Almost Me

CHAPTER ONE: Almost Invisible

“Gring! Gring!”The sound of my alarm sliced through the quiet of my room. I groaned, tossing around my bed, trying to find that one comfortable spot that would convince me to stay under the blanket forever. I buried myself deeper, pretending not to hear the annoying buzz.

Just when I was about to drift back into my dream world my favorite escape the world where everything was perfect, peaceful, and I actually mattered…A loud knock on my door shattered it all.

“Vera! Vera!”

I jolted upright.

“You’re still in bed at this time?!” Mom’s voice echoed from behind the door.“Aren’t you going to be late for school?”

I sighed, rubbing my eyes.

“Young lady, you better be out of that bed in the next five minutes!” she commanded.

Her voice meant business. I sprang out of bed like an athlete hearing the starting gun, grabbed my towel, and dashed into the bathroom.

As I brushed my teeth, I stared at my reflection. My eyes dropped to my chest. Flat, Still the same. Just plain skin.

A wave of disappointment washed over me.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m really a girl. I mean, I am, but nothing about my body agrees. No boobs. No curves. No period. Nothing. Fifteen years old, and not even a hint of puberty. It’s frustrating. painfully frustrating and I hate myself for it sometimes.

Oh! My bad. I forgot to introduce myself.

My name is Veronica Martins, but everyone calls me Vera. I’m fifteen, and I’ll be sixteen on April 24th. I’m in Grade 5, Senior High.

And here’s the part no one knows about me…I have a rare condition called Primary Amenorrhea it means I’m biologically female, but my body doesn’t show it. No menstruation. No ovulation. No breasts.

But that’s not all. I was also born intersex with both male and female organs. The doctors removed the male part when I was a baby, so technically, I’m “normal” now. Whatever that means.

The doctors said we should “keep our fingers crossed,” that maybe puberty would come eventually. But I doubt it. My chances of ever becoming a “fully developed woman” are like twenty out of a hundred which might as well be zero.

I live with my mom, Ms. Emilia Martins, a forty-year-old single mom who works as a medical lab scientist at a private hospital here in Colombia.

Mom is… complicated. She’s sweet but strict, a walking definition of tough love. She’s my whole world, honestly. But when it comes to my dad, she shuts down. I’ve asked a million times, but she never gives me a straight answer. Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder if my condition has something to do with whoever he is.

Mom always reassures me that I’m perfect the way I am, but deep down, I know she doesn’t fully understand. She tries to be strong for both of us, and maybe that’s why she pretends everything’s fine. But me? I can’t pretend.

Every time I look in the mirror, I see someone… incomplete. My self-esteem is buried somewhere in the negatives. I avoid making friends because I’m terrified someone will find out my secret and use it against me.

When I first got into Senior High, I tried. I really did. I smiled at people, said hi, joined conversations… but no one seemed interested. I was invisible. The other girls pretty, curvy, confident they made friends in seconds. And me? I just sat in the corner, pretending to read while my heart broke a little more every day.

So I built a wall. I became “the quiet one,” the bookworm, the introvert.

One thing I’ve learned about reality? People judge by appearance. They say, “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” but that’s exactly what everyone does. And since my “cover” isn’t pretty, no one even bothers to open the book. That’s the sad truth.

I exhaled slowly, blinking away the tears forming at the edge of my eyes. Then I rinsed my mouth, showered, and slipped into my school uniform, the one I had my tailor make extra-large, just to hide my shapeless figure.

When I got outside, Mom was already waiting in the car.

I hesitated before getting in. I wished I could just tell her I didn’t want to go to school any more that I’d rather learn online, away from the whispers and the looks. At school, I’m a nobody. Sometimes, I even get bullied by the so-called PTMs, short for “Personalities That Matter.”

They’re the popular kids. The ones who basically rule the school. To be a PTM, you need at least 3,000 followers on social media, be drop-dead gorgeous, and either be rich or pretend to be.

Me? I don’t even tick one box.

Still, I’ve made peace with it well, kind of. I’d rather stick to my boring, quiet life and focus on my books. At least, grades don’t judge you by looks.

I got into the car and buckled my seatbelt.

Mom gave me that look through the mirror. “You know, you’ll be graduating soon,” she said.

I nodded, already knowing what was coming next.

“And after that, college,” she continued, starting the car. “I won’t always be there to wake you up or remind you to get ready. You’ll have to start acting like a young adult.”

Her tone was calm, but I could tell she was frustrated.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I muttered.

She sighed. “You’re always sorry, Vera. I’ve heard that a thousand times. But you never change. I’m trying so hard to give you a good life, and sometimes it feels like you don’t even care.”

Her words stung. Not because she was wrong but because she was right.

I looked out the window as the car rolled down the street, the morning sun washing over my face. Maybe one day she’ll understand. Maybe one day I’ll understand myself too.

But for now, I’m just Vera. A girl stuck between who she is… and who she wishes she could be.