In Consideration of Irony

"In prosperity our friends know us; in adversity we know our friends." 
- John Churton Collins

I'll be the first to admit that I am a chicken. I hate confrontation and I tend to take the path of least resistance despite any virtuous desire to do otherwise. It is no surprise then that when I was planning my transition, my mind began to wonder how I would handle telling everyone what was happening. As a chicken, my thoughts were that it would be easiest not to tell them and simply run away. Just thinking about telling everyone tied my stomach in knots as my heart thumped and fell down a never ending well. 


So, I began preparations for running away. I knew that it would cause a lot of grief and pain for my family and friends but I somehow felt that it would be better than grief, confusion, derision and rejection that I assumed would be brought on my them finding out the truth about me. I reasoned that they would at least remember me in a positive light as the person they always knew rather than in some sort of tarnished shadow. That I would have to travel my path alone and in a new city seemed to be a small priced to pay for the consideration of my friends. It wasn't too long before I reached the point where everything was ready and I had to decide whether to go or to stay. At that point, I realised that I was being rather disrespectful as I was assuming the worst and was not giving my friends the chance to make their own decisions. Hence, I decided to stay and my stomach double knotted itself as my heart thumped it's way off the planet.


Worst case was that I would be right and they would all leave. I prepared myself for that scenario as I began to make the rounds. As I have written in previous articles, I was astounded by the level of support and acceptance that I was offered. I was touched that nobody left and, as I told of my fears and my plans, everyone expressed their happiness that I had not left them and they would not leave me. This truly was a joyful time in my transition. 


It seems that all good things must come to an end. My joy was short lived as friends began to run away from me. Promises broken and meaningless smiles and show of support took over as friendships were pledged by no time given to fulfil them. Despite repeated attempts, contact dwindled until I was left with nobody. It has now been six months since I have seen any of them in person (in a positive friendly capacity) and more than a year and a half since I last saw some. Ironically, I was right although it took time for that to show but at least I respected them enough to allow them to make their own decision instead of foisting an assumed decision upon them. However, I sometimes still can't help but think that things would have been better had I taken the "easy way out". 


Unfortunately, going through events like these can't leave us unscathed. I had known some of these friends for a decade or even two and it had taken this long and a major event for friendships to really be tested and revealed. Despite my need for friendship and a kindred spirit to share my life with, I'm not sure that I can really extend myself to trust as much as I used to. Once bitten, twice shy as the saying goes and so, whilst I still remain courteous and friendly, I find myself doubting the "realness" of any future friendships. Unfortunately, that may become a self-fulfilling prophecy since friendships take effort to nurture and maintain and I wonder if I would have felt differently had I run away. Ignorance is bliss as another saying goes and if I were ignorant of the real state of my friendships, I might be all the more blissful for it.

Profile Email Fixed

Thank you to the commenter who pointed out that my profile email was incorrect. I missed an 's'.. oops.. So, if anyone has been trying to email me, it's been fixed and you can do it now! :)

Strange and Annoying - Afternoon Edition

I mentioned in my blog post this morning that a thought had slipped my mind whilst writing the article. Well, I just remembered it and this actually has to be a list topper in strange and annoying behaviour.


Imagine, if you can, that you've just managed to overcome a whole boat load of fear. Fear of ridicule, fear of not being accepted as a female, fear of being publicly outed and humiliated, fear of your own personal safety; the list goes on. Dealing with that fear, you have then faced your friends with a thumping heart and another truck load of fear and you've come out to them. 


"That's wonderful!", they exclaim which lets you breathe a sigh of relief. Suddenly they want to tell you about their trip to some tranny filled location where they were expert tranny spotters. Here you are, trying to accept your body (and maybe on a path to change what can be changed) and your friends are telling you all about how they can spot the deficiencies in male-to-female trans girls. Maybe it's the size of the hands, maybe it's the adam's apple or maybe it's just some indescribable facial feature. That's really supposed to make you feel good and happy about yourself? That's really a supportive thing for a friend to be doing??


Even stranger is when trans-girls do it as they walk long the street. "She was trans", they might say of a passer by as if trans-spotting is a new game. If you like to be out and proud, then at least it would congruent with your beliefs, but most trans-girls seek anonymity and would like to blend in and so it's rather strange when they don't extend the same courtesy to other trans girls.  


