Am I a woman?

My childhood. I liked to play soccer, but I wasn’t very good at it. And I played rough games occasionally, but I also enjoyed picking flowers, baking cakes, making plant hangers in macramé, and bracelets with string beads. When I think about it, I smile and feel the peace and quiet I felt then.

My friends. I stood my ground, among the boys. It was competitive, and I took part in it. Sometimes with success. But what a difference if I played with girls! They were just sweet to each other. Nobody wanted to score. I didn’t have to push my opinion, I was asked for it. I liked to be among the girls. Even now. I’m more at ease then.

My food. Occasionally fish or seafood, and very little dairy, but otherwise lots of vegetables, fresh fruit every day, nuts, whole grains, olive oil… For my health, that of (most) animals (sorry little fish), and that of the earth. It must be tasty of course, and I get inspired by kitchens from all corners of the earth. I love cooking for others very much. I enjoy it when I see that my eaters like it. When I go out for dinner, I often sit in places where mainly women come. Apparently they also like soups, salads and vegan experiments.

My emotions. Too intense. Unfortunately, sometimes I can lose my patience. After a mean remark, an act of greed or selfishness, I may shout.  I’m not proud of that. But let me watch a nice movie, or let me read a good book, and the tears will come naturally. A funeral is very intense for me. I always try to be friendly, even for small things. Anyone can get a smile from me.

My hobbies. Number one is making music. Especially on the piano. Improvising. Jazz. And if someone hits the dancefloor, I’ll follow (if I’m not the first).  Sometimes I dance too enthusiastic. Usually too enthusiastic. And then I have to watch my moves. Too graceful or too sensual, for a man that is.

What I like to wear? This is where it gets tricky: skirts, dresses, wide-necked tops, heeled shoes, eyeliner, lipstick… Why? I don’t know why. Really, really, I don’t know.

What does this mean?

Does this mean that I’m a woman? Maybe I am a woman. But what’s a woman? Isn’t it another label? Now, the thought that I can be a woman does make me happy. Even if I can’t always be one.