Hunter Stoval: I Won't Be Erased

Despite the recent executive orders from the Trump administration, Hunter Stoval stands proudly in his identity.

In the glow of the television, vermilion beams illuminating my cheeks, I watch as the man who wants me erased is inaugurated as president of the United States for the second time. I have waited 76 days for this moment, but I still am not ready.  Little did I know what was to come: President Trump’s executive orders to ban gender-affirming care for minors.

In insignificant things around me, I search for an answer, a sign, a why. My questions fall upon deaf ears. I work on my third desperate letter of the week to nobody, maybe to God, to fix my curse.

Perhaps I am a freak of nature. I twist in spite that my body will never truly belong to me. I felt this when I was 10 years old and I still feel it now.

I am transgender.

Yet, my normalness is more comforting to me than any mother’s gentle embrace. It seems, to a lot of people, transgenderism is some far-away otherworldly concept full of freaks and leftists. Why do people choose to live with so much hate and fear in their hearts? It’s easy to polarize, easy to forget, that “others” are people too.

I am not all that different from you, from your parents or your friends. I am 16 years old and go to high school with your children. I have normal hobbies, I have normal dreams, I have normal friends and I have a mostly normal family.

In the glowing winter sun, I sit in Yerba Buena Gardens and listen to pastors telling stories of love conquering hate. I sing alongside hundreds, celebrating Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s gospel of love. I know love is real because my heart is brimming with it.

I take it back.

Transgenderism is not my curse to be fixed, but a gift for me to understand love. You can’t erase me. My roots are sunken so very deep into the soil.

With a Perspective, I’m Hunter Stoval.

Hunter Stoval is a 16-year-old artist and writer from San Mateo. In his free time, he enjoys collecting vinyls and trinkets.