.

I don’t like being a human in a world, where being accepted mean s being like everyone else, being really connected to your species, your name, your body. Being accepted means identify yourself as a human and everything humans have. And if I don’t want to - it will be a reason to consider me extremely ill or perhaps childish. And childish means “don’t deserve respect”.

I hate my name. My parents never used it with pride and love. My name was recalled only with aggression and to make me understand, that they are indeed mad at me.

Whenever I hear my name - I try to separate it from myself. It’s not me. It’s the word full of aggression and hate. That word exists to offend me and remind me about my place, not more, not less.

I don’t want to be associated with that word, nor a human. It’s really confusing, to not see yourself the way others do in the most crucial and radical way. I don’t know if it was the same in my childhood. But now it’s that way exactly.

I hate my face. Sometimes I just dislike it, sometimes I believe it’s nice. But today I hate it, and not because I consider myself not pretty or something. But because it’s a human face. No matter what I do with my face, my eyebrows, my hair, my lips or nose, I’m always a human. No matter what I do, I will never represent that endless void I consider myself to be. When I think about myself in the most respectful way possible - I see that void. I see that endless darkness, maybe the sea or a wind. I see myself as stars or planes, as years or noises. As a desire and passion, as sadness and rain. But not a human.

My arms, my legs, they still can represent anything. You can open any fantasy book and you’ll still find here some magical creatures that have the same arms and legs. I think that’s the reason why I don’t care about it that much. But everything else is just a reminder, that here I have to stay as a human. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to be seen as one. I want to be felt and seen as much more. I don’t want my name, my las name. Everything that reminds me about my gender or who am I because I’m much more that just that. I want to represent what am I.

All these thing we can do here - nice or not really, they give us freedom. We have that freedom to choose how to act. But we don’t really have any freedom to choose what to be. Not in the way I feel it.