Even more annoying is that trans-spotters always assume that they are right. How do they know that they haven't falsely accused a genetic girl with masculine features to be a trans-girl? There should be a rule for people engaging in trans-spotting. If you declare that you've spotted someone, you have to ask them and if you are wrong that person is allowed to slap and kick you. If you are right, then that person should be allowed to slap you anyway if they so desire. Additionally, if a trans-girl passes you and you don't spot her, she should be allowed to slap and kick you whilst shouting "Nyah Nyah! In your face!"


Actually, even though there a couple of people I would like to have slapped, I hope that game doesn't catch on... 

Strange and Annoying

People treat you differently according to how they perceive you. I have no doubt about that now. Sometimes the way they treat you can be annoying when their perception of you suddenly changes and sometimes it can be totally bizarre as if suddenly all the things you like and are interested in have suddenly changed just because the way that person has perceived you has changed. I've listed some of behaviours that I've found particularly odd when I came out to friends and family.

1. Just because I'm transgender, why does that mean I must like going to drag shows? Being a male to female transsexual does not equal being or even liking drag shows. I don't have anything against or even mind watching drag shows, but I find the association annoying. The very first drag show I saw was when I came out to a friend and she decided that I should go to drag bingo.... huh...
   
2. Females sometimes complain about female stereotypes, but then you tell them you're transsexual and they want to teach you how to be a bitch. Then they complain that you're belittling women when you act like a bitch to them... Why are you complaining when you have taught me well?
   
3. Both genetic and trans-girls tend to fall into the trap of judging a persons transition by the way they dress. A genetic girl can run around all day in jeans and runners but if a trans-girl were to do the same, she'd be judged by both sides of the community as not "transitioning properly". I don't understand it and I find it strange that I can be questioned for not being in a skirt and heels by genetic girls dressed in sweat pants...
   (I'm sorry, but I'm starting to think that sometimes females can be their own worst enemy when it comes to propagating stereotypes...)

I'm sure there are more. One slipped my mind as I was writing this (how annoying), so I might have to make another post when they come back to mind. If you've noticed any of your own, feel free to leave a comment or email me! 

A regular sort of accident

My wok sizzled with aroma of freshly pressed garlic as I added the pork mince. I tossed the wok around a little ensuring that it would be evenly browned. Although I didn't have the sauces I usually had, I was playing things by ear and making things up a little to create my ; little version of MaPo Tofu; tofu with mince pork in a spicy black bean paste. 


Steam wafted up from the wok as I tossed the pork around the wok with a flick of the wrist. White flowing ethereal forms were drawn up towards the rangehood that hummed away in the background. My attention was drawn away by a cracking noise coming from the stack of plates nearby. This dish would be ready very quickly so I decided it would be best to move and unstack them now. I hefted the short stack of plates up as a searing pain suddenly shot through my finger. Trying not to break the plates, I dropped them quickly on the bench revealing the cause of my agony. A stove hob had accidentally been turned on underneath the stack of plates and had heated them up to a searing temperature. My finger now had a deep imprint from the base of the plates right in the middle of the braised fleshed. I ran to the sink and immersed my finger in cold water to stop my finger from cooking any further while trying not to shout out any profanities. 


Grasping my finger with my left hand, I sank my finger to the bottom of the sink, digging my nails into my finger in an attempt to relieve the torment. Hopping up and down, for what seemed like eternity, didn't help either. Eventually, the pain subsided just a fraction enough for me to hobble as quickly as I could to my first aid kit to slather my finger in anti-septic and wrap it in a bandage. 

After several minutes, I took a deep breath and returned back to the kitchen. Dinner still had to be finished for the guests after all. On the bright side, the throbbing in my finger had temporarily distracted me from my pain downstairs. Despite many changes in my life, there are also still some things that don't change...

I virtual pass!

Hooray for me! Whilst surfing the web, I came across a site that analyses web sites to determine if content is written by a woman or a man. It is believed that men and women use different vocabularies and have different writing styles which is relatively easy to analyse. I find this quite interesting since it is another subtle gender clue or tool that can be used by any of you t-girls or guys out there that are concerned with passing. People are, after all, complex beings and there are many pieces to the puzzle. 


