I know I've been reincarnated. Those memories—they're not just dreams or figments of my imagination. They're my truth, my history. I was Ari in my past life, and as much as I try to bury those memories, they persist, a lingering reminder of who I was and the mistakes I made.
But I'm afraid. Every time I remember Ari—his arrogance, his laziness, his contempt for others—I fear that part of him will seep into me, tainting who I am now as Aria. I don't want to become him again. I don't want to repeat my previous life, where I squandered every opportunity and hurt everyone I cared about.
Thankfully, it's been years since I first regained those memories, and life as Aria has been... different. Irana and I are now in middle school, and so far, I've done everything I can to live the opposite of the life I once lived. I study hard, treat my classmates with kindness, and cherish every small moment of happiness.
Then, one day, I noticed something peculiar.
As a middle school student, I have to wear a skirt as part of the school uniform. At first, I thought it would feel strange or uncomfortable, considering my memories of being Ari. But instead, I found something surprising—I actually like it.
Wearing a skirt feels comfortable, and natural even. How could that be? Shouldn't I feel out of place? Shouldn't the remnants of my former self rebel against it?
But no, there's no rebellion, no discomfort. If anything, this small revelation feels reassuring.
It's not a problem, really. In fact, it's helpful. It means that I'm not bound by the constraints of my past life. Ari might live in my memories, but he doesn't control me. I'm Aria now. I'll wear this skirt with confidence, and I'll embrace the comfort it brings.
Every day is a new chance to distance myself from who I used to be and to step fully into who I am now. My life as Aria is mine alone, and I'll live it to its fullest.
It feels strange to think back to my time in kindergarten. There were these naughty kids, you know, the kind who would always disrupt others. They didn't mean any harm most of the time, but their antics could be infuriating. They liked to mess with the girls, especially while they were playing—lifting their skirts or mocking them.
Fortunately, I wasn't wearing a skirt at the time. My parents had allowed me to dress how I liked, even though I was a girl. They let me cut my hair short, too, so much so that from kindergarten to the end of elementary school, people often assumed I was a boy.
I know it's funny to think now, but back then, it threw me into a deep identity crisis. Who was I, really? Was I supposed to be Aria, or was I supposed to embrace the truth of my past self, who lived as a boy?
Anyway, back to those naughty kids.
One day, they dared to mess with my twin sister, Irana. They lifted her skirt right in front of everyone. They cross the line they shouldn't have.
I lost control. They didn't deserve to go unpunished, and I wasn't about to let that slide. So, I taught them a lesson they'd never forget. After that, to my surprise, those naughty boys swore loyalty to me. They thought I was their boss now.
I refused. I wasn't about to be their leader, not by a long shot. So I beat them up again. It didn't matter how persistent they were.
That's when my parents got involved. They were called to the school, and I ended up being punished for my behaviour. You don't need to know the details of my punishment. Just know that it was a rough day for me.
That day, Irana was in tears. She said I had changed, that I wasn't the sister she once knew. She didn't recognize me as her Onee-chan anymore. Her sadness hit me hard, but I can't say it tore me apart.
The surprising part came the next day. Irana called me Onii-chan. Not Onee-chan, but Onii-chan. I had a moment of utter disbelief when she said it. I was taken aback, especially when I saw how naturally it came out of her. It hit me hard that I was, in a way, no longer the sister she had known.
Since that day, no one has ever looked at me like a girl, even though I grew my hair out to shoulder length. They still don't see me that way.
And now, as I prepare for middle school, I wonder—how will those boys react when they see me, wearing a skirt? I'm dying to see the expressions on their faces.
Even though Irana and I are twins—our faces practically identical—she's always called "beautiful," while I'm constantly referred to as "handsome." Yet, no one seems to notice... my chest. It's not flat! I've grown—well, medium size, okay? It's so frustrating to be constantly overlooked in that way. Sometimes, I get so angry, but mostly I laugh it off. It's just another thing to deal with.
You might wonder, why did I cut my hair if I didn't want to be mistaken for a man. The thing is, I never really considered it a problem. I spent over twenty years of my previous life as a man. In contrast, my life as a woman has only spanned about three years—hardly any time at all in the grand scheme of things. Honestly, I didn't even remember much of it before I regained my past memories. I didn't see any issue with being a tomboy. I felt comfortable that way.
