The Moments of Realisation: Quiet Truths From My Childhood
While they dreamt of first kisses with boys, I was trying to silence the voice inside me
Some moments stay with us, not because they were loud or dramatic, but because they quietly changed something deep within us. This piece is about those early flickers of realisation. The ones I never said out loud, but that shaped how I saw myself long before I had the words.
I remember being as young as eight, lying in bed at night, hands tucked under the pillow, whispering silent prayers. Praying to wake up as a boy. Thinking, maybe just maybe, that would make everything make sense. That it would make me make sense. If I were a boy, maybe liking girls wouldn’t be wrong. Maybe I wouldn’t feel this heavy thing inside me called shame, though I didn’t know that was the word for it then.
If I were a boy, maybe liking girls wouldn’t be wrong.
Even before I had a name for it, I knew I was different. I’d flip through magazines and feel a tug in my chest when I saw certain women, TV presenters, actresses, models. It wasn’t jealousy or admiration the way I told myself it was. It was something deeper. Something unspoken.
At school, the other girls would talk about crushes on male teachers, passing comments about boys they liked, and I just stayed quiet. I had the same flutters, the same feelings but they weren’t for the same people. Mine were for the women standing at the front of the class, the ones who smelled like perfume and spoke with warmth in their voices. I didn’t understand it, but I knew enough not to say it out loud.
Every morning, I woke up the same, and the battle with myself would start again.
Back then, I thought I was alone. The only one in the world who felt like this. But looking back, the signs were everywhere. In the small moments that seemed harmless at the time, until they weren’t.
Like how I always chose football over “playing house,” sticking with the boys in the playground because it felt more natural. How I squirmed every time my mum pulled out a dress for a party or wedding, or the uncomfortable stiffness of desi clothes that didn’t feel like they belonged to me. I didn’t have the words to explain it then, I just knew I didn’t want to be the kind of girl everyone expected me to be.
I didn’t want to be the kind of girl everyone expected me to be.
Then there were the crushes. The quiet ones, The confusing ones, The ones I buried so deep I convinced myself they weren’t real.
While my friends had posters of boyband singers and heartthrobs from teen magazines, I was busy trying not to stare too long at my art teacher, the one who smiled like she could see something in me I hadn’t figured out yet. Or the older girl in the year above, the one with the denim jacket and chipped nail polish, who made my stomach twist into knots just by walking past me.
I told myself I just wanted to be like them. That it was admiration. I didn’t realise I was lying to myself until much later.
The truth was, I wasn’t reacting the way other girls my age were. While they dreamt of first kisses with boys, I was trying to silence the voice inside me. The one that was telling me the truth. And even though I couldn’t say it out loud yet… I was starting to listen.
And even though I couldn’t say it out loud yet… I was starting to listen.
If any part of this resonated with you, feel free to leave a comment or follow along. This is just the beginning of the story I’m finally learning to tell.