My curiosity couldn't be withheld and I had to have my blog analysed. Right now, it thinks with 65% certainty that this blog is written by a woman. Yay for me! I pass! 
http://genderanalyzer.com/?url=www.fillysfrolics.blogspot.com

My Birdcage

Since I'm a fat giant in Thailand sizing, I ended up not buying any clothes while I was there. What I did buy however was this beautiful little necklace I found while wandering through one of the multi-story "mega-markets". When I first laid my eyes on it, I loved it but, in my current situation, I wasn't in the mood for spending money on things that may just end up as unused trinkets. Two floors down later, I had to go back up and get it. 


It's concept is simple, a bird sitting on it's perch in a cage. Although the design as such is pretty enough, what really caught me was that the door to the cage was open. A bird perched inside the cage had its choice of choosing to spread its wings and fly out or stay inside the cage (or maybe even return and come and go whenever it chose to do so). I loved it. I thought it was somewhat apt also.


If you want to go darker, you may notice that the cage also has no bottom. I guess the bird may also fall off it's perch and fall to it's doom without ever spreading it's wings.  For some reason, that just adds to my love of this piece...

Personality and spirit

Some people like spontaneity, adventure and surprise whilst others prefer things to be more ordered, planned and prepared. Prepared... I used to be a boy scout and a cub scout before that. "Be Prepared" was the motto and an example of that was that we always used to tape a twenty cent piece inside our caps or hats in case we needed to make a phone call. (I'm giving away my age here.) Some of that must have taken hold since, when I was out of uniform, I was always conscious of carrying about some change so that I could always make that phone call. Most people hate carrying change, I used to make a point of it. It irked my sister that change was always jingling in my pocket. At a church camp one year, she laughed and rolled her eyes because everyone was doing a morning exercise class silently, except me. I was doing the jingly star jumps... 


Walking through the city one day, I needed to make that phone call. The first call I made reached an answering machine which cost me my thirty cents. Yes, inflation had taken it's toll by then. That wasn't a problem, because I was prepared and had another thirty cents; it takes more than two coins to jingle. My next call reached someone who wan't home, but someone else who could take a message was. This wasn't helping. Fortunately, the situation I was in resolved itself without my help and I was left with a sixty cent thought. How much change should I really carry in order to be prepared? Should cub scouts tape a roll of ten and twenty cent pieces in their caps, protruding to look antennae? How prepared was being prepared? If I phoned ten numbers that turned out to be uphelpful and was unable to dial an eleventh, was that being unprepared or was that just unlucky?


At the end of last year, I was operated in hospital for a Cerebral Cavernous Hemangioma that in fact caused a delay in the original scheduling of my SRS. Cerebral Cavernous malformations affect only 0.5% of the population worldwide and of those, 75% experience related medical symptoms^[1]. That makes me part of a unique 0.375% of the population and that's only for all related medical symptoms, not necessarily only the serious ones. When my doctor says that it's not usual for my condition to have occurred so quickly and so seriously, I think I'm becoming more unique. Something you never want your doctor to say while he's examining you is, "That's interesting..." and having yourself filmed so that he can show how interesting you are to his students which makes you feel even more special. I don't know the odds right now, so let's stick with the original 0.375% even though we all know I'm more special that. 


Of course, we all know that I'm transsexual and that makes me really special in more ways than one. Determining the incidence of transsexualism is difficult, but drawing upon a report by someone who is trying to show that it is more common that officially recognised^[2] (Oh! I want to be more special!!), I'll pick the figure of 1 in 500 or 0.2%.


Now, assuming that my hemangioma is unrelated to being a transsexual (any of you ts's out there also have one of these?), then I'm special to the tune of 0.375% x 0.2% = 0.00075% of the population. Oh, did I mention I also have a totally unrelated herniated disc in my lower back? Not really uncommon, but combine that with what we have here and I'm literally your one in a million unlucky guy. Throw in the acute appendicitis I had and you actually have a better chance of winning the lottery than having all the unrelated medical afflictions I've had and that's not even the end of my medical history. How the hell do you prepare for that??


But I didn't need to do the maths or even hear about my hemangioma to begin to believe that you can't plan for everything and in my uni days, I developed a taste for adventure, spontaneity and learning to accept surprises instead of trying to assert control. I loved nature and the wilderness and, if I hadn't been so lazy in not getting out as often as I would have liked, I would probably have been like Sean Penn's character in the film Into the Wild and I'd probably have died out there from some accidental event. Perhaps that's my subconscious defence for being lazy, it actually saved my life. Lol!


