Am I an Error?

Am I an error?

I ask others carefully as I have felt their gaze saying ‘you’re wrong.’

They are always watching me as they are assuming ‘I’m wrong.’

They are keeping an eye on my cell phone, pictures, postings and communication data

as if they looked for the evidence telling ‘I’m wrong.’ 

It seems that every single little thing like my hair style or clothes could be the evidence. 

Am I an error?

I ask myself the same question.

I am a woman, man, or another who has a different body,

I am an immigrant worker.

I am threatened because I protest against the nuclear power plant construction,

I throw myself into the air because I can’t stand my terrible working environment anymore,

And I am monitored because I am suspected as a terrorist.

Then, a person like me, am I an error?

At some moment,

I stop asking myself and face the outside world.

My innermost anxiety at the moment meets other lives in the films.

All of the Others inside and outside the films might be like me, or they are just me, myself.

They and I, We blend into one another.

In the meantime, my anxiety that I’m an error has gone far away.

And, again,

Am I an error?

This question is a protest against everything that contends my existence is an error itself.

Now, this question stands up to

The gender binarism which says I am wrong as my body doesn’t fit any normalized fe/male body,

The law which says I am wrong as I don’t have the nationality of this country,

The government which says I am wrong as I pursue the truth of ‘the day,’ 

The heteronormative family system which says my family is not a family,

The poor working conditions which lead me to the death,

So,

Am I an error?