My eyes were wide open, taking in the transparent enclosing around me, surrounded by red walls. I was warm and safe, yet I felt trapped.  

I wanted to be out of here. I kicked and squirmed, pushing against the walls, but to no avail. 

"She's kicking!" I heard a muffled squeal.   

Tired from my efforts, I inhaled. Just then, I was overcome with a new sensation; I could see. It was strange, to be looking at something besides the gloomy red walls. I could still feel my physical self within those walls, but beyond my closed eyelids I saw what surely was the world beyond.

  
I could see a woman with a protruded belly, seated on the couch, smiling with teary eyes while a man sat in front of her, hands placed on her stomach. 

Together, they moved to another room. As they looked around with matching grins, I watched with a frown. Pink walls surrounded us, eerily reminding me of the red walls around me.  

I had no sense of time, and that irritated me more. I wanted an out. So, every day I fought harder, and finally, kicking and screaming, I made my way out of the red room.  

The next time I remember opening my eyes, I was overcome with discomfort, as something was pulling my hair. Wailing, I try to pull it away, but to no avail. The woman, who was called Mama, came into the room and picked me up, removing an object from my hair. I turned to find a big pink clip. As soon as I stopped crying, she put it back in my hair, causing me to fidget. 

"It's ok. You're pretty now with your clip. Let's leave it on your hair." She cooed at me. 

That was not the kind of comfort I was seeking. 

"It's ok. We'll go shopping now." She told me.

 
I was in permanent discomfort, even after reaching a store. There, for the first time, I saw a miniature black truck, so similar to the real ones on the road that I couldn’t help but reach towards it, fascinated. 

Right before I could pick it up, Mama shifted me on her other side, facing dolls in pink dresses. 

"That's not for you, baby girl. Here, let’s get you a doll as pretty as you." She picked dolls after dolls, trying to mimic their voices and impress me with them. 

I didn’t like pink, as it reminded me of the red room from which I had finally escaped. I didn’t like the dolls Mama was showing, as their white-blonde hair appeared fake and creepy. I didn’t like the big clip that was pulling my hair.  

I didn’t like any of it, but I was just a baby, with no apparent thoughts, just waiting like soft clay to be molded into what society wants me to like and dislike, what society wants me to appear like. 

When I mourned the loss of acceptance towards my personal choices, I was just an ornery baby, throwing a tantrum in the toy store.