Unfortunately, year after year in the corporate world (albeit trying to stay in the technical side) groomed that out of me. Corporations don't like surprises, they like to plan and believe they can control. Several project plans, Gantt charts, risk analyses and matrices, career plans and goals later, I fell into the trap of thinking I could control everything that happened to me too. In a twist of irony, not long after thinking that all that planning was paying off, that I was the master of my destiny and that my career was going where I wanted, I found myself booted out of the industry, unwanted and unable to get a job. How someone in the IT industry with 10 years experience including time as a project leader can find themselves unable to find another job is a really long story, so I won't go into it now except to say that it left me devastated. Clinically, majorly depressed. Candidate for ECT depressed. I declined that treatment, by the way, even though my doctor strongly recommended it. Somehow, I didn't really want to undergo sessions of several hundred watts of electricity being pumped into my brain to induce seizures that were supposed to help depression even though they didn't know why...


To make a really long story just slightly long, it was during that time that I came to realise that control is an illusion. You can't control what happens to you, you can only really control how you react and behave. I still have a thing for Stephen Covey's 7 habits though, so I do believe you can influence what happens to you but you can't control it. It's an important distinction. Given that acceptance, I relearned to not fear surprise but to embrace it and my sense of adventure slowly returned. "It is what it is", said a friend of mine several times one day. Good words to live by.


Adventure is in my spirit and in everything I do, even in city life. I don't need to know the exact directions of where I'm going, much less know that I'm taking the most efficient route, before I being the journey. I do have a map in the car which I can look at if I get lost and, in the worst case, I could always ask for directions. Even if I get lost and spend double the time driving around, I don't really mind unless it makes me late for an appointment. I don't need to know what's in my food before I eat it, as long as it looks ok. I hate spiders, so I'd have trouble eating Cambodian deep fried spiders, but otherwise I think I'm doing all right. This proves useful in foreign countries or when trying new and foreign cuisines where you might not have even heard of half the ingredients or even be able to read the menu. However, I find it exciting. Maybe I'll discover a new favourite food that I hadn't know existed before and the variety and anticipation of what I'll get is invigorating. At worst, I'll not like it or throw up and have to buy something at another shop.


Some people like to seek guidance in certain situations which isn't a bad thing. It may help to prepare you, knowing that ordering the "Fong Jao" at yum cha will net you a small basket of braised chicken feet (my favourite, by the way). It's good to know that in some asian countries, you need to bargain for the prices at certain places to avoid paying twice what you could. It's even better to know how much a taxi fare might cost you in Thailand in case the meter in the taxi mysteriously fails and he wants to charge you double what it would normally cost. 


Ultimately though, knowledge and preparation are good things but even better is the ability to just enjoy the journey; even if it does take you to a different destination.


--
[1] http://ghr.nlm.nih.gov/condition/cerebral-cavernous-malformation and my doctor said the same thing too.
[2] http://ai.eecs.umich.edu/people/conway/TS/TSprevalence.html

New Pain

A few days ago, I developed a new pain and swelling on the right hand side of my groin. (I hope this isn't a result of that cough!) Interestingly, the swelling on the left side has subsided significantly so maybe all the swelling there got lonely and decided to join the right hand side. It felt as if my right testicle was still there and being shoved up and squeezed tightly. Yes, it was excruciating at times and definitely deprived me of sleep. 

I took a photo of it and emailed my surgeon in Thailand while trying to remind myself that he was a doctor and these weren't dirty pictures. He replied the same day assuring me that the swelling was normal and it was definitely comforting to know that there wasn't some abnormal complication occurring. The bad news was that the pain seems to be caused by the stump of a nerve and may take months or even a year to heal. Hrmm... not so good. Suddenly, the pain I had experienced from tucking jobs gone wrong don't seem so bad any more. At least I could untuck at the end of the night and roll around in agony for only an hour instead of a year.

I miss my doctor, the friendly nurses and the visits while convalescing in the hotel. Apparently they miss me too. Let's hope this stump withers soon. 

