Filly's Frolic #13

I stumbled through my front door, collapsing on the floor and gasping for air. Bathed in sweat, I lay with my arms outstretched and began stretching my tired legs. I had just completed my run for the morning. Now that it was no longer freezing or pouring with rain every morning, I had decided to get my regular morning runs happening again. The weather this morning did not disappoint and whilst it was not exactly sunny or warm, it was at least tolerable if not pleasant for a coolish spring morning. If I was to get my tummy in check and lose the kilos I had mysteriously put on during the week, I could not afford to be too fussy about the weather I exercised in.



After I stretched and cooled down, I staggered into the shower to get ready for the day as I had to get ready for my blow wave appointment at my friend's salon. It was training time again and I was lucky enough to be the training model for one of the girls. She gets a model to train on and I get a free blow wave; I'm not going to argue with that. Her goal today was to complete the blow wave in an allocated appointment time. Understandably, it can be hard enough learning the correct techniques let alone doing them quickly, but the salon obviously can't allow hair dressers to take as much time as they want. 


She was definitely improving though. Between giggles, she mentioned that her arms weren't getting sore from holding the brushes and dryer all afternoon. Additionally, I had become accustomed to feeling the hot hair from the dryer turn into a searing heat against my scalp. A jerk away, possibly combined with a slight yelp, would signal to her that she had burned me with the dryer. Today, it didn't happen once! She was definitely getting better. The result was wonderful as usual but she still needed to work on her speed. No matter, I can always come back and model again another day!


What was more important was that I now had a fabulous hairstyle that I needed to show off somewhere. The weather had deteriorated to a miserable and wet day so it had to be indoors. I therefore headed to the self-proclaimed fashion capital that is Chadstone Shopping Centre. I was sure I would fit right in with my lovely blow wave, my new skinny ripped jeans, black heels, a white t-shirt with a black rose print and my wonderful bluish black jacket. 


I meandered through the centre, keeping my eye out for any bargains, and as I moved from shop to shop I noticed the two young men walking towards me. They were involved in a conversation but apparently I had distracted one of them. He had shiftily started staring at me, unbeknown to his friend who was still chatting away. I looked at him playfully and smiled. As they passed I realised he couldn't see me smile since the part of my body that he was staring at doesn't smile. I rolled my eyes and sighed whilst continuing my shopping without missing a step.


Several shops later, an older asian lady sneered and looked disapprovingly at my jeans. I sneered back. I thought of my parents who would probably not approve of me spending money on jeans that were torn. It was ok, I don't take fashion advice from them either... 


It wasn't long before I came across my shopping centre fear - the kiosk sales people. In an ever so familiar scenario, one of them held his hand out in front of me with a free sachet of skin cream as he greeted me and asked me to take it. I knew I would be doomed but I couldn't say no and I walked straight into his trap. He proceeded to ask me about what skin care products I use, then asked where I was from.
"What you have done, it must be hard", he said suddenly in his broken english with an eastern european accent.
I was stunned. Was he really saying what I thought he was saying? I felt a lump rising in my throat as heart began to sink in a newly formed hole. I cocked my head to the side and looked at him blankly. 
"Huh?", was all I could manage.
"You have done something. Yes?", he replied gesturing his arms up and down towards my body. His voice was a little unsure now ad he was probably second guessing his original assessment. 


I had been waiting for something like this to happen. Waiting for someone to acknowledge that they knew that I had transitioned instead of just hiding behind a silent stare. Acknowledge me in an affirming way and letting me communicate with them. "How did you know? What were the giveaways?", I would ask. I would be able to speak to someone with an unbiased opinion and find out how people in the public really see me. We would talk and the support of a stranger would be golden.


But I had been taken off guard. Confusion ran through my mind and I could not pull my thoughts together. I felt as if all my old fears were suddenly rising up again and all I wanted to do was just make them all go away. Time seemed to stretch on for eternity as I started at him and he looked back, increasingly apprehensively, waiting for an answer to his question. I began to shake my head and as I mouthed "No" I felt the twinge of regret running down my spine that was soon disintegrated by the cold stigma of cowardice. I had denied myself.


"Oh", said the salesman reservedly, then, recovering in lightning speed, he added "Can I show you this exfoliating cream?"
"No, I don't need any more of that right now", I lied as a backed away. At the very least, I had found an exit and I was taking it. He didn't try to keep me there and I managed to get away without buying anything.


As I walked back to my car, I reviewed what had just happened. Someone had extended sympathy towards me and I had rejected it. Embroiled in fear, my character had shown through and I was not happy with what I saw. I was a liar and I felt like a traitor, letting myself down and the trans-community down. I kicked myself mentally. Was I ashamed of who I am? Why did I let what other people think affect my thoughts and feelings so much? This was not the person I wanted to be. The questions and thoughts swirled through my head and, as I started my car and began to drive home, I knew they would not be easily answered.

