Filly's Frolic #16

With each ring of the phone, my heart sank a little. This was the phone call of shame where I would have to admit that I had been ditsy and had had an accident in my car. Ironically, insurance is one of those things in which you pay a significant amount of money for a product which you hope you never have to use. 

As I was waiting I realised that I hadn't changed the name on my insurance policy and this was listed under my old name. I debated whether to try and do that now as well as make a claim but I decided it would be too messy and I would do it later. A female operator answered the call and I introduced myself using my old name and told her I would need to be filing a claim.

"Do you have the policy number or the registration of your vehicle please?", she asked. I gave her the rego number and I heard the clackity click of her keyboard in the background.

"Is the insurance policy in your husband's name?", she inquired. 

I was dumbfounded. I had introduced myself using the name on the policy, hadn't I? Yes yes, I assured myself.

"Uhm, no, that's me", I replied hesitantly and sheepishly and then mumbled, "I've changed my name".

"Oh, I'm sorry", she replied and I could sense some embarrassment in her voice. 

The rest of the claim proceeded smoothly and although I was still quite upset about what I had done to my car, I couldn't help but smile a little at what had just passed.

Ink of Destiny

"Use Black Ink", the form stated. I glanced across to my "To Do" list that I had just added to and saw, with disappointment, that the pen I had handy was blue and not black. Reluctantly, I heaved myself off the bed and trudged to the back room where all my pens still were and rummaged to see what I had available. Being a little fussy with pens, I prefer not to use ball point pens and opt for roller ball or gel pens instead where the ink comes out a little wet. I also do like fountain and cartridge pens although their maintenance is a little bothersome. My eye caught a felt tip pen which also aren't on my favourite list but my ex used to use them almost exclusively. This would no doubt be one of the pens that she had had a tendency to misplace or lose. In some corner of her office there was probably a cluster of pens huddling away and trying not to be found like prison escapees.

I picked up a fountain pen and wondered if I should fill it up and use it for filling out the form. My feelings were torn but I finally put the cap back on and placed it back in the pen holder. Something caught my eye and my heart sank. Hesitantly, I reached out and picked up a red pen shaped like a cigar that was fat in the middle and tapered towards both ends. The tip was a brushed metal and there was also a similar metallic ferrule at the nib. Encasing the body was a soft, squishy red plastic. There used to be a cap to match, but that had started to fit improperly soon after I had bought it and it was now lost somewhere.

I felt my heart grow heavier and the tears in my eyes begin to well up. I had bought this pen when I had gone to Sydney and it was the first time I had been away interstate from my girlfriend who was to become my wife much later and is now my ex wife. Wandering through the streets of Sydney, I was looking for a small gift to bring back to her. It had to be something stylish, yet useful as well; neither of us were fans of useless tourist trinkets. 

I hadn't known at the time that she wasn't a fan of ball points either and the pen did look quite stylish so she accepted my gift graciously and appreciated the thought. She had neglected to take it with her when she left and it had now been left behind and I wondered if the sentimental value, that at least I had attached to it, had also been left behind. It was now discarded to haunt my thoughts and memories. 

Fighting the heaviness in my chest, I brought it back to my bedroom and began to fill out the form as a tear fell from eye.

Filly's Frolic #15

(Names changed of course.. )


"I just wanted to say how much I really appreciate what you are doing for me", my sister said solemnly over the phone. "I know how difficult this is for you, and John really appreciates it too".
"You're welcome and thank you for understanding", I replied.
A slight pause.
"It'll be alright", I added reassuringly. Was the reassurance for her or me?? 


--


The next day, I stood at the foot of my bed. Someone was staring at me and I couldn't recognise him. He was wearing a smart black suit that was slightly too large and his tailored white shirt with pink, burgundy and cream pinstripes also looked like it had been made for someone who was slightly larger. A pair of expensive black shoes adorned his feet and they must have only been worn half a dozen times. From the top of this sturdy body was an out of proportioned head with a rather slight looking face. Long black hair had been slicked back and was held in a ponytail. 


I shuffled in front of the mirror uncomfortably. Memories and emotions of my own wedding began flooding back to me along with memories of how my wife and I had bought the clothes I was wearing. The reflection moved as I did, but it didn't feel like me. I raised my hands in front my eyes and rotating my forearms I saw the buttons on my jack suit move in perfect harmony. It was all so surreal. I felt like I was playing a first person shooter computer game where I could see my hands and everything in front me, but it really wasn't me. 


