As a child, I lived my life freely with childish spontaneity, untethered and unbothered by society’s expectations, which, in hindsight, means that I never completely conformed to society’s expectations of girls.
I used to love playing with remote-controlled cars – my favourite was the twister remote-controlled stunt car. I used to love seeing it flip over and twist every time it hit an obstacle. Its agility was truly limitless for my little brain. I used to love racing the kids in the neighbourhood at the local park every Wednesday after school. Feeling the inevitability of my defeat only to push through the burning pain in my muscles and slide down a muddy incline to win the race is a feeling I now long for. I played with Beyblades, cruised around the house on skates, had an obsession with nerf guns, and arm-wrestled almost everyone in my grade.
But I wasn’t your traditional tomboy. I also liked playing with dolls, having tea parties with dainty tea sets, and I had an impressive nail polish collection. I also used to cry a lot. I cried when reading sad books or watching sad movies. Just seeing someone else cry made my eyes well up with tears.
Throughout most of my childhood, those two seemingly opposite natures never collided or conflicted with one another. I lived my life freely and spontaneously. I was oblivious. However, the more I grew up, the more I got exposed to labels. I even got many of them assigned to me: tomboy, sensitive, assertive, emotional, bossy. I also learned that some labels are perceived to be good and some are perceived to be bad. All of the sudden, I found myself struggling to define myself – to assign myself labels that I found fitting. Okay, that’s not too bad. Let’s see: I am emotional. But wait, I was told that being emotional is perceived negatively by society, which I found very odd. There is nothing inherently good or bad about emotions. Right? Wrong. Apparently, being emotional means you’re not logical. Being sensitive means you’re not strong.
I slowly found myself ascribing to labels like assertive, bold, tough. That’s right, I am your classic strong independent woman. I identified with those adjectives for years, trying to mask my delicacy, vulnerability, and fragility — all of which were integral to my identity.
I’m now starting to realize that I am both strong and delicate and that my delicacy doesn’t undermine my strength or negate it. I am strong, but put on a sad movie and I will cry come the end. I am independent, but I do care to be loved. At 21 years old, I have come to embrace all facets of my personality. I refuse to be molded to fit nicely into a little box. I am proud of all the traditionally “feminine” aspects of me. I will continue loving the colour pink, obsessing over cute vintage dresses, and bawling my eyes out watching This Is Us. And if society still thinks I’m too feminine or not feminine enough, well then, so be it.