Filly's Frolic #12

I had little hope that there would be any space as I pulled into the dirt parking lot. My car bounced over the potholes and ditches as I passed the vehicles crammed into every possible space and a line of vehicles had even taken their position in the middle of the lot, neatly dividing the lot into two lanes. These were obviously  improvised, yet also an unwritten custom amongst the community of regular parkers at this lot. I rounded the end of the lot and began to make my way up the other impromptu lane. I was not sure where I would try next if there was no parking here as this was already the second station I was trying. The first was totally full as I had expected and parking for the public transport system was something that always perturbed me.

As my mind dwelt on these issues, I suddenly realised that one car had not parked as close to the curb as he could have. This makeshift lane was becoming alarmingly narrow and I craned my neck to make sure my car would not be damaged from that driver's callousness. I inched my car painstakingly forward as panels and mirrors passed each other without a millimetre to spare. Just as I rolled to relief and freedom I saw a space that I would be able to shoehorn into. A few moments later and I was on my way walking up to the platform.

I validated my metcard and wondered what I would do once they stopped becoming available. The thought of having to pay for a piece of plastic so that I could then pay for my fare just didn't appeal to me. Excitement rang in a young boy's voice as a train pulled up at the opposite platform. 

"It's a Comeng!", he cried out to his mother. A smile crossed my lips as I remembered when I used to be like that, from the first time I sat on train, on a red rattler next to my dad as I followed him to work one day, to the days when I would catch the train to and from school and was excited to see the Comeng trains when they were first put into service.

"Why do the signals look like that?", the mother asked a few minutes later, pointing at the signal lights at the end of the opposite platform. A green light shone from one signal and staggered beneath it shone a red light. I eavesdropped in to hear the boy make something up, his voice wavering at first but he finished with total confidence in his plausible, but totally incorrect, explanation. His mother oh'd in awe and pride at how intelligent her son was, they were an Asian family and I could imagine just how she would boast to her friends. I tried not to laugh as I remembered how I was exactly the same and fooled many people with my contrived but plausible answers. 

Eventually, the train arrived and again the boy yelped in excitement as it was one of the "new" X'Trapolis trains. I played the game of door roulette as the train slowed to a stop and made my way towards my chosen door. A young Indian man reached the door first and pressed the button to open it and I slowed down to wait for it to open and for him to board the train.

"After you", he said looking at me and gesturing politely as he stood to the side. I'm sure my surprise showed as my stride paused momentarily. Chivalry still exists!! I used to be the one who gave way to ladies and elderly gentlemen and I'm not used to being treated with this courtesy and respect. Occasionally, I still give way to other ladies and realise on reflection that that was no longer something I was supposed to do. 

I tried to recover gracefully, thanking him courteously and flashing a sweet smile. I took a seat diagonally opposite a young girl, probably in her teens on her school holidays. Across the aisle was another group of young teen girls gossiping about their friends, their nails, their hair and everything else young teens girls talk about. Scanning my gaze around the train revealed the usual behaviour of commuters with those by themselves staring impassively out the window, at someone's shoes or a spot on the ground. White earphones were aplenty signalling the ubiquity of the iPod and iPhone, their owners occasionally swiping and tapping away to control their musical nirvana. I reached into my handbag, pulling out my own white earphones, and assimilated with them.

Arriving in the city, I made my way to the office that was the reason for today's frolic. I was bringing in the paperwork to have my name changed! I thought it would be prudent for me to photocopy the form before I submitted it, so a quick trip to Officeworks was in order. An hour later, after waiting for a copier to become available, I was waiting again in another queue; this time to submit my application. I amused myself on my iPhone and discovered, to my disgust, that at that location my download speed was ridiculously slow. A quick test later and it was confirmed; my download speed was only 47kb/s. If that were printed on a piece of paper, I would frame it alongside the 2 cent refund cheques and bills for 3 cents. 

Eventually it was my turn and I traipsed up to the counter and exchanged greetings with the friendly gentleman behind the counter. I presented him with my application and readied my supporting documentation as he checked my answers to the questions.

"I don't think we'll need any more information about that then", he quipped chirpily.

"Huh?", I responded somewhat dazed. My mind had been momentarily distracted but when I looked at him, I saw him smiling cheerfully. He repeated himself and then added "The reason for your name change. I think it's pretty self explanatory". His cheerfulness remained  as he returned to checking the remainder of the form and I smiled in response. I presented all the supporting evidence as required and he happily ticked them off.

