“Double turn!” The teacher yells, and I comply, pirouetting twice on my right leg. “Point your back leg… And pose!” I throw my arms up in the air and grin widely as the music finishes, earning- alone with Nicole on my left, and Suriya on my right- a rapturous round of applause from the assembled students.

A pastor in a conservative Christian denomination is faced with a boy who feels he is a girl inside. Which will he choose: his Church's teaching? Or a child's life?

A pastor in a conservative Christian denomination is faced with a boy who feels he is a girl inside. Which will he choose: his Church's teaching? Or a child's life?

A pastor in a conservative Christian denomination is faced with a boy who feels he is a girl inside. Which will he choose: his Church's teaching? Or a child's life?

A pastor in a conservative Christian denomination is faced with a boy who feels he is a girl inside. Which will he choose: his Church's teaching? Or a child's life?

"Ladies and gentlemen," the posh English accent announced over the airplane’s tannoy, "I'd like to thank you for flying Soixante-Trois airlines, and on behalf of the company, I'd like to wish you all a safe stay in Paris and a very Merry Christmas!"

Maxine continues to mature and an appropriate job finds her.

There are key moments in everyone’s life that determine their future. They lie in one’s memory and emerge when other major events occur and this way they influence forthcoming life. Sometimes they seem negligible and are ignored by others while others that seem to be significant are just a consequences of a series of decisions made years ago. Those are not pleasant or sweet in most cases though they force me to go back and relive them again and again. Thus I can write only ‘bout my memories ‘cause only I and nobody else can know what moments are really key moments.

“Happy birthday dear teenager…” Mum yells in my ear, startling me into awakeness as the sun streams through my bedroom window. “Happy birthday to you!”

“Mum!” I tiredly moan into my pillow. “What time is it?”

“8am,” mum says. “Which means that you’ve only been thirteen for 8 hours and already you’re acting like a stereotypical teenaged girl!” I chuckle as mum whips the covers off of my nightie-covered body and dumps a LOT of presents besides my hairless legs.

“Stop crying!” The middle-aged man barks as the electric clippers shear my head clean of the hair I’d been growing over the last twelve months. I gulp and blink my eyes, but as lock after lock of light blonde hair tumbles in front of my face, I can’t control my emotions. My life, just my hair, is tumbling down in front of me.

Once the haircut is complete, I look at myself in the mirror and I want to scream. Looking back at me is undoubtedly the face of a pre-teen boy. A pre-teen boy with a cute face, but a boy nonetheless.