RIV/AI

“‘Teacher, how do we know that there are no other humans outside the walls?’

He was dying, that much was clear. Rivai knew that these were the incomprehensible mutterings of someone already far gone. Would it really be a good idea to bring him back like that? The last words Rivai had given him a mere hour ago were ‘Give up on your dream and die.’ Should Rivai not stick to those words? After all, Rivai had a choice here: the man in front of Rivai was not the only candidate for the life-saving injection Rivai held in hand.

Behind them, another person lay dying. That person seemed to be in an even worse condition, but there was no use in comparing when both were about to be dead anyway. In any case, Rivai needed to act quickly if either one of them would be saved. That was why Rivai had told everyone else to leave. All that anyone could do was yell at Rivai about what to do. Sure, Rivai understood why everyone had been so emotional and vocal about their opinions; they yelled because this was quite literally a life-or-death situation, but Rivai could genuinely not stand yelling. It hindered Rivai’s thinking capabilities, which were of peak importance at that moment.

Logically, Rivai knew that the man had proven his worth already, so bringing him back would be guaranteed to be a productive choice. The other person was no different, however, because they had shown themselves capable of the same insights and strategic planning. There was no clear answer in logic for humanity and its survival.

Emotionally, then, Rivai was inclined to move towards the man. He, after all, was the human Rivai respected most in this wretched world. Except that would be choosing for selfish reasons, which was not how Rivai liked to work and was not something Rivai could stand for. When it came to what Rivai knew about how the respective persons approached their lives and their dreams, it was clear that the man was further gone than the other person.

In their last conversation, he had started to focalise their dead comrades. He had asked Rivai, ‘What has become of them dedicating their hearts?’ He had admitted caring less about humanity than he cared about proving his father right, whereas the other person had simply dreamed of seeing the sea one day and with it, freeing humanity from those walls. That had to count for something, right?

And so, it did. After making the choice, though, the reasoning behind it was not over and done with. After making the choice, Rivai had to face the others again. After making the choice, Rivai had to justify it. This was not an easy task. The consensus before the choice had been to save the man and this only grew stronger after the choice was made. Over the following weeks Rivai had to hear about how wrong it had been to bring the other person back instead of the man. Whenever Rivai went to a team meeting, Rivai would hear others discuss the choice, both to Rivai’s face and when they thought Rivai could not hear. The scrutiny became unbearable.

However, Rivai would not yield. This was not the first choice Rivai had been forced to make that seemed impossible; the first time ended in Rivai’s closest friends dying. That had been the moment when Rivai learned to choose whichever option would end in the least regrets instead of the most favourable theoretical outcome. It was a subtle difference, but it had incremental results. It was the reason why Rivai’s only response to scrutiny had been: ‘I will never regret this choice.’ After that statement, Rivai never uttered another word about the situation.”

I look up from my screen as the timer goes off. That will have to be my writing for the day. As I get up from the couch, I contemplate Rivai’s character. Rivai fascinates me because I wish I possessed that same strength to stand behind my choices. There is a lot about myself that I recognise in Rivai, and this is one of the reasons why I have refused to use any pronouns. I can talk about Rivai for hours, but I have to shake that thought as I gather my books for school. There is no time for theorising; I have a class to attend. Sighing, I pick up my heavy bag and run out the door.

I have made choices that many people scrutinise. Repeatedly. Except they rarely do so to my face, mainly because they are unaware that I am making those choices. Rather, they speak in general, or about others who try to make the same choice. For example, people will tell you that I am hiding my identity, which is considered lying to them. With a dominant discourse of entitlement to certain such knowledge, I feel unable to compete and justify myself. Perhaps I do not have to, as Rivai only did so once after all, and subsequently decided to leave it be. There is no use in repeating yourself. If they do not hear you the first time, they most likely will not hear you the second time either. Of course, I cannot compare my choices to Rivai’s. This is not about life or death. It is about me being transgender. It is about my name. It is about my pronouns.

As I walk into class, one of the other students greets me with, “Hey girl!” After class starts, the teacher tells the latecomer, “You can sit next to her.” I do not correct them. I have tried that once, and it had about zero effect. The thing is, saying something once does not work, and twice does not help either. It will have to be hundreds at least before the bucket overflows and people start noticing they have left the faucet on and change their ways. Certainly, that is also counting on them actually genuinely wanting to change rather than simply saying they do.

It is not just that. It is also that I simply do not think others are entitled to that information about me. My transgender identity reveals a history about me that is not up for public consumption. Precisely people’s delusions about this are what makes me keep it from them. My life and bodily history are not something I need to disclose to everyone, and omitting it does not make me a liar. Except, most people have argued otherwise. They frame not disclosing as hiding, as a weakness, as a struggle. And I do not feel like explaining to them that my non-disclosure has nothing to do with myself but everything to do with them. It does not mean I struggle with my transness, nor am I weak or vulnerable. It is simply none of their business.

Usually, stories that go like this entail a change of heart. I am not planning on adhering to that path. Framing a coming out as a happy ending would reflect back on my nondisclosure as bad, and disclosure as character development. Sure, I can decide to stand up during the next class period and tell people the truth: My name is Riv and my pronouns are ze/zir. It would not matter, in multiple ways. And it would not make that information any truer, simply because it is known to more people. I am already my “true self,” without having to broadcast it to the world in this pre-defined way. Rivai would not yield and neither will I.

