We are all created from two separate parts: gametes colliding, trans-mutating from the codes of two to make one whole. That’s where the story starts. That’s where we begin to split. A genetic mish-mash of Mom and Dad, scrutinized for similarities in-utero and it only gets worse from there.
That is a girl, said Dr. So-and-So at the Hospital in Wherever-the-fuck. And so they put it on your official documents, announcing your genitals to whoever will listen with pink confetti and lacy summer dresses and hairbows that slide around your infant scalp.
They pack you up in a car seat, slap a sticker on the back windshield that reads Precious Cargo, and off you go. Hurtling towards a new life, a new consciousness. Maybe you’ll have Dad’s eyes and Mom’s nose, but that’s just a small detail. You are not Mom or Dad because of shared features. You are now and will always be in the process of becoming. Just watch. You’ll see.