I Hate Pink

I hate pink. Well, I don’t hate the color per se. I hate it for what it reminds me of.

As a kid, my favorite color was red. It became green until I’ve settled with blue being my favorite. Every time I was asked by my family what color I wanted for a certain item, I never said pink. Most of the time, I picked things that were blue. I was often called out by my sisters for not choosing a “girly color”. As a kid, they taught me that pink is the color for girls while blue was for boys. So, imagine every time I said I wanted the blue chair or the blue pen, they would tell me, “No. That’s not for you. Blue is for boys. You’re not a boy.” I was deeply troubled by this as a kid. I was often told off not to do certain things because those things were just for boys. One time, I met my male cousins and they had these cool action figures that I wanted to play with. But I was told I couldn’t play because those toys were for boys only. I was so frustrated because the toys looked complex and well-manufactured compared to my sisters’ toys that I deem to be plain and boring.

Well, I was never the “girly” type. I was an odd one to my family. I was at times told not to be a tomboy, to stick with the girly things. Being backwards and homophobic, my family would even tell me that it’s wrong for me to be a tomboy, that it would be a sin. Well, I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help that I preferred watching Power Rangers or Dragon Ball Z over Barbie Fairytopia. (Never enjoyed that.) It isn’t my fault that toy companies build a lot of “boring” toys that are supposedly for girls like me. When I wanted certain toys, I wouldn’t say that I liked them because I knew I would be judged. I kept my mouth shut and accepted that they bought me the pink ones, and not the blue ones. Thankfully, my mother tolerated that I played with text cards. She even bought me some Spider-Man ones because she accidentally threw some of my anime cards.

I hate the color pink because it was my first taste of these damning gender roles. In grade school, a student-teacher called me a tomboy because during wash day I wore baggy pants and a plain shirt. I’ve never been comfortable with wearing skirts because I liked to run around, to sit on the ground, to sit with my legs open and not crossed the way they teach other girls to do. It hurt me that I was being called names just because I wanted to wear clothes that I was comfortable in. It hurt me I was being called names just because I did things that were outside of the binary system. It hurt to be called a tomboy because my parents said it was wrong to be one. In high school, I started not to care. Although, some school events did make me feel uncomfortable for certain dress codes and whatnot. In college, I took up a course on gender and was glad to hear that I wasn’t the only one who felt that this was wrong. Opening my mind in breaking these gender stereotypes, in addition to being agnostic, I’ve begun not to care about the labels. Fuck everyone who had a problem with me only wearing jeans and shirt! Fuck everyone who thought I was or am a tomboy! Well, guess what, homies? I don’t care about those labels. I have no personal alignments to the binary gender. I guess, you can call me a genderqueer. I’m gonna do me while you do you, because I’m the “Q” in LGBTQ.

This rant came over to me because my mother made a remark how my 1-month old niece can’t be playing Rayman on PlayStation with her male cousin because she’s a fucking girl. I think my mother forgot that I’m also biologically female but I have been playing Rayman and other video games some deem to be “for boys only”.


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