“Staying silent might seem difficult, but Rivai generally felt more comfortable in silence than in conversation. Therefore, Rivai chose words carefully whenever taking the effort to speak up about something. Rivai was direct and to the point, not hesitating to call others out on their behaviour if deemed absolutely necessary. Silence for Rivai was not a power play as most others would frame it, but simply a judgement about speaking as not contributing to the situation enough. In the case of Rivai’s choice, this judgement most certainly seemed to apply.

There was one consolation in this scenario of scrutiny. Rivai was not completely alone in being convinced of the result. After all, the man had entrusted that injection to Rivai for the very reason that he entrusted this choice to Rivai. It had been a silent act of showing how much respect existed between them. And Rivai had to trust in that this meant the man had found peace. In the end, he was not around to confirm it, but Rivai did know that no one else seemed to know the man like Rivai did. That alone gave Rivai confidence in the choice to let him die, rather than to bring him back to suffer once more.

So, Rivai started to avoid team gatherings. While Rivai was certain of the choice, and scrutiny would not change this, it did not mean Rivai had to be willingly subjected to that scrutiny. If a team meeting was not crucial, Rivai would stay at home or stick around at a different place and focus on something that gave satisfaction. Cleaning was a productive activity that Rivai enjoyed because it could be done alone and was looked down upon by many others, which meant they would leave Rivai alone during it. Cleaning gave Rivai the opportunity to clear the mind.

Other days, Rivai would make some tea and spend time looking out over the river. A lot would come up in the mind during those days, as Rivai sat and contemplated different things. Memories of the man that was lost were among those things, and Rivai let those pass without fighting them. Rivai was most certainly a fighter—one does not exactly receive the title of ‘humanity’s strongest’ for no reason—but Rivai was also familiar enough with loss to know that those memories were a part of grieving. The numbness that followed was all too familiar, too. Rivai knew there was no cleaning that away. The only way was through.”

“Riley!” I pause at the mention of that name. “I asked you a question.” That’s right, I had gotten slightly lost in the writing I am not supposed to be doing in computer science class. The temptation is too great with that computer in front of me, though. I am more invested in Rivai’s story than mine, not necessarily because it is so much better. My life is not bad, far from it, actually. But it sure is difficult. Except, the same can be said for Rivai’s, so that cannot be the explanation here. Rivai’s difficulties are definitely on a different level from mine, so perhaps that’s what makes it an easy escape. Thinking about life and death in a fantasy scenario is somehow easier than thinking about how my own mental health is steadily declining.

I surely am not as far gone as the man had been moments before his death, but sometimes I feel I am close to ending up there. Perhaps the whole thing is a metaphor and that is the real reason why I am so preoccupied with it. My name and Rivai’s are only a few letters apart after all, and the comparisons seem easy enough to draw. Both of us feel like the outside world is oblivious. Did Freud not say something about writing being grounded in personal trauma? This could all be a big ruse for me to process my own grief.

But does that matter? That is always an impossible question. People break their heads over how much any one thing matters, and no one has ever come up with a decisive answer. So why would I try to be any different here? The answer does not exist. I should not care about whether it matters or not, but the question that should take its place in my contemplations is nowhere to be found. If only I had some tea to drink and a river to look out onto, to think it all over.

“Riley.” There is that name again. As I spin around to find the messenger, the teacher gives me two words to explain their interruption: “A word.” They are wondering why I was staring at the wall with such an empty expression on my face throughout the entire class. It is true. I have not exactly been focusing in, or on, my classes lately. Yes, I could tell them that my name is Riv and correct the mistake they have now made three times already. It would shift the conversation and they would most likely accept that as a valid reason for me being spaced out. Except, those things are not at all the issue here. It is merely what people generally expect to be the issue.

“It will be alright,” I mumble. “I am dealing with some things.” It is the truth. A lot of things have been happening in my life. Those words are all I was prepared to say. Luckily, the teacher takes that confession as enough explanation and lets me go. I, too, choose my words carefully when being forced to use them. The resemblances with Rivai are piling up, are they not? I shake my head as I take my bicycle from the bike rack. Either way, I have to go home.

“Rivai found peace in the solace of the progressing days. Slowly but surely, people grew tired of repeating the same things over and over again. Every topic wore out eventually—it was just a manner of patience. While patience was not one of Rivai’s strongest suits, getting through tough times certainly was. Focusing on work helped, as fighting was a consolation for the losses it had brought. If Rivai continued to fight, the notion that those losses were not meaningless seemed easier to be convinced of. After all, Rivai had made a promise to the man right before his death, and was set on fulfilling that promise above everything else.

While Rivai seemed alone in the choice, this did not go for life in general. Rivai still had meaningful relationships, which also helped in getting through the days. This fight for humanity was not Rivai’s alone; the other fighters were also still dedicated to the cause. A dispute about choice did not mean everyone had lost complete respect for Rivai. They simply did not dare to stand up to humanity’s strongest, and more importantly, they understood that these things were about more than one choice with no regrets.”

I only hope I can say the same thing.