"You need one more", he said at the end of it. "You weren't born in Australia so you need something to prove where you were born." D'oh! My birth certificate! I knew I had left it on the bench for some reason, but I forgot to bring it. My change in mood must have been apparent as he seemed almost apologetic when he re-iterated that it was required.

"Don't worry", he said. "We'll just get everything on file and you can bring it in later. Thanks for being so organised and efficient in filling out the form and having everything else ready." 

He stamped and signed everything that he had to, processed my payment and gave me a receipt with a reminder to bring the other document in later. I thanked him and exited the building a little annoyed at myself whilst trying to remind myself that it really wasn't a big deal. Outside I presented myself with a choice to either go back home now and come back immediately with the missing document or to spend the rest of the afternoon in the city with a bit of window shopping and maybe something to eat. I vacillated between the two options for a few minutes. Shopping won. No, eating first, then shopping.

An hour, a slice of carrot cake with ice cream and a latte later, I decided it was time for shopping. I'd had enough of watching the pedestrian traffic stroll by, checking out which girls hadn't made an effort, which looked comfortably casual yet chic, which looked plain hot and which really shouldn't wear what they were wearing. It was time to window shop, but before I knew it I found myself past the window and inside the change room of a little boutique. I had my hands on me trying to fit into skin tight jeans hoping to be a teenage dream tonight. (Apologies to Katy Perry). 

"You should try our jeans", the lady had purred to me as she sashayed past. "These ones are hot". 

I wondered for a moment if that was a slur on the jeans I was currently wearing but decided it wasn't and began looking at the jeans she was referring to. I'm such a push over for sales people....

"How's the size?", she asked with impeccable timing just as I had finished putting them on. 

"Uhmm.. I think the size 10 is pretty good", I replied. I was feeling jubilant that I had just managed to squeeze into a pair of size 10 jeans. 

"Show me", she asked or was that a command? I quickly checked my reflection in the mirror. It's never good to see women walking about in jeans that are too tight for them such that they start sporting a camel toe and I dare say that a pre-op camel toe is even worse. I didn't notice any such offences in my reflection and let the bottom of my top hang as it should, which would help cover any unsightly bulges.

"That's hot!", she said, her size 4 frame flitting around me. I had to agree.. 

After I had peeled the jeans off me and were back in my original clothes, I exited the change rooms.

"Why??", she whined after I revealed that I wouldn't be purchasing them straight away and would think about it. I told her I couldn't really afford them right now and she countered with an offer to reduce the price. My credit card whined and groaned and I decided the best way to shut it up was to put it to work... Sold! I am such a push over for sales people....

An hour and many shops later, I found myself in a little shop admiring some interesting designs for jewellery, homewares and t-shirts. 

"Have you been shopping all day?", the shopkeeper asked cheerfully. I replied that I had only started that afternoon and added that I actually came into the city to go to the registry for births, deaths and marriages.

"Oh. Was it a baby?", she asked interestedly, then adding, "Or was it something else?"

A baby?! I can only wish.

"I'm changing my name", I replied somewhat reservedly, wondering what she would make of that.

"How wonderful. A new start." As I agreed with a smile, I wondered if she knew how true her remark was.

Many shops later I was entering yet another store when I felt my right calf feel strangely numb. I seemed to lose control of it for a second and my foot bumped the stair before everything returned to normal. A slight amount of concern crossed my mind, but everything seemed normal now so I paid no further attention to it. Not finding much of interest after a quick tour of the store, it wasn't long before I was walking back up the street again. Suddenly the feeling returned followed by the familiar twinge of the beginnings of a cramp. A cramp?! I used to be able to walk around the city for a whole day! And the heels on these boots are only 2 inches high!!

I casually stopped in front of a shop window and began to surreptitiously stretch and flex my right calf, trying to feel which ways would provide relief. Looking around for a chair I saw the city square and began making my way towards it. Relaxing and stretching my calves while sitting down, I decided that the shopping would have to stop for today. I didn't really have any money to spend anyway and it can be torturous to look at the wonderful things you can't buy. After I gave myself enough time to recuperate, I headed towards the train station when I suddenly felt a twinge in my left calf! Gah! I had discovered that I could relieve the discomfort slightly if I flexed my toes in the right direction and this was enough to enable me to make it to the station; in time to see my train leaving the platform. There was nothing to do but wait for the next one and I smiled to myself as a minute later the announcement was made that the train that had just left was, according to the announcement, now arriving.

