account was the frustration, the dysphoria. Those days when no matter what you wear, you wouldn’t feel right in the clothes you bought, your makeup, or your own skin. Those days when you got that gut wrenching feeling that you weren’t masculine enough, feminine enough, or maybe you weren’t neutral enough. Every day, I wish I could suppress those feelings, but at least I know who I am.
and saw only the weapons pointed at anyone who seemed like a threat. Regaining the little courage I had, I slowly angled my body towards the checkout station. That was when I saw him. My cousin was on his knees, heads down and arms on his head. Just four centimeters away was a gun pointed directly at his forehead. What can I do? This thought ran through my head an infinite amount of times in my head in many different situations. Yet on that day, that very second, it became my life question. My family, no, my blood, would be spilt out in front of me. I knew that this could be a possibility and yet I kept sitting there. Never in my life had I felt so useless. I glanced away for two seconds and remembered who I was sitting next to. I felt her
30 TheFrro