But the real problem came with my twin, Irana. We have the same face—our features so identical that anyone who looks at us can't tell the difference. As we got older, I started to notice something. Irana became more beautiful with every passing year, and I could feel a pang of jealousy rise within me.
It was subtle at first, but I began wanting to change. I didn't want to be left behind while she became a graceful, beautiful girl. I thought, "Why can't I be beautiful too?" That's when I started growing my hair back, slowly, but surely. I wanted to be pretty like she was.
I regret cutting my hair now. Looking back, I wish I hadn't asked my parents for boys' clothes and insisted on adopting that tomboyish style. They were happy, of course—overjoyed, even. They had wanted a son, but they ended up with two daughters. For a while, I think they thought they'd gotten their wish with me.
I do wonder, though… was it a mistake? If I could go back, would I make the same choice? Well, in the end, my parents got their son after all when I was in third grade—my little brother, Yuuji.
Yuuji's a shy little boy, I can't help but spoil him. I tease him endlessly, to get a reaction out of him. It's mostly harmless for fun, of course. I think he enjoys the attention, even if he doesn't show it.
But there's something strange with him. He's not really close to Irana. Every time I see them together, there's tension—arguing, bickering over the silliest things. It's enough to give me a headache sometimes.
And yet, when we're all together with our parents, something changes. They suddenly all smiled, so sweet and affectionate to each other. Why is that? Why does it feel like they only argue in front of me? It's like they're hiding something from me like their relationship is a secret just between them.
Irana and I ended up at the same school—no surprise there, we've always been a package deal. Unfortunately, those pesky kids from our past also attend. What a bummer. At least there's a silver lining: the school requires students to stay in the dormitory. Even though we're allowed to go home once a week, it only applies to those living nearby. For us, that's a luxury we won't enjoy often. Why is that a silver lining? Well, the boys can't enter the girl's dorm, obviously.
Irana and I got lucky with the room arrangement. We're roommates, which I'd say is a blessing—or perhaps a curse on days she gets a little too clingy. There's a third person in our room, someone we've known since elementary school: Viola. She's the classic studious type, with her braided hair and round glasses giving her that unmistakable "nerdy" aura. She's the kind who buries her nose in books and forgets there's a world outside of them.
But don't be fooled. If Viola ever bothers to dress up, slap on some makeup, and trade her glasses for contact lenses? She's a stunner—She would look like a famous model, even prettier. That said… Irana is still more beautiful, obviously. Which, by extension, makes me prettier too. Hehehe...
Ahem.
"Oni… ah no… Onee-chan." Irana's voice snaps me back to reality. "What are you writing?"
"I'm writing a diary," I reply without hesitation, shutting the book gently. "I want to remember all my life experiences when I look back someday."
"Oh, is that so?" She tilts her head, curious. "Why have I never seen Onee-chan writing in her diary at home before?"
I pause for a second.
Of course you haven't seen me, I've never kept a diary in my life, not even in my previous life. But I'm not about to admit that. "I always do it after you're asleep, Irana," I say, keeping my expression neutral.
"Is that so? Is writing a diary enjoyable?"
"It depends on the person. For me, it's very enjoyable. It's like creating a story—only it's my own. Plus, writing things down helps me notice the smaller problems in life that I might overlook otherwise."
I can't believe I'm quoting something I once read on Google. Thanks, past life internet.
"Really?" she says, eyes lighting up. "That must be why Oni… I mean, Onee-chan is always reliable."
My heart aches a little. Irana is clearly trying so hard to stop calling me Onii-chan, but it's tough for her. I'd almost rather she keep calling me Onii-chan than stumble every other sentence.
T_T
"It's getting late," I say, deciding to change the subject. I look at Viola who is already sleeping peacefully. "Let's sleep."
"I'll sleep when Oni… Onee-chan sleeps," she insists, sitting there like a stubborn kitten. "So we can sleep together."
How old is Irana now? Twelve? Thirteen? She should be able to sleep on her own by now! But how do I tell her that without breaking her heart?
"Why are you so spoiled…" I sigh, getting up and stretching. "Alright, alright. I'm done for today. Let's sleep."
She grins, victorious. I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling in the inside. Irana will always be Irana.