It’s a colour I know all too well.
A colour I was drowned in as a child.
There would always be something pink about me.
My clips, my shoes, my tights.
Or even my shirt or my shorts or my dress.
Pink was always a part of me.
I like the colour pink.
When I got to the age where I could dress myself and choose my own clothes.
I began to stray from the colour.
But I could only get so far before someone (a relative or a friend) would reel me back in and put on the pink chains that held me at bay.
As my freedom of expression got bigger I began hovering around the boy’s section.
All the rugby shirts and hoodies and the football boots and baseball hats.
I could have them, under one condition:
They had to be in pink.
I began to grow self-conscious, by this age I knew I wasn’t a girl but I didn’t know what I was.
Something inside warned me not to speak up about my insecurities, somehow deep within my seven-year-old, I self-knew talk of my real gender was taboo.
So I kept quiet.
I wore the pink dresses with the frilly fringes and I kept pink clips in my long hair.
But no matter how much pink blush I layered my face in, I couldn’t cover up the fact I hated every part of myself.
Skip past the years of suppressing my true self in order to fit in to when I am 11.
I’ve finally come to terms with who I am but there’s a downside. I go to an all girl’s school now. I’ve gone from being addressed to as ‘pupil’ and ‘student’ to ‘young lady’.
I completely cut pink out from my life. The wallpaper, the bedsheets, the wardrobe.
It’s gone. I can’t tolerate it. Boys like blue and girls like pink.
‘I’m not a girl’ I remember telling myself, ‘I cannot like pink.’
I hate the colour pink.
But now, things have changed.
I’m 14 now, and as I write this my hair is cut short. I’m wearing a black and white football top and some sweats from the men’s section. Yet I as the words appear on the screen before me my feet sway back and forth. Being warmed by a pair of pink fluffy socks. Beside me a pink candle making the room smell of lilies and blossom.
I’ve learned that I don’t have to fit in with gender roles. I can be a boy and still like my fluffy socks no matter what colour they are. I can walk down the street in a pink t-shirt and not be a faggot.
I can be who I am and I can wear whatever I want.
And no matter what society will say, it will not make any less of the man I am.
I love the colour pink.