Dear dad, dear mom.

I know you love me even more than yourselves. Love and the need to protect a child are beyond conscious control. I know you've made sure I have everything I need, enrolled me in the best schools and courses, advised me, celebrated birthdays, hugged me, and fulfilled my desires. But I know other things too, things that neither you nor my brother seem to notice. I know because I experience them and no one else does.

I know you call me "son," even though I'm a daughter, with the reasoning "it's just a common expression." Why this common expression, mom? Why isn't the common expression for boy’s "daughter"? I know I'm asked to bring water or food to my brother when he's resting, and vice versa never happens. In truth, I rarely get to rest. I'm told, "Oh well, you know how he is!"

I know you're proud of him as a good boy because he doesn't have vices like smoking or drinking and doesn't ask for expensive things. But, Mom, with me who speaks three languages fluently, works, and goes to school with good grades, always polite and hardworking, taking care of everyone, you're not proud. Every time I talk about the future, you tell me, “You’ll go to your husband's," ignoring my dreams and ambitions. Every time my brother brings a girl to introduce her, you see her as inferior to him and not "good enough" for him, while his last girlfriend was a dream girl.

I'm not allowed to hang out with boys. I'm not free, nor can I stay out at night, because some boys in the world have grown up irresponsible or violent. I'm scolded for any grade below an A, which I rarely get. When he gets a C, it's said, "well, that's how boys are."

I'm not often given the car because I'm a girl, even though I drive it better than my brother. I'm scrutinized from head to toe for how I'm dressed, as if inadvertently revealing any part of my body, that society sees as crooked.

My relatives keep an eye on me for what I do 24 hours a day. Do you know how long the list is, dear parents? But I'm not continuing. I'm not continuing because now I know that even these things I've told you, you're thinking I'm exaggerating because I've lacked nothing.

Just another way that I'm not heard by you and by society and how I shouldn't express myself. I'm not angry with my brother. It's not his fault. And you know what I think? It's not even your fault. But it was and is your responsibility.

To break the cycles of the past, to think a little longer, to offer equal treatment to two equal children. To not break our hearts, your daughters.

So, dear parents, I have nothing else left but to say, "I'm sorry I wasn't born a boy." And despite this letter, I promise I will always take care of you, even when you're impossible.