Lotte still remembered one of her earliest childhood memories.

It was evening, and Lotte was standing in the middle of the living room—watching TV in her diapers. A popular kids’ show was airing, but Lotte couldn’t concentrate on watching it. 

So she toddled to the kitchen area with the help of her tiny legs.

Lotte instinctively knew her father was there to make dinner. She pulled on his pants to get his attention. When he saw her, he stopped whatever he was cooking back then.

“Where is momma?” Lotte asked him with her tiny voice. 

“Momma is at work,” he answered patiently, stopping his cooking process and picking up his daughter. His face then scrunched up, his nose sniffing something foul in the air. He couldn’t help himself and said, “Princess, you need to be changed.” 

He walked back to the living room, holding Lotte carefully in his arms as she rested her head against his shoulder. The TV was still running, and he switched channels. The news was broadcasted. 

As far as Lotte could remember, it was a special report back then. One to shape her entire life. 

The reporter was standing in the rain before a grand structure, reading from a digital notepad with jittery hands. He was nervous, eyes fixed on the following line to read. 

The reporter was between two crowds, one protesting violently while the others waited eagerly for the news to be delivered. 

The eager group was waving bright and colourful flags and signs in contrast to the bleak and aggressive ones of the discontented group.

“The 1st of June will mark a special day.” 

Lotte couldn’t understand nor remember what the reporter was saying except that with each word he uttered one of the crowds was becoming more and more impatient until they started cheering gleefully. 

Erupting in laughter, tears and shouts of joy at the news. 

Lotte was happy for them too, raising her arms to share their emotions as they waved their rainbow-coloured flags.

She didn’t know what the news were, but how they shared so openly their emotions moved her heart. 

Then the unrest began. 

One stone found its way hitting a joyous man on his face, colouring his face in bright red. The other crowd was shouting madly, throwing whatever they could find at the once-merry people as the reporter ran away for his safety. 

Lotte watched in disbelief. It was her first time witnessing the blatant cruelty against someone truly happy. 

She wondered, “Why would someone do this? What could drive others to do something so violent?”

The camera shook violently and was shoved right into the enraged face of a stranger before the scene escalated further with the arriving police force.

Lotte could still remember her father’s face when he shut off the TV by yanking out the cable, not caring to use the remote in his hand. His daughter felt like pulling herself away from her irate father but remained still, petrified to move. 

His squinting eyes were staring sharp daggers at the black TV, sharply inhaling the very air between his tightly clenched teeth. The exhaled breath brushed against her shaking body, making her shiver from fear. 

“This country is going on the rocks. This society and generation, all of them are going backwards; they are morons.” Her father sat Lotte down and came closer to take a closer look at his daughter. 

“Papa, what’s wrong?” Lotte asked, afraid to make a single move. Her father had this look of anger and disappointment in his eyes. 

He held the bridge of his nose, thinking deeply about what he should say next. 

“My child, princess,” he began, trying to sound like his usual warmhearted self—which he wasn’t by how furrowed his brows were. “I will explain it to you. Have you seen that group flaunting their flags? They got exactly what was to be expected from joining a protest.

“Promise me, my little girl.” His cold hands held tightly onto Lotte’s tiny arms, ensuring she would listen to his words. “The coming generation is clouded with wrong ideals. You will grow up to be a fine and proper woman, learning from the mistakes of our society and not turning into someone like them. You will listen to your parents. Alright?” 

Was she alright? Probably not, but she didn’t say anything. Lotte couldn’t say anything. 

How could her father say all those things to a toddler? One who couldn’t discern right from wrong in the words he was saying.

At this very moment, Lotte’s father didn’t realise how he had put a permanent stigma on his daughter’s very life; one that would never go away. 

Lotte wouldn’t grow up as the woman they wanted her to be. She would lament herself over all those words because she wouldn’t fulfil their ideals.

She tried to be their perfect daughter. 

Feminine, traditional, good in school and so many other ways they would have liked her to be. 

Even if that meant she had to bend herself over and over again and in the most painful of ways. 

In the end, Lotte couldn’t fulfil their ideal of liking men. It wasn’t something she could do or wanted to do. 

That year, this country and society leapt forward, but the people who would support it were few. So very few. A path riddled with obstacles and too many prejudices. 

With some prejudices rooted so deeply, it would take even more effort to overcome.

Lotte’s mother came back home—soaked wet from the rain. She was smiling giddily at her daughter, unaware of the news and what just happened.  

Their daughter could only cry, cry her eyes out as she did in the arms of her father. Back then, Lotte couldn’t understand what he meant. She was but a child, but the angry way he looked and held her simply shattered her. 

It was a heavy cry, one that wouldn’t stop until this memory ended and would linger within her forever. 

Whenever she thought back to this very moment, she wished to change her whole situation; to leave behind everything that pained her.

To disappear and never return. 

It pained her to think like that, but she was not sure how long she would be able to take it before she made a mistake. One of which Lotte would never be able to redeem herself from and would have to forever live with.

“I wish to be happy,” cried Lotte, dying barely in her twenties. “to be someone else. To finally be me.”