I sat on my bed and wept.


"How are you?", chirped my sister over the phone, she had impeccable timing.
"I'm good", I replied, lying through my teeth and hoping that my voice wasn't quavering or giving me away. This was going to be one of the happiest days of her life and a cherished memory and I wasn't going to spoil that. My wedding day still remains as the happiest day of my life even though it is also the saddest memory I have.
We talked for a while before she had to go and have her hair done. I prepared my myself mentally for the day ahead.


--


"Where can we get some drugs?"
"You're asking the wrong person", I answered with a chuckle and hoping that he was joking but feeling that he wasn't. James, one of the grooms friends, was tall, handsome and blond. He was an ex commando, footballer and was now a physical trainer and it showed. He was now also very drunk from the nights festivities. 
"Oh, don't be a soft cock", he said, swaying slightly and half pushing, half leaning on me. I was already feeling intimidated by him and this wasn't helping. 
"No, seriously", I lowered my voice as a I felt it rising again, "I have no idea." I had been trying to use my old voice all day and it's low deep vibrations had felt so strange. It also kept rising when I wasn't paying attention or started to get excited and I had to remind myself that Filly's voice wasn't to come out. I had also made it onto the dance floor and I hope I didn't dance like a girl. The night was a complete success for both the bride and the groom and also for me. I was worried that I might have an emotional attack at some inappropriate moment in some unfortunate location, but it didn't happen. That's not to say that I didn't look at the girls on the dance floor and think "I wish I was you and I wish I could wear what you're wearing and dance the way you're dancing!" 


But no, everything would be ok. In fact, everything had turned out alright.

Filly's Frolic #14

Sometimes I just need to get away from it all and be alone with my thoughts, as dangerous and as depressing as that may be. Today would be one of those days. Since I was not well connected enough to warrant an invitation to the Bird Cage at "the race that stops a nation", I decided I would commune with birds of the feathered variety in a more remote location. Doing so on this particular day had also become somewhat of a custom for my ex and myself in years past and even when the rain washes away the sand, some things will always remain.


Standing in line in a McDonald's restaurant in a country town, I watched the crowd of people milling around. Local teenage girls were queued behind me and city tourists were pulling up in the car park. Wearing my flare jeans, a maroon 3/4 sleeve runched top and a black Esprit knit cardi, I still felt so overdressed amongst the present crowd. I few girls took second glances at me probably wondering what this city girl was doing in their town by herself.. or maybe my hair was a mess, I'm not sure. I was obviously not yet at my destination but had stopped for the other obligatory ritual of a hot fudge sundae and fries. If I had not slept in so late that morning, I would have stopped earlier for what should have been a serve of hot cakes in maple syrup...


I cased the place with my order in hand looking for a place to sit. The other attraction of the place was the free wifi and I was hoping to do some writing on my laptop but there was no power point anywhere and, with the limited battery life, I decided to leave the writing till later. McDonald's had obviously thought about deviants like me stealing their electricity and their vacuum cleaners must have very long power cords. I settled for using my iPhone and making a few phone calls whilst enjoying the sundae.


Memory is a funny thing, or maybe mine is just plain bad. Standing at the bank of the river at my destination an hour or so later, I could have sworn that the approach to the river and the layout of the surrounding roads were different to how they used to be. I had remembered a more romantic and scenic location with greater access to the banks of the river on either side but my mind had merged reality with idealistic notions and had stored a beautiful, yet fictional, memory. Like the disappointment that sinks into you when you read that wonderful story you wrote or watch the tape of the supposedly crowd pleasing performance years earlier, this was a haunting reminder to not place to much stock in the glowing attraction of the past. I wondered if the same also applied to my thoughts about the future.


In itself, this was not a disappointing location by any means and having parked my car in an appropriate location I was able to open the back of the wagon and sit in the back. My feet dangled over the bumper as I rested against the back seats with a glass of red wine in one hand and crackers and Camembert cheese in reach of the other. I watched the river flow serenely past and as a few drop of drizzle landed on the side windows, I was reminded, with a small sense of satisfaction, this is why I bought this car.


I let my thoughts run and ramble through my head and tried to pay them no attention in the same way that the river swirled past the pylons of the nearby bridge and left eddy's that existed for a moment and then were gone. Time drifted past like the wind in the tall fluffy grass, swaying them about, and I was only clicked back to reality when I realised I had finished my block of cheese. Instinctively, I reached into my picnic bag for another one before deciding that I really couldn't eat it right now and decided to take a walk instead.


As I neared the bank of the river, I saw two people looking at my curiously. A city girl, three hours from home and dressed somewhat inappropriately for a  stroll through the bush probably does deserve some attention. In time their curiosity waned and one of them reeled up his fishing rod and they both left. I hadn't noticed his fishing rod before and maybe I shouldn't have started skipping rocks across the river...


After they both left, I realised I had to go to. I walked along the banks of the river looking for a secluded location. Guys should be so lucky that they can pee standing up; seeing a guy facing a tree is just some sort of accepted social norm. I don't do that any more even though I physically still can and in some ways I miss it but otherwise I really don't. Thoughts about romancing the past spring to mind again.


Pushing my car through the corners on the first part of the trip home was exhilarating. It was something I hadn't done for a while and, as it turns out, I still enjoy it. My ex used to enjoy it too and her Golf GTI would carve up these corners a treat, even it does scare her a little. I wondered why my thoughts had wondered towards her again and I realised that out interests had been so magically intertwined and aligned that it was difficult to separate the thought of her from my hobbies and pastimes. I dwelled on that for a moment before forcing myself to think about something else.


The rest of the trip home was uneventful except for the two miscreants in a red hatchback. The driver seemed intent on holding up traffic, moving between the left and right lane whilst the passenger danced with his body out the window and gestured to cars in the left hand lane. I took the next opportunity to pass them, stretching the speed limit in the process. If the law were to fine me for taking steps to ensure my safety and avoid genuine fear, then the law would be an ass that didn't deserve my obedience anyway.


I missed the turn off for my road home but it was no matter, the next off ramp would work just as well. In fact, it worked a little better since I unexpectedly drove past a McDonald's on that road. Nothing like a symbolic end to a trip and I turned in and walked to the counter to order a soft serve with a flake. The young gent handed it to me with a smile and farewell for a good night. It's nice to have service with a smile.

The McEwans Cycle

A young boy hopped excitedly next to his father. It was another trip to McEwans, a hardware store in a suburban shopping centre. His father needed to buy some washers to fix some leaky taps and this was one more opportunity for the boy to just look at all the different tools and parts and various things that could be bought. Walking wide eyed through the same aisles that he had walked though several times before in past visits, the boy drew his fingers slowly along the assorted tools and gadgets. He wondered what it would be like to use a coping saw and what he could use it for. Looking at the set of needle files, he imagined how it might be useful for his hobbies and wondered if one day he would be able to afford it.


I looked at that set of files many times after and I never did end up buying them.


As the years went on, I visited the store less and less as the standard of the shop began to deteriorate. Stock that was being carried made a mockery, in my opinion, of the term tools and hardware. The centre was renovated and the store went from being a major section of the area to being a shop in a, albeit large, tucked away corner and the quality of the store declined even further. I missed going to that store to imagine about the things I might buy in the future, and then, one day, the store closed down.


The tucked away corner store became the home of many bargain basement shops that came and went. Some of those were ladies fashion stores that I was too afraid to ever step into because what would everyone think if they ever saw me in there? Time went by and I began to ignore the presence of any store in that tucked away corner.


A revelation later, I was shopping in the same shopping centre at the beginning of the year. I had transitioned to full time but my wardrobe was sadly lacking. More clothes were definitely required and I would need them now if I was to make it past the end of the week. In the distance, I saw the old tucked away corner and I wondered what was in there now. It was probably some bargain basement shop with nothing worth looking at, but I had nothing to lose so I wandered in.


Dozens of racks covered the floor and clothes hang from every racks and wall space available. I was the only one in there, which was unsurprising given the tucked away corner location. Suddenly I saw a t-shirt with a familiar panda and I made my way towards it; it was the WWF logo and this was an authorised piece of merchandise. I had to have it! Draping it over my arm, I began to look at the other clothes and was surprised at all the bargains around me. My fashion sense had only just been born and I was still unsure how  would match some of these pieces together, but I still made it out of the store with several items of clothing.


I visited the store several times and it I thought it seemed amusing that this piece of ground that was once a destination of desire as a young boy was now a destination of desire as a lady. 


Shopping at another centre I stopped as a new shop caught my eye. It had the same name as my secret tucked away corner shop. Surely it wasn't part of a chain? I wondered in and saw the same panda t-shirt as well as other familiar items. The atmosphere of the shop was definitely more trendy and the prices were also higher to match. 


Not long after, I decided to go back to my secret shop and grab whatever bargains I could while it was still there. I was too late. Not only was the shop closed but the whole hidden corner had been boarded up with a sign indicating that that area of the complex was being renovated. My shop would be opening in another location within the centre shortly, but I knew it wouldn't be quite like that corner store. 


I smiled at the coincidence that the place that I loved to visit as a child closed and became the store that I loved to visit as an adult. Perhaps this shopping centre had more lying in wait for me yet.

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.....

A Brave Choice

"It's not a choice." It's an oft heard idea that is almost a mantra of transsexuals. "Nobody would choose to go through all this pain, lose all their friends and family, incur the huge financial expense whilst risking their job if they had a choice". I agree completely with the sentiment and indeed feel the same way. There is, however, something that irks me about that thought and makes it seem debilitating and enslaving.


I believe in constant self improvement. I'm not a perfect person and I never will be but I refuse to accept that I can't rise out of the mediocrity that defined me last week, last month or last year. I, therefore, have an interest in subjects relating to self improvement. My favourite book is 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen Covey and I even did the one week workshop related to that book. I like this book because of it's ideology. It's all about changing yourself for benevolent means. It's not about techniques for manipulating others or about how to make more money or about airy fairy positive thinking so that good things will happen to you.


"They cannot take away our self respect if we don't give it to them" - Mahatma Gandhi


In the chapter covering the first habit (Be Proactive), Covey proposes that we always have a choice in what we do. He gives the example of a student who asks to be excused from class so that he can go on a tennis trip lest he be dropped from the team. Covey enlightens the student who realises that the choice is between being dropped from the team or missing out on learning what is being taught in class that day. The student still makes the same choice but now realises that it is a choice they made and that there are consequences associated with the choices they made.


Realising that I have a choice in how I act is very empowering to me. I'm not to be pushed around about by the circumstances of my life. Instead, I see the choices before me and it is by my choice that I am doing what I am doing. In the case of my transition, I have a choice. I could choose not to transition and continue trying to keep everything a secret. I might keep all my friends and family and it might be easier for me job wise but I might find life itself to be a difficult proposition. On the other hand, I chose to transition so that I could be true to myself and relieve myself of this burden that has been troubling me. There is now a light at the end of my tunnel, yet I have to live with the consequences of my actions. 


Sure, I don't like the consequences and I would definitely prefer everything to be a bed of roses but that's not the life I was offered. But I stood up and chose life (and pain) instead of choosing death or a tortured life that wouldn't have been life at all. I chose to be true to myself instead of living a lie. I choose to to express and be myself instead of hiding behind a social taboo. I acknowledge that I made the choice and that makes me feel empowered and liberated. 

Filly's Frolic #10

Oh, those darned titles. For the sake of this story, lets pretend my former name was Axe Why. Most of my medical prescriptions just have my name on them and, since my name change hasn't come through yet, it is my former name. Yet, there I was today with the two prescriptions where my name had been prefixed by the now inappropriate title "Mr". It was not the first time I had been faced with this situation of course and inclusion of the title was now just an annoyance rather than a cause for concern. The pharmacist, who was a student at Monash judging from her name badge, took my prescriptions and asked the customary questions in a professional manner to which I was usually accustomed. She handed me a pager and I wandered the pharmacy while my prescription was being filled.


Some time later, I was browsing yet another random aisle with no intention of buying anything in it. I was momentarily startled by the buzzing and vibrating in my hand and realised that my prescription was ready. Quickening my pace towards the prescription counter, I was expecting the pharmacist to ask the same routine questions regarding side effects, fluid intake, la la la la... As I approached the counter I realised I was to be served by a young male pharmacist. He looked at me as I approached the counter and handed in my pager.


"Are you picking up the prescription for Mr. Axe Why?", he asked me. I momentarily froze with confusion then I quickly nodded, a whisper of a "Yes" escaping my lips that began to curl with a mischievous smile as I realised the assumption he had just made. Pointing to my hormone prescription he continued,
"This prescription is for medications normally given to women. Do you know if the doctor intentionally prescribed these to Mr. Why?". Well, at least he was being conscientious about the health of his customers.
"Yes, I'm pretty sure that's correct", I replied, trying not to giggle or laugh. "Would I be able to have a tax receipt for all the medications I've bought here?", I added.
"Of course, just for Axe or for yourself as well?" he asked helpfully.
"Just Axe" I replied. I have no idea how I managed not to laugh at that point.


He disappeared to the back benches and returned a few minutes later with an envelope in his hand. 
"Because you are picking this up for Axe, I have to put it in an envelope", he said sounding very helpful. Handing me the envelope he added almost apologetically, "It's just privacy and all that". 


I thanked him graciously and immediately turned and headed straight for the cash registers, another moment there and my impish grin would have turned into laugh. Thank you Mr Pharmacist, you made my day and made Mr. Why very happy.

Filly's Frolic #9

"Just three", I said, smiling at the sales assistant and slightly lifting the garments hanging from my right hand. 
"Certainly", she replied with a smile and turned to fetch a fuchsia coloured plastic tag with three little holes in it which she promptly handed to me. I made my way to the first available change room, hanging the clothes on a hook and utilising one of the little holes in the plastic tag to hang that up also. 


Never having been to the change rooms in this particular store before, I was puzzled for a moment to notice that the mirror was angled away from the partition on one side. I glanced across the spacious change room at the three mirrors on the other side and suddenly realised what a marvellous service they had provided. These three mirrors would let me see the front and sides of myself at the same time and I would be able to see the back of myself in the reflection of the other mirror! No more would I have to turn and dance about and twist my head like a possessed woman from the exorcist in order to see how I looked from all angles. I wondered how many other women had also celebrated with glee at this discovery.


Suddenly my joy turned to horror as I looked at my reflection from the back and immediately had a Hermione Granger moment when she saw the back of herself in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. 


"Is that really what my hair looks like from the back??!!" 


It was nothing like how I imagined. I turned to different angles and kept looking hoping that maybe at some angle my hair would transform into the impossibly sleek and styled hair of my hopelessly deluded imagination. No matter how I turned, my fantasy was not to be fulfilled. My gaze turned to how I looked from the back generally, wondering if the figure I cut gave the right gender cues. 
I was brought back to reality when I realised time was passing and that I had yet to try on the clothes I had brought in. I consoled myself with the thought that I shared the same problems as Hermione.


As I left the change room, the thoughts still mulled in my mind. It's easy to imagine how things are  until we actually see them with our own eyes. This might be a dose of reality which we can then accept and move forward from (like my hair), or it may be something which we can work on and change. So, if you ever see me hunching and rounding my shoulders, please remind me to straighten up? 

Barriers - Depression

"Just snap out of it"
"Smile and think positive"
So many time have I heard these words often spoken with will meant intentions, but anyone who believes this is good advice does not understand depression and has not suffered from its crippling effects.


In my view, depression is such an insidious illness because it creeps up on us so stealthily. I thought I was able to handle problems and situations that I was being confronted with. They were similar problems that I had faced before and had successfully overcome. Suddenly a wave of setbacks knocks me down. Normally this would be only temporary and in the past I would have dragged myself back up and kept on going. This time, the termites of other problems in my life erode the platform of my self-confidence that falls away as I grasp to hold onto sanity. I look to the lifeguards I trust to help rescue me but it seems my trust was misplaced as they look at me and decide to leave their posts and head to the pub instead. My fingers claw at the railing as I try to pull myself up. So many times have I been here and dragged myself back up, battered and bruised but victorious. Today, maybe it was the alignment of the stars and the moon, maybe it was because everything had aligned so perfectly, I could not hold on and I plunged into the deep dark depths of depression.


Telling someone with depression to snap out of it is like telling someone who is drowning at the bottom of a 100m ocean to take a breath of air. Actually, since depression is an illness, it's like telling a paraplegic to just get up and walk. It's not realistic advice and it isn't considerate. Recovery from depression is a hard process that requires effort from the sufferer and, unfortunately for the friends and family, if someone is not willing to be helped, it is difficult for others to help.


In the darkest, deepest depths of depression, it is difficult to do anything. Everything seems so worthless and pointless, even the thought of moving an inch after realising, with great disappointment, that I had woken up again in the morning. (Ironically, I spent many teenage years praying to wake up as a female and after that I spent many years praying that I didn't wake up at all.) When I was able to pull myself out of bed, the mind still refused to work. Where I once was able to spend hours or entire days absorbed in work or hobbies, now I couldn't focus on anything for more than a few minutes. I still retained my ability to act though, so I could pretend I was concentrating or listening to someone while a drifted in and out and tried to piece together what I missed before I drifted out again. My memory became non existent to the point where I would look at the calendar to find out the date and then when I looked back at the form I was filling in, I would have forgotten the date already. My eyes would dart back from the calendar to the form before I threw the pen down in disgust and went back to bed. Depression is insidious because it is situations like this that my self confidence was eroded even further and I would slide deeper into its clutches. 


to be continued...

Filly's Frolic #8

Despite the cold, or maybe because of it, the crowd milled around the restaurant. Comforting warm steam and delectable aromas rose from the open kitchen in the middle. I made my way to an empty table and slid onto the chair next to a table of young asian girls. They looked young enough to be in high school, but add a few years for the "asian youth gene" and they were probably young uni students.

One of the girls glanced at me and then had a double take her eyes widening in surprise and bemusement. Her expression was the same my mum used to have when she saw overtly gay men walking down the street; I know that look well. She turned to whisper to her friend next to her, her gaze still transfixed on me. Her hand was held up to her friends ear, shielding my view of her mouth. It's like when you're teasing someone at a party and you overtly want them to know that you are "discreetly" talking about them. How that is appropriate in a public setting, I do not know.

Her friend looked at me briefly, then, with a look of nonchalant disgust that can only be pulled off by a teenage girl, looked away and whispered something back. The eyes of the first girl widened a little as she giggled and stared at me again. She whispered something else and stared and giggled again as her friend nodded.

Fortunately their meals arrived and she threw me a few more furtive glances before her attention changed to something more interesting with her friends. Who said short attention spans aren't a good thing?

I enjoyed my lunch.

At home I turned on the tv and saw an ad for the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty. It's purpose is to put beauty into perspective and help young girls with body image and self esteem issues.

Sometimes life can be so ironic. 

Barriers - Social Isolation

The friend is the man who knows all about you, and still likes you.  - Elbert Hubbard


I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, the anxiety rising and my throat drying out. My mind raced and ran through the words I had prepared earlier but they now seemed so inadequate, so out of place, so.... wrong. Warmth from the glowing camp fire radiated onto my already burning cheeks but I was glad for the semi-anonymity of the night setting. I tried to slow my speech down as I braced myself for the reaction after I told my friends that I was suffering from gender dysphoria and soon they would know me as a girl. I tried to prepare myself for the possibility that they might, at that very point, walk out of my life and never return.


So many times I repeated variations of the above scenario and each time I was fortunate enough to have been met with a polite response or, in one case, an enthusiastic response. Yet, most of my days are filled with an abject loneliness and the number of friends that I have remaining can be counted on just one hand. I deeply value the friends I have left and the time I able to share with them, but they have their own lives, families and other friends to be with and so I spend much of my time on my own. 


Social and support groups are helpful in making me feel that there are other people that I can be friends with and that I'm not totally isolated in this world. Immediate friendships can be struck , but deeper friendships always take time to develop and in the meantime there are emotional holes aren't being filled.


It was difficult to open myself up and share my secret with my friends and, for those that left, it hurts that they felt they could not remain my friend after knowing that much more about me. They are who they are and they are entitled to pick who they befriend, so I try not to judge them or bear any grudge. There is much to know about me and much to not like and so it leads me to be cautious in what I reveal. So maybe I'm now harming my ability to make any more friends but I do really love those that know all about me and still choose to like me.

Barriers - Acceptance

There are many barriers or hurdles faced by trans-people that can hamper or prevent a successful transition. I thought I would write about a few the issues I face since it might shed some lights on the worries that are always in the back of my mind. It might also help explain the elation and sorrow that I write about in some of my frolics or other posts.


I imagine that most, if not all, people want acceptance, which is the first barrier I shall be writing about. It may be acceptance of their work, acceptance of their friendship or acceptance by others of themselves as the unique individual that they are. It may be acceptance of their role in society as a hard worker, as a decent child or as a good parent. So the concept and struggle with acceptance isn't different to what I face. In fact, the struggle is similar to anyone who faces discrimination or prejudice on a daily basis. 


Most people are able to go about their lives in a comforting inconspicuousness, safe in the knowledge that the people they pass or the people they interact with will see them as just another person going about their daily life. Imagine if that were not the case. Going on a simple shopping trip, the heads of all the pedestrians turn and focus their attention