Panchito‘s Diary

Im 4-5 years old at my Kindergarten and Im trying to watch the Teletubbies but the fucking 9/11 is happening so I need to socialise and look around, my bestie is not there, but there she is, Solange! Gold curls, green eyes, and something that makes her stand up from the other kids (she was basically white, and I always liked the odd sheep, no im not colorist, she just looked like Goldilocks. (u too Lena and Neni, and Michelle)

I ran to her and enjoyed the company, I was crushing and loving that! I think we even took our nap beside each other! (there was also volcanic activity going around, our sitter was wearing a mask, love in apocalyptic times I guess, lol just like rn, whatever)

I was in heaven! and then one of my first memories comes to an end with a shocking resolution.

My Godfather (happens to be my priest cousin) came to pick me up from the Garden with my dad. The problem? I did not recognise him, he was wearing some sunglasses and a very pedo fit. So I just run past him to say goodbye to my first love.

Who’s Solange and why is here more important than me? Said my godfather, the only one who was giving me attention as a kid.

Are u in love? is that ur Girlfriend? said he in a despicable bulling way. So I though I was doing something wrong.

I cried. Because it just felt bad, loving someone that looks like a character of my fables was becoming a nightmare because all the grown ups were talking about it and making me feel very uncomfortable. So I cried and close up.

Years later.

like just 2 or something, I was going around a toy and plastics shop, and when I was looking around for some bad ass dinos and or max fucking steel, I say a doll, one with gold curls. And stare at it because it remind me of what could not be.

But directly my brothers began to mock me and said that I like girl dolls, therefore im a girl. So I cried.

Not because I was called a girl, but because it felt wrong to be called a girl, it was again something I did not understand but people just used their perspectives to mock me.

Years later.

I think again 2 or 1, idk.

I participated in a drawing contest and won a participation prize wich was a “muñeca de trapo” a rag doll. Nobody asked me if I wanted the one with the blue pants or the pink dress. The person at the desk just gave me the “feminine” one.

I cried, not because it had golden curls and green eyes, but because it felt wrong. I thought I would be bullied again, I never had a doll before. My mom did not asked for me to change it, she made me do it myself, I felt again as if I had to deal with all this bullshit that hurts me again, even if I did nothing wrong. I cried.

I played with that doll for like a couple of weeks before I burned down. (I was not mad or something like that, I was just very destructive)

When I cried, my brothers called me a cry baby, a baby girl.

So I stopped.

I knew my whole life that there was nothing wrong with being a girl, cuz I liked them! and even if I never had a sister, I knew they are just as important and valid as everyone else. I knew I should not cry. But I did, because it was a sin being sensible when u have a penis.

I don’t think my non-binary identity-philosophy was built as a response to this, I think my “masculine” toxic identity was built around that. I was always pan, I was always nb, because I like the odd sheep, not the label, colour, or whatever.

I cried because I was feeling bad when nothing bad happened.