My name is androgynous. Upon hearing it, you cannot tell if I am a boy or a girl. Some people say that they can tell if they know how it’s spelled: Jessie is a girl and Jesse is a boy. I doubt my parents meant to spell my name the “boy” way, but I sometimes wonder whether it was a Freudian slip; whether somehow, even then, they knew. Occasionally, I think it’s fate being cruel. At other times, I think it’s fate being kind. Either way, it has certainly been fortuitous.

Other gender variant people struggle with the name issue. Imagine showing up to a conference and having to respond to “Cassandra” when your outer appearance suggests that you’re more of a “Mark.” In this sense, I am undoubtedly lucky.For most of my life I have felt sorry for myself. Why couldn’t I just be normal? The truth is that the desire to be normal is really just the desire to be like everyone else. It is not so much a desire to be “normal” (whatever that may mean) as a desire to be common.

I find this desire to be ironic, especially at a place like McGill where everyone is trying to distinguish themselves. Awards and accolades are by definition distinctions. There is even a category of awards called “distinction.” You can graduate with distinction, or great distinction. This implies that the greater the distinction, the better. This is true as long as you are distinguishing yourself in the normal, nay, commonly accepted way.

There are many reasons why I feel sorry for myself. I do not fit in to society’s mould of either “man” or “woman.” I confuse others. I confuse myself. My parents aren’t sure what to make of me. They try to be kind. They try to understand – and I try to help them – but the truth is that I’m not sure what to make of myself. I have constantly struggled with what it means to be me and how I can show the world who I really am.

I no longer feel sorry for myself. I’m still confused, but I have accepted that maybe that’s the way things are supposed to be. Maybe everyone is confused. Maybe life is meant to be confusing. If so, then maybe realizing that you’re confused and having to deal with the fact that you don’t fit into a box brings you one step closer to really understanding the world. Or maybe I just tell myself that in order to cope.

I’m not trying to elicit pity. In many ways my life has been a good one: I’ve never had to worry about finding something to eat or how to pay tuition, I do not have any serious health problems, I have good parents and great friends. However, my struggle has allowed me to see and experience the world from a different vantage point. I do not claim to know everything, to have seen everything, or to have experienced everything – but during the coming months I hope to share with you my uncommon, if not unique, point of view.