Don't cough

Coughing hurts downstairs right now. It's funny how you discover new muscles when they cause pain. Coughing is also not a good idea when dilating although it is a quick, if painful, way of expelling the dilator. I always wondered how that infamous ping pong ball trick was first discovered and I think I might have stumbled on the answer. Hiccups also make it difficult to dilate.


I'm not looking forward to my first sneeze. 

Back Home and Initial Thoughts

Thailand is now just a wistful memory and I am now back home, or should I say, at home in a friend's home (thanks!). Spending time overseas is, with the right mindset, a pleasant break from reality. New sights, new people, new cultures and new experiences keep me occupied and even the difficulties in communicating can be an interesting challenge rather than an arduous problem. Assuming I saved and brought enough money, then money is, for a short sweet time, not a precious resource that needs to be closely monitored and agonised over where it would be best spent. Maybe it's the wonderful staff and service, but paying the hotel bill doesn't feel the same as paying the mortgage or paying rent. For that short time there is no need to worry about the daily grind, looking for or managing a job or career. But, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end and the thump back to reality is somewhat jarring. 


Sitting here, after enduring yet another dilation session, I wonder if it's time to take stock of where I'm at and post my initial thoughts concerning my recent surgery. Perhaps the best time to think is not after these two aforementioned distressing events, but I've learnt that there is no time like the present and if I were to postpone writing my thoughts, I would never write them. If that sounds ominous, it's only because it is. Bluntly, I'm hoping things get better than the way they are now. 


That's not to say that I regret having my surgery and am depressed about it, it's just that it's really been a rather large anti climax. Maybe I had unrealistic expectations or maybe I was just desperate to share in some of the overwhelming joy that I felt from reading and hearing other girl's stories. Feelings of rebirth, tears of joy seeing themselves for the first time in the mirror, a whole life changing experience. I'm used to walling up my emotions as a defence mechanism for survival and I wonder if I've totally lost touch with some of them because I felt none of that. To be honest, I don't feel like it is a defining moment that marks my move into womanhood; that moment is still the day I decided to that I would be me and walked down the street presenting as female for the first time in my life. My operation really just felt ho hum and in some ways, even more ominously, as though I've traded one set of problems for another.


Walking through the crowd in my dress, the wind billowing half of it like a sail with the other half pulling tightly against my skin, a round bump showed my not yet flat tummy. That was the only bump I had to worry about now and that felt good. In fact, having all my clothes now fit downstairs as they were designed is an uplifting experience. I'm still iffy about the fit upstairs but I'm trying to wait until everything has healed before becoming too worried about that. Unfortunately, the coldness of winter prevents any real display of beachwear but perhaps that's a blessing in disguise since I will be fully healed come bikini season and I'm looking forward to it. How I will feel after being able to use the women's change rooms and showers at the pool or gym is still a mystery as I'm in no shape to partake in any exercise right now and that includes sex-ercise... 


Healing has taken a lot longer than I expected and the level of pain downstairs much higher. I was always an odd one out, but I didn't expect that to apply after surgery too. Unlike everyone else I know, the pain and discomfort upstairs was present but not a huge drama while the pain downstairs is definitely greater and is the only reason for my consumption of pain killers. My continuing ambivalence towards dilation isn't helping. I had read about and tried to prepare myself for the fact that dilation would be uncomfortable but I guess I didn't truly understand it until I experienced it. Whilst I was prepared for the physical discomfort, I was not prepared for how emotionally draining it would be. Tonight, it was all too much and, once again, it made me cry. Forcing this object inside me, clenching my teeth in discomfort whilst simultaneously trying to relax to reduce the pain, I almost felt like I was raping myself. It was a disturbing thought and hopefully rape is something I will never have to experience. 


I think it will be a long time before I let anyone near my downstairs renovations. My body is wincing just thinking about it. Apart from the previously mentioned pains, it still feels mixed up. It sounds so obvious, but it feels exactly as though my penis has been chopped up with different parts sewn in different places. I'm not sure why I would have expected differently, but for some reason I thought that everything would have felt more natural instead of mixed up. Sensitivity is definitely present, but again, it's the sensitivity of the pain and discomfort of something that has been rearranged rather than any sexual pleasure.


This is why I'm definitely hoping that things will get better. I'm sure that there will be well meaning souls who would like to reassure me that things will but, strangely, I'd like to ask that you not tell me that. If my hopes are built up again for another anti-climax, I'm really not sure how I would cope.