Seated on the train to my station, when the real one did finally arrive, I began to ponder the events of the day. It had been a long day (and this is a long post, sorry!) but today, all I worried about was the state of the public transport system, waiting in queues, not being able to facebook effectively while on the go, not having any fashion faux pas, not having money to buy the clothes and shoes I want and having cramps from walking around in heels too long. None of my old trans fears manifested themselves, having seemed to be replaced by the worries that any other woman would have. 

I'm almost feeling normal.

Neighbours, With a little understanding....

There was a familiar knock on the door. Easter had just passed and it was about the right time for Greek Easter. I opened the door and my neighbour was patiently waiting with a plastic plate in her hands. Filling the plate were biscuits, baklava and many other home made Greek treats. We greeted each other warmly as she pushed the plate into my hands. We chatted briefly before she excused herself and made her way back next door. 

This happened often at Easter and Christmas, but sometimes she would bake some treats just for the sake of it and she would bring a share over for me. My Dad is even better friends with my neighbours and would often go over to their place for a strong Greek coffee and some biscuits. She would tell him how I was a good neighbour and  didn't make too much noise and was god to live next to. When we saw each other in the garden we would stop and have a short chat and she would ask how my father was.

That was then... When I first transitioned I saw her in the garden and waved as I was getting into my car. She looked at me, unsure, questioning, confused, and waved back weakly. Since then, I haven't seen her. No more knocks on the door, no more waves in the garden. In my former life, I used to try and avoid her sometimes if I wasn't in the mood to talk to her. Now, I wonder if she is avoiding me..

Filly's Frolic #11

I returned my attention just as the young checkout girl lowered another plastic bag onto the pickup area. My brows furrowed as something about the bag seemed a little odd. It only contained one bottle! Where were the other two, I wondered as my gaze darted amongst my bags of groceries. My furrowed brow transformed into a single lifted brow above wide eyes and dropped jaw as I realised she had packed three bottles in three separate bags. As a stood there with my jaw gaping, I startled myself back into action as I remembered that I was supposed to loading these bags into my trolley and the girl had almost finished scanning all my groceries. I quickly lifted each bag and placed it carefully into my trolley, only to realise that I had the loaded half a dozen bags in the time it took her to scan two items. No, she wasn't the fastest bee in the hive. No matter, a few swipes and signatures later and I was on my way.


I made my way through the shopping centre, pushing the trolley and trying to guide it around the dawdlers using whatever strength and lack of grip I could muster. After years of only buying rubber soled shoes that had a deeper tread than a four wheel drive, I was now walking in tread-less boots that had as much grip as an ice cube in a glass. Suddenly, an asian lady walking the other way decides that she might walk diagonally across the aisle towards whatever she is looking at and in doing so, walks right in front of my trolley. My heart skips a beat and I try to haul my trolley to a stop as the useless soles of my boots skid straight across the floor. I catch a heel and almost fall over but manage to use the trolley to save myself just in time. Now I know what truck drivers must feel like.


"Whatever happened to looking where you are walking?!", I yell in my head. Far be in from me to actually yell in public... unless I'm really angry.. like, The Hulk angry. "In fact, what ever happened to looking at ME??" I've been getting used to people glancing at me and then having the double take or just plain staring, wondering how I dare show my face in public like this. But, this lady had the gall to walk in front of my trolley without even looking at me! I stared at her as she turned to look at the trolley that had stopped just centimetres from spelling her doom. She glanced at the trolley and then looked at me with disdain as if to admonish me for the way I was pushing my trolley. Then she looked towards another shop window ahead and started on her way again. 


"What?? No double take??? No second glance????", I thought to myself as I stared after her. She turned back to look at me and I thought my old fears were about to be upheld. Instead, her gaze was different and she looked at me indignantly as if to ask "What are you looking at?", then she looked away and was soon gone. 


Once again, I began pushing my trolley though the mall but now my pace was different since I was preoccupied with what had just happened and the irony of the events that had just passed. I had long ago decided to consciously try and not pay attention to whether or not people were looking at me since I was sure the knowledge that I was being stared at constantly would have been so very demoralizing. But was I now not paying attention to something that wasn't happening anyway??? I decided to put the question to the test and began to deliberately look and see if people were looking at me in the way I imagined. 


I pushed my trolley through the entire mall watching the eyes and reactions of the passing strangers. An elderly asian lady walking past turned and stared at me. I stared back and watched as the thought processes in her brain suddenly made her aware that I was looking back at her. Her eyes widened and she looked away in embarrassment. I giggled to myself. 


The good news is that she was the only person to look at me strangely all day. The bad news is that I still attract a lot of stares, except that they seem to be lecherous stares from sleazy old men.... and I don't even have a cleavage. So it seems I'm escaping from one set of unwanted stared and have now been loaded with another that may not go away so easily. But at least its not so much the stares that are the problem any more, just the people they come from.....