Charlotte's POV
Charlotte always felt out of place among the boys around him. Born into a regular working-class family, his life seemed ordinary on the surface, but deep down, he always felt a sense of isolation. He couldn't understand why until one day he realized that it wasn't just because of his skin color that he felt different—it was his gender identity that was truly unsettling.
Growing up as the only boy in the family, Charlotte felt the special attention and high expectations from his parents, especially his father. Whenever he did something noteworthy, his father would pat him on the shoulder and say, "Good job, son. You're carrying on the family legacy. One day, you'll be successful, start a family, and be a real man."
These words became a burden for Charlotte. He knew his father's expectations were out of love, but they suffocated him. In a typical patriarchal family, boys are often expected to shoulder more responsibilities, show more masculinity, and become the "pillar of the family."
Charlotte's father silently conveyed his expectations of masculinity, a vague image that allowed no room for weakness or non-conforming behavior. Every time his father smiled at him with satisfaction, Charlotte felt an unspoken pressure, as if he had to be the "ideal boy" his father envisioned. But this ideal was drifting further away from his true self.
Charlotte didn't hate these expectations. In fact, he tried to fulfill them, even though every time he looked at his hands, he felt an indescribable emptiness. His hands were those of a boy—strong, clumsy, full of strength. But deep inside, he longed for more delicate, softer hands, like those of the elegant women he admired—long fingers, wearing fine dresses, interacting gracefully with the world.
He couldn't understand why he couldn't embrace his father's expectations like other boys, and instead always wished he could be a girl.
At school, Charlotte was the quintessential "outsider." His skin color—a dark brown shade with Latin American heritage—made him stand out. Although no one directly criticized or mocked him, he could feel the invisible stares. Every time he walked through the campus, he sensed the subtle difference, as if he was an outsider who could never fully belong.
Other kids seemed to have an innate sense of belonging, but Charlotte always felt like an outsider, constantly at risk of being excluded.
However, this feeling of being different because of his skin color was just the tip of the iceberg. What truly made him confused and tormented was his struggle with his gender identity. Charlotte often stood in front of the mirror, staring at the familiar yet foreign face, feeling a sense of dislocation. This face, no matter how long he looked at it, never felt like his own. He didn't want to be this way; he didn't want to be a "boy."
Deep down, he longed to be a woman—a gentle, charming, elegant woman, with beauty and confidence that drew attention. Every time he imagined himself in a dress, wearing makeup, walking into a crowd, his heart would flutter. It was a freedom he had never experienced in himself, as if he could see a new version of himself shining through a window he had never opened.
In those moments, he was no longer the "man" his father expected, nor the "boy" labeled by society, but a truly feminine existence that belonged to him.
This internal conflict made Charlotte feel deeply lonely. He didn't dare share any of this with anyone, especially his family. He knew his parents had high hopes for him. If he told them his true thoughts, how would they react? They might be shocked, even disappointed, thinking that the child they raised was not the "man" they had hoped for. He feared their looks of disappointment, a distance that would grow even wider.
Every night, Charlotte would quietly retreat to his room, close the door, and shut out the world. His room was not luxurious, even a bit shabby. The pale yellow wallpaper was peeling, and the furniture was outdated and mismatched.
In the corner of the room stood a peculiar statue—the Flying Spaghetti Monster (FSM). To outsiders, this statue might seem absurd, comical, even blasphemous. Noodles, meatballs, and other unidentifiable food items adorned it, making it look more like a ridiculous piece of art than something from this world.
But to Charlotte, this statue was his only solace. In front of this strange deity, he found a peace he had never found anywhere else.
Every night, he would whisper a prayer: "Dear Flying Spaghetti Monster, I know I can't be who I want to be, but if there's a next life, I wish to be a woman. Let me see what I would be like."
This prayer became almost a daily ritual for him. Every night, he would whisper to the statue, and those words gradually shifted from a hollow plea to a deep-seated habit. Charlotte knew the Flying Spaghetti Monster was unlikely to answer his request, but he still yearned for that moment of peace and comfort.
Each time he prayed, he could temporarily set aside all his troubles, as if he was momentarily separated from all the pain and anxiety of the world. Although he knew this was just a temporary escape, for him, that moment was the only time he could reconcile with himself.
As time went on, Charlotte gradually learned to hide his true feelings. Chris was his best friend in college, and Chris's typical playboy image was almost a trademark within their circle. At every party, Chris could easily attract the attention of the girls, becoming the center of attention.
Being with Chris always left Charlotte with a subtle bitterness—he wished he could socialize as effortlessly as Chris and become the focus of others' attention.
But whenever Chris joked around with the girls, Charlotte felt a strange jealousy—not of Chris, but of the girls. He couldn't express his true feelings, not even his admiration for Chris.
"See that girl over there? I think she's into me," Chris would often tease, his eyes filled with confidence and satisfaction.
"You're always so attractive, how could anyone not like you?" Charlotte would respond, forcing a smile.
Although he said it lightly, the words felt like a sharp thorn piercing his heart. He wished he could attract attention and win people's admiration like Chris—especially Chris, who deep down was his ideal "girl."
Every time Chris flirted with other girls, Charlotte felt torn apart by an irresistible force, the inner pain almost unbearable.
He knew he couldn't change any of this, and could only, on those quiet nights, close his door, sit alone in front of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, and continue his silent prayer. The content of his nightly prayers remained unchanged, and he no longer longed for an immediate response from the statue.
He understood that perhaps this question would never have an answer, but at least, in that moment, he could find a bit of solace—a sense of peace in being true to himself.
This was his unique moment with himself, a refuge for his lonely heart.
For him, the struggle with gender identity was not just a challenge from the outside world but an internal war.