That nagging feeling came back again, the one that had been growing in me for days since Malou first asked my favorite color, since I first admired Ora’s wardrobe, since I first started asking questions of myself that I’d never asked before. But now, I knew it was so much more than colors and clothing, it was the rudderless searching part of me that felt . . . clashing. At war.
There was the person I positioned myself as, the one I showed to everyone: the shadow, the warrior, the one I felt I needed to be. I knew how she dressed, what she wore, not because she liked it but because it made sense for the person I created her to be . . .
But then there was this other person, someone freer and more vibrant, someone who was beginning to claim more and more space in my mind, and they were starting to shout to be heard over the sound of who I was supposed to be.
“I don’t know how to pick,” I murmured, that inner voice screaming at me for the cowardly answer. “I’ll wear whatever you think is best, okay?”
Ora clasped their hands together, seemingly reading the silences between my words as readily as they heard my words themselves. “I told you before: it all starts with what appeals to you. It shouldn’t matter what I’d want you to wear,” they pushed, ever so gently. “I can’t tell you who you are.”
“Who am I?” I wasn’t sure if I was asking them or myself, but the words shook out of me regardless, that shouting growing louder in my mind. I balled my fists, wanting to punch one through the wall.
Ora took the needles out of their mouth and stuck them back into a giant ball of felted wool. Standing, they walked over to my side of the bench and sat back down, the action making my eyes well. It was so careful, so tender, it made me feel like they saw under all my layers: the frustration, the realization, the grief, and release, all the words so close to being spoken and yet tucked down so deep.
“Who are you, love?” Ora asked the question with such gentle warmth, finally giving me the courage to turn toward the thoughts that had been gnawing at me.
From the moment I met Ora, it felt like a missing piece was placed in the puzzle of my mind. No, I remembered what I had first thought. A key in a lock that fit, but I wasn’t sure if it would open. There was this restless agitation in me that had no name . . . but now, knowing that there were actually people who thought how I thought, who felt how I felt, who eschewed the confines of constructs that never fit them, it made that key start turning. And now, being put on the spot and asked that question, knowing such endless kindness waited patiently for my answer beside me, I felt the tumblers finally click. I could deny it no longer.
A tear slid down my cheek and Ora kept radiating that calm warmth, seemingly knowing that strange sort of joyful release that was washing through me.
“I was always searching outside of myself to find who I was—for someone else to tell me.” My voice cracked and I took a shaky breath. “How could I find out there something that was always within me? I shouldn’t have been searching, I should’ve been digging. I was buried there all along.”
Ora’s lips pressed together to keep from smiling. “And who have you unearthed?”
“I don’t know how to describe it, but I’ve never felt more certain of anything.” The words were on the tip of my tongue and I took a steadying breath. “I-I just don’t know that woman is the right word for what I am. I’ve always had one foot outside of it, felt further away from that name than others somehow. It’s not who I am, nor who I want to be.” I felt lighter and lighter as the words tumbled out, speaking my deepest confession aloud for the first time. “I like my body better when I don’t have to be her. I like my voice, my clothing, my personality . . . I like me better. It feels like the most honest thing I could be—both a part of and outside of—and moving through everything in between, and yet, I don’t have a word for it . . .”
“And yet I understand.” Ora put their hand on my forearm and more tears slipped down my cheeks.
“Gods, I can’t stop crying today.” I sniffed, wiping my eyes. “These aren’t sad tears.”
“I know,” they said. “If anything, you seem relieved.”
“I am.” I still couldn’t believe the words came out of my mouth. Shock coursed through me. But Ora, of all people, seemed to be someone who wouldn’t judge me for it. “It felt good to say that out loud even if I don’t know exactly what it means. I know who I am, even if I don’t have a word for it.”