SUNDIAL POSEI don’t feel super excited about the binaries of
man/woman, male/female. I think of myself as
a boi. That’s the word if you have to use one,
though I don’t love labels, either. I’m not trying
to be eccentric, just honest: There has been a
little boy living in me ever since I was tiny.
In Colombia, where I grew up, very clear
boundaries delineate what is “woman” and what
is “man.” Women look a certain way; they get
their nails done; they’re perfectly put together.
I never felt like I fit in, but I played the role to get
by. When you are like me, you live with a low—
sometimes high—buzz of fear that some stranger
will hate you for your in-betweenness.
And it’s exhausting to fight for every single bit
of understanding, even from those who know full
well who you are. A few years ago, soon after I
started going by Miles instead of Mila, my girl-
friend at the time broke up with me. I really
loved her. She said, “How could you do this to
me?” I wasn't doing this “to her.” I guess things
got a little too real.
That’s the stuff that really hurts: the rejections
from people who deep down love you, but whose
acceptance only goes so far.
But the more I’m able to allow the little boy
some play space, the sweeter things are. Letting
myself lean into my masculine side has allowed
me to indulge my softer, more feminine side. It's
the best of all possible worlds.
This play of opposites is very yogic. In yoga,
the guru, or teacher, is seen as the mother. The
same Hindu deity can appear as masculine, fem-
inine, or androgynous. If you look at depictions
of the gods Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, they’re
incredibly feminine.
I’m a musician, and just as tension makes gui-
tar strings sing, the tension between my mascu-
line and feminine extremes brings me to life. I’m
not afraid of my in-betweenness anymore.