Chapter 1
Those first grade drawings we made, way before we ever learned to read and write? Just to show to our classmates and teachers who we were, and what we look like, in our view? That’s when I knew I was different, abhorrent, simply out of the common.
Truth be told, I already felt like I wasn’t who I said I was. If that made any sense at all. Whenever I was introduced by my parents to their new friends, or to other foals, I cringed. Though externally my face was blank, just a tinge of sadness in the eyes, my whole body seemed to recoil, and my stomach turned.
Still, I figured, there had to be other people like me, I wasn’t....in all of the world, unique.
Well, I now know I am not unique. I’m a minority, sure, a non normality, but I’m certainly not the only one...
But as we all presented our drawings that day, in the first grade classroom I couldn’t help but notice that my drawing was the only one that didn’t look entirely like myself.
Oh, they all looked just terrible, filling out of lines, messy traces, ill shaped round heads, ears bigger than bunny ones. Someone even drew himself what appeared to be vampire fangs, others looked like dragons.
But I was the only one that had used my creative liberty to draw the features of the opposite gender. I had made it so that my jaw was a lot more square like than round like, and my mane didn’t even fall down to all of my neck.
The teacher just assumed I was awful at drawing, which is true, I was, and still am. Not one for the brush. She didn’t think much of it. After all.
But it was so much more....
The trip, back and forth, between those huge buildings, where I imagined, all kind of ponies lived, was always exciting. I sometimes would find some strange street performer, swallowing fire, performing magic tricks, despite not being an unicorn, balancing themselves with their tail....
I’d always stop and look at them, fascinated. I always ended up being pushed along by the crowd, since I was blocking the passage.
I’d lift myself, head as high as it could go, over the stallions and mares, as I walked, to try and keep them on sight. Of course, I always ended up losing sight of them.
In a day to day where I felt awful with myself, and where I was teased (and how), those small moments, minutes out of several hours, always tended to cheer up my day.
I was already thought of as weird, but my little filly mind (which was actually a colt mind) couldn’t help but admire how they had managed to turn their weirdness, into something that actually gave them money and admiration.
I didn’t have much money, the few that wasn’t stolen from me, was used for lunch, normally the cheapest thing I could have. But there were days where I didn’t eat, all day, just to throw in a coin or two, as a small thank you. They’d tip of their heads to me, and smile, and I’d smile.
Of course, when I arrived home I was famished, and I’d eat anything I could find. Leading to the question of what exactly they were serving me at school.
The teasing had only gotten worse and worse. It wasn’t rare for me to hide in a bathroom stall, balling my eyes out. My girly whimpers and pained moans only making me feel worse.
Then I’d come out, my eyes puffy and red, and I’d see my whole body in the bathroom mirror that was in front of the sinks.
The mirror....How I hated that particular object. My reflection was my worst enemy, and the mirror just happened to show it. I often felt the urge to put my hoof against it, push back, and cracking it, probably cutting myself. I almost did it once, small cracks appeared, but I didn’t do it. The school bell stopped me.
The school wasn’t the only place where there was a mirror. I could see myself in the metal and glass doors to the building where I lived. The spoons I put to my mouth, and the one in my room. I had put poster after poster in front of it, but I couldn’t fill every small hole, and sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of myself, an eye, an ear, a piece of mane. Something.
I couldn’t even wash my face without seeing my reflection. I’d make faces, as the water kept on hitting the surface, blowing my cheeks, widening my eyes, frowning my brow, twisting my muzzle....for moments I’d look less and less feminine, but then, of course my muscles would get tired and I’d return to my normal look. The one I dreaded.
Then my mom would ask what I was doing, and I’d rush to wash my face. And leave, for teasing, teasing, and more teasing.
I once seriously considered the idea of running away, and joining a traveling circus, or at least get on as a wonder of nature, a freak. “The colt-filly”, I’d call myself. I even packed my things. And got ready to go when my parents fell asleep. I got as far as running down the stairs. And then I remembered how bad the big city was at night.
And I returned to the bed. And cried, my pillow already as damp as the river nearby.
That was the night where I decided to go and do small things, to change myself.
The first thing I did do was ask my mom for a mane cut. I had this weak and silly excuse, that it was uncomfortable. She didn’t seem to believe me, so I just picked a pair of scissors and snap snap. I left the fringe though. Anything that’d help hide my girly eyes, I’d welcome.
The tail was next. And that’s when I knew that there wasn’t much else I could do, no matter how short of a cut I’d do.
Now, short mane and tail, Babs, needed to find a new name. I had toyed with Bob, just a little letter away. I didn’t like it as much, it didn’t seem to roll of the tongue. I thought of “Bad”, which was what I was already called. It was meant to be offensive to me, but then again....I already felt like a bad seed, something that hadn’t been born correctly.
My name, I felt, was something of such importance, that It had to be picked with the utmost care, It was what I was going to be called forever, after all!
It had to sound and be nice, but also manly and cool! It was something which I did not feel could be picked at random.
I looked at the baby names book my mom had named me from. That was, without a doubt, a funny read. But it didn’t provide me with the answers I was looking for.
It took longer than I expected to stumble upon the name I call myself now. And I had already been using it for most of my life!
I removed the “s” from Babs. Bab, sounded fine enough. And then came the question, what would I do now?
I was sent to my cousin for a little while, to stop all the teasing. My mom had thought the short mane and tail were the result of it, and I hadn’t told her otherwise. It was an eventful time. I made some wrong decisions, and I came to realize some things about myself.
I could elaborate, of course, for moments the old saying “He who fights monsters” became the truth. I had the chance to become the one with power, and that’s what I did. It felt great, doing the exact opposite of the usual dynamic. But I learned my lesson.
“Tell an adult”
That was the most important thing I learned. And it didn’t apply only to bullying. It was time to tell, an adult, most likely my mom. The truth.
Before deciding to tell and remember my story, I decided to come and look at old places I used to come. School....which had been closed down, and replaced with a shinier building, my house, which I hadn’t lived in some years, and where my old room, which had been painted over some time after my coming out...bars and places I used to frequent as a young pony that was changing....they brought me good memories.
But by far the most important place I visited was the path which I took daily from school to home and from home to school. What had once taken me over half an hour to make, today was done in 5 minutes. I did take longer, though, because I stopped and looked at the street performers.
With my now taller body I was easily able to look at them, and it helped that I had finally learned not to stand in the middle of the path, instead going to a side. Most of them were new, some of them were old, relieving their glory, despite their aging skin and slower movements. I looked at them, and for moments, a child like wonder came to me.
I hadn’t really planned to, but I approached, and I directed my words at them. My voice, which I had been training for the last few
years, not longer high pitched.
I told them some things I had been wanting to tell them as a filly, and hadn’t had the chance to. I gave them more money than was really necessary, more than was even recommended with my current budget....
And as those smiles, both from the ones that I had recognized from my foal hood, to the new ones, reached my eyes, I felt myself smile, and I realized that I had come full circle.
But the fun thing about circles? They never end.
And I was sure there was still a lot to my live.