Starbucks for the first time

"There she is", said my travelling friend Ee. Seeing us in the mirror, the elderly lady slowly turned in her chair and waved at us.
"Is it mandatory?", I asked Ee. 
"I think it is", she replied somewhat cautiously and reluctantly. We walked to the table where the lady had stood to greet us.
"Sawadee Ka", I greeted her, clasping my hands together in the prayer like formation known as the wâi. She motioned us to sit and began to dote on us, clearing our empty plates, refilling our drinks and commanding the waiters who seemed to know her well. It felt a little wrong for her to be looking after us when I felt that I should be looking after her. Her pleasantries would never stop however. This was the first meeting for what would become a welcome daily breakfast ritual.


Weeks later, I was still healing from surgery and some days were easier for me than others.  My travelling partners had gone to visit a market (or rather, a lot of markets) in Pratunam but I had been having a very difficult morning both physically and emotionally and decided it would be best if I stayed behind. That afternoon, I came to the conclusion that staying in my hotel room wasn't doing me any good either and a short visit to the Seacon shopping centre next door was order. A thought crossed my mind and brought a smile to my face.


"Could you tell me what room Bimu is in?", I asked at reception. Two ladies were on duty and they looked at me quizzically for moment. "Bimu?", I repeated unsure if I had remembered the name correctly. I could spot the moment when recognition struck. 
"Oh, Pa Moo", they replied. Everyone here knew Pa Moo, she was a long term regular. "Would you like to leave a message?"
"Uhm, no. I'd like to visit her. I know she's on the same floor as me, but I don't know which room. Would you be able to give me her room number?"
I must have a trustworthy face, since the lady gave me her room number but with uncertainty in her voice as if it wasn't something she should be doing. I thanked her gratefully and proceed back up the elevator.


I rang the doorbell and heard the rushed, yet slow, patter of footsteps inside. A joyful expression of surprise crossed her face when she opened the door. 
"What are you doing? Are you busy?", I asked politely.
"Watching tv", she replied in her decent but broken English.
"Can you walk?", I asked. I knew that she was staying at the hotel because she had some medical condition that affected her ability to walk. I thought it was her legs but I later learned it was her heart.
"Would you like to have a cup of coffee?", I continued. "We can walk to Starbucks." Every morning at breakfast, she had two cups of coffee. I asked her one morning if she liked coffee shops and if she liked Starbucks to which she enthusiastically had said yes. I personally have never stepped foot in a Starbucks before. Being fortunate enough to live in a place where excellent, not just decent, coffee can be found in many cafe's, I'd been spoilt and refused to indulge at chain stores that cannot live up to local offerings. But I wasn't in my home town any more... 


"I have friend coming to visit in thirty minutes", she replied.
"Oh, that's okay. We can go another time", I responded trying to hide my disappointment. I mustn't have done a very good job because after another couple of minutes of chit chat, she suddenly asked, "You want to go now?"
"Uhm, yes. If you are free", I said in surprise. 
"You wait for me. Give me few minutes to get ready."


A few minutes later, Pa Moo came out of her room and met me in front of the elevators. We slowly walked out of the hotel and I found that her slow pace was perfect for me since I was still recovering from surgery and was slower than a snail myself. I kept an eye on Pa Moo as she walked along slowly but steadily, a slight hunch to her otherwise short but healthy looking frame. She didn't have a fragile appearance, but I was wary since looks can be so deceiving. Whenever we crossed a stair or a kerb, she held my hand and I supported her as we stepped up or down. As usual, it was hot outside and she didn't like the heat, but we only had to endure it for a few minutes before we were inside the shopping centre that was literally across the road. 


Pa Moo asked me to lead the way as she didn't know where Starbucks was here. In fact, this was the first time she had stepped foot inside this shopping centre. That came as a surprise since she usually didn't have much to do during the days and the centre was so conveniently close. I continually checked up on her to make sure she was ok and she assured me she was even if she was a little tired. A slight panic crossed my mind as my sense of direction was horrible and I didn't want to make her walk further than necessary. Ultimately, I didn't have to worry since I remembered where it was when we came to the first atrium and soon we were inside.


