Auria
Stories

The dress was white. White like a wedding dress, white like a ballerina’s tutu, white like angel’s wings.

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But that didn’t matter. It wouldn’t have mattered if it was red, or yellow, or green, or blue.

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What mattered was that it was a dress. It was the school uniform, in fact. It was the thing she would have to wear all day, every day, to school then to the tutorial school, from morning till dark, from six to eighteen years of age.

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And that, to a six-year-old, felt pretty damn much like the rest of her life.

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It itched. It itched like a million bugs were crawling on her, picking and biting at her skin. She begged her mother to make it stop, but even extra fabric softener couldn't ease the discomfort. She was not sure why. But she was more and more certain about one thing—she did not want to wear that dress. In fact, she did not want to wear any dress. Ever again.

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Her school was a private catholic school with a very long history. Catholic schools in Hong Kong are mostly run by convents. Nuns. The school did not try to convert the students even though morning and afternoon prayers were mandatory, religious and bible studies was counted as subject in the final exams, most of the members at the managerial board were either nuns or priests. It was not a requirement that a student must be Catholic to enter the school. But KT was one. Baptized at birth. So were her parents.

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I was reminded multiple times by KT that was not about Catholicism. The truth was, her parents rarely made an appearance at the Church, they did not pray at the dinner table, they did not mention God in their home. The whole reason they were even baptized to begin with had something to do with…you see, Hong Kong had been a British colony from 1841 to 1997. A lot of schools, hospitals, churches, charity organizations were set up here by the British religious organizations in an otherwise primitive fishing village. As time passes by, a lot of these establishments gathered prominence and standing.

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In her father and mother’s time, Catholicism was linked to abundance, affluence and prosperity. In her time, elitism.

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There were other things too. Elegance. Virtue. Decorum. Repute.

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And that was what she learnt from her Catholic school.

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At fifteen, she told her mother, in her pristine white school uniform dress, “I don’t want to wear (a) dress.”

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Her mother blinked, oblivious. “But it’s the school uniform, you must wear it.”

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In Cantonese, articles like a and an do not exist. So her mother assumed she must have meant she did not want to wear her uniform.

“I do not want to wear dresses. Any dress. In school or out of school. No. Actually, I will wear the school uniform. But I don’t like it. I don’t like to wear dresses. I don’t like Barbies. I don’t like makeup.”

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It came out wrong. KT had always been a bit of a tomboy, and her mother had never had an issue with it. Her mother never made her wear dresses, play with Barbies or wear makeup. Quite the contrary, she was not allowed to. Her mother was confused.

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“I don’t like boys.”

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As she should. She was too young to like boys, her mother thought to herself.

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Then it hit her.

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Elegance. Virtue. Decorum. Repute. Elitism. They all came crashing down like a window made of stained glass. For a moment she looked so hurt, so weak, so victimized.

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“Oh.” Her mother regained her composure fairly quickly. “You know, it is normal for girls your age to feel this way. When you’re older, when you’re in university, when you meet more boys…you’ll know.”

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As if it was an exercise that she had not finished, a textbook that the teacher had not finished teaching, an exam she had not excelled yet. That feeling ate at KT, because she had excelled in pretty much everything else, she had tried so hard to make her mother proud, and this one little thing—it was not as much as something she had to do, but rather not to do—she failed.

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They never talked about it again.

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Everything changed when she met her. Let’s call her Michelle.

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She had everything. Elegance. Virtue. Decorum. And if the universe would allow it, she liked KT too.

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At that moment, she realized that if this was a test she had completed it, passed it, aced it. That girl, when she said she liked her too, had finally fulfilled that tiny, empty corner in her heart.

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Where KT spent her time running on the tracks, that girl buried her nose in books. Her favorite book was Sing You Home by Jodi Picoult. A most beautifully written book featuring a lesbian couple finding home in each other. She recommended the book to KT. (It was in English. KT had to use Google Translate almost every line. Never touched a book, apart from textbooks, in her life.)

When KT got home, her mother was surprised in the best way to see her daughter reading, not only a book, but an English book. KT gathered her courage and told her mother the story in the book.

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“It’s beautiful story.” Her mother said.

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Then KT blurted it out. That the book was recommended to her by a girl she liked. In that moment, she thought, if she said it now, she might have a shot. A shot at her mother’s understanding.

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Her mother nodded. “Well, I’m glad she got you reading English books.”

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That was how she knew. That book helped her find home.

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Note: Sing You Home, by Jodi Picoult, is currently banned in Florida.