Growing Up South Asian, I Thought I Had to Become a Boy To Love Girls

It took me years to understand that what I really wanted was freedom.

When I was seven or eight, I wanted to be a boy.

I wanted this so badly, I would pray every night to wake up as a boy. At that age I didn’t hate being a girl, I disliked girly things, like the toys and the clothes. I felt more comfortable in boys clothes; I was always called “Tomboy” and that was ok, but deep down I felt that the only I could ever be with a girl was to be a boy.

Back then, I didn’t have the words for what I felt. All I knew was that something in me didn’t quite fit. I saw boys holding hands with girls, writing them love notes, sitting close without anyone whispering or calling them names. I wanted that safety, I wanted that permission.

At home I was the south asian daughter, but not the quiet, compliant one.

I was the rebellious one, the one who pushed boundaries and asked too many questions. I was creative, outspoken and full of life. Yet somewhere deep inside of me I carried this guilt, the guilt of knowing I couldn’t give my mother what a “good daughter” was supposed to.

I saw how boys were allowed to take up space, while girls were taught to shrink, to smile and to stay small. So I used to think maybe I were a boy, it would all make sense and maybe I would finally feel right.

By the time I hit my teens, I began to realise it wasn’t about wanting to be a boy. I just wanted to be free, free from the rules that came with being a daughter, free from the fear of being seen as wrong. I wanted to be free from the heavy expectations of how a girl should move, speak, dress or love.

At fifteen I cut my hair short, uneven, and jagged. Utterly liberating. I thought freedom might live somewhere between all the clumps of hair on the floor.

That night I stood in front of the mirror, heart racing, water dripping down my face, and it didn’t feel rebellious. It felt like I was finally breathing.

I remember when my mother saw me, she froze mid sentence. “Why would you do that?”

I didn’t have the words then… I just said I felt like it and walked away. Thinking back now, I wasn’t rejecting who I was, I was finally meeting her.

It took me years to understand that moment. It wasn’t about wanting to change my gender. It was about wanting to love who I loved without feeling shame. It was about wanting to exist without needing permission.

Sometimes I think about the younger version of me, the little tomboy who thought she had to become someone else to just be worth of love. She didn’t know she could just be herself, that she could express her masculinity, wear the clothes that felt right, and still be whole.

Now as an adult, happily married, navigating culture and community while living authentically, I can see that freedom isn’t about changing who you are. It is about claiming the parts of yourself that you were taught to hide.

I wear what makes me feel powerful, no matter what department it comes from. I love openly, loudly and without apology. The best part of it all - my mother is now beyond happy for me. She adores my wife and calls her daughter in Hindi.

There is healing in that, something whole. It reminds me that love can grow, even in the spaces where fear once lived.

When I look back I realise, I never wanted to be a boy.

I just wanted to be free, free to love, live and feel home in my own skin.