Today is the second day after the accident and I am alone in my hospital room. My sister left to prepare the funeral of our parents. Actually, not a funeral per se because we can't take our time, not with how awful the accident that took them from me, from us, was, so the best we can do is to hurriedly cremate them and let them rest in peace, and think about the rest later.
Now, I have the time to think about the additional baggage I came out of the coma with, alone with my thoughts.
It was a memory, a set of memories about a man in a world like mine, different but at the same time similar, with no fanciful element, just a normal world with science and technology about the same level as the one I know.
That man lived a normal life with a difficult childhood brought by the lack of financial means. He went to school, graduated from a business major and became a piece of the system. He died quite young, between 24 and 26 years old, and lo and behold, it was from a car accident.
That would explain why those memories came back to me. Yes, came back. Because I think that was the memory of my previous life, maybe the last one I lived. I don't know why I concluded as such and I can't explain it. I just felt it in my heart. Or in my subconscious?
And that makes me think, might the fate of our souls be to go through lives, one after another, for whatever purpose, if purpose there is? Maybe only at the very end will we get an answer. Or did my soul evade recycling?
But for now my biggest issue is the discomfort I'm feeling. In this life I'm a woman, or a girl, and, with my new memories as a man, I don't know how to take it even if they didn't overwrite my fourteen years of life or overwhelm my mind, slash, personality.
Only one thing is certain for now, and that is that I don't see myself falling in love with a man anymore. Just the idea of being attracted to the opposite sex now revolts me.
At the same time, it is not as if I will run after those of the same sex because, come on, I have been a girl all my life, a normal girl with no homosexual tendency, at most some bisexual curiosity. It can't be expected of me to radically change all of a sudden because of some memories that were less deeply imprinted than those of my current life.
I just feel hollow right now. I wish I could go home, and have my mom hug me seeing me morose and gently ask:
"Sweetie, is everything alright? You can talk to me, you know?"
I can't even decide on a plan to deal with all of this uncertainty, not with this grief that feels like a searing metal in my heart.
I really wish I didn't survive. But that would have left only Liz. I can't imagine how much she would have suffered if we were all gone. Maybe she wouldn't even have had the strength to keep living, doing everything just to reunite with us.
Shaking the negative thoughts out of my head, I go over everything and decide to stop thinking. I will deal with things as they come.
Two hours later, I want to curse the universe. It is like it wants me to pay for some bad karma.
I just decided to leave my dilemma, my identity crisis aside and now my sister brings me a dress for when I'm discharged. It is not so bad. It is calf-length, with long sleeves and frills. It lacks a cleavage, fortunately, even if I don't have much in terms of breasts. She has also brought me a pair of ballerinas but I can make do with all of that. I just don't think I am ready for some clothes I used to like, like mini-skirts and other revealing clothes, or if I will come to like them ever again.
Right now, what is bumming me though is the underwear she brought. The bra was acceptable since it is more of a modest girly bra. I don't have the assets to enjoy the more classy or sexy kind, maybe someday in the future even if I don't really wish for that anymore.
The real trouble comes from the panty she brought me. I used to like that type. I saw some of my sister's and I used to envy her wanting the same kind but I was told to wait for a few more years.
Now that she is here with one for me apparently at the right size, she must have bought it to help me come out of my depressed mood even if only a little. And that was a good call.
If not for those damn memories, I would have found in myself a bit of strength to smile a little, to show some joy thinking about how a few years from now mom would have bought one of those sexy dark lingerie for me as a gift and encourage me in being confident in my maidenhood.
And now, much less enjoy wearing it, I wonder if I will even be comfortable with it reminding me of how different my vagina is from what I was used to in my last life. I'm lucky I'm not the protagonist in the story of some otaku in a dark room where instead of a past life and memories, it would be the soul of a male transmigrating and fusing with mine, or trying to. A setting that makes it easy to foresee how twisted the resulting personality would be, with pervertedness being a milder symptom.
But extrapolating from the difference in genitals, how will I feel when my breasts become bigger, my nipples protrude more and if they become more sensitive?
And how will I deal with the menstruations that will surely come?
Once again, why the hell did I survive that damn accident?