I dug around in my bag for my purse and found it eventually. Pa Moo was far more efficient and had managed to pull some notes out of an outfit which didn't look like it had any pockets. That wasn't going to matter though and after a little bit of typical Asian type pleasant arguing, I convinced her that I was going to buy the coffee; one iced and one frappacino. We were offered free samples of some cakes which we both declined, her because of her heart condition and me because of my waist condition. Pa Moo asked me where I wanted to sit and I saw a nice table next the window overlooking the atrium so I made my way there to reserve it. Placing my donut cushion on the seat, I then did the post-op ritual of trying to get comfortable which is a huge, practically impossible task. This fell right into Pa Moo's clever ruse, since while I was doing that, she had been waiting for the coffees and was about to bring them over. I couldn't let her do that, so I stood up as quickly as I could in my condition and snail walked my way over to her just in time.


Back at the table, we happily drank our cold coffees and made some small talk despite the language barriers. Really, her English was quite good and much better than my Thai, even if I can count to ten. She was happy and smiling to be out and about but at the same time she told me how sad she was going to be because I was going to be going home soon. It was one of those touching happy and sad moments which I found remarkable since we really had only known each other over a few weeks of breakfasts. She was bravely trying not to cry which was good because I would have bawled too had she started. We finished our coffees, instead, with sweet empathy. 


"You are very pretty and sexy and I am happy to be walking with you", she said, holding my hand as we walked back to the hotel. She really knew how to flatter me and leave me feeling all shy and embarrassed. This wasn't the first time she had voluntarily looked after some of the doctor's guests, and her entire demeanour exuded compassion, kindness and honesty. As we left the centre, she motioned to the centre's little Buddhist shrine that had been built at the corner and she clasped her hands together and bowed slightly. I followed suit.


That was my first visit to Starbucks and I couldn't have arranged for a better circumstance or person to share it with.

Failing Friendships

My heart thumped in my chest and the lump in my throat accentuated it's dryness as sweat started to bead on my forehead. Anxiety ran through my body as I fidgeted with my fingers trying to figure out how to bring up the news. There was never a good time and there isn't a good way. 


That was my hellish reality for several months when I first began my transition and I was doing the rounds with all my friends to let them know what I was doing. Fears ran deep through me about how they would react, how would they see me and what would be the future of the friendship. As might be considered wise, I prepared myself for the possibilities. I steeled myself in case they threw a few superlatives as they were presented with a concept that they could not possibly understand and they decided that you were therefore a freak which the no longer wanted in the same room with them, let alone their lives. I prepared myself for the real possibility that I might end up totally alone with not a single friend in the world.


When you're expecting a slap in the face, any sign of compassion, understanding or acceptance is a surprise. It may be a welcome surprise, but it is a surprise nonetheless. Friends rally around me and pledge their support and understanding because, after all, they aren't going to throw away years of friendship. Tears are shed as I tell them of my fears and hugs are shared as we both say how glad you are that you didn't do "anything silly". Fears dissolve and, feeling rather foolish but ecstatic, I want to sing from the roof tops about how wonderful my friends are and how lucky I am to have them.


A journey of a thousand miles may begin with a step, but the first step is not necessarily the hardest. As my journey progresses and my legs weary and my spirit begins to sag, I turn to my friends. Unfortunately, they are busy with prior engagements or other friends which is fine. They are friends with lives after all and not my indebted servants who should come running at a whim. However, time and time again, they seem not to be able to be there and may begin posting cryptic messages on facebook that seem to mourn the passing of a friend. Some ask for a little time alone to come to terms with such big news and that seems fair enough. Their promises of contacting me later begin to bristle like thorns when "later" never arrives. Maybe I finally manage to meet one or two of them again, but the meetings are short, the warmth missing and the pledged emotional support strangely absent.


Not being one to jump to conclusions, some probing finally confirms your fears. Accusations of being selfish and running merrily along my life leaving others behind to pick up the pieces are let loose as I sit at the precipice of my own path. Looking around at the shattered pieces around me, attempting to summon up the strength each morning to try to shove another two ill shaped morsels together so that I can crawl forward in my own life, I wonder how such charges could be raised. Somehow, I'm apparently happy and am selfish for causing all this suffering and not being there for people who told me to leave them alone. Finally, the truth is revealed and as my "friends" turn their backs to march out of my life, they reach past my lowered defences and rip out my heart.


That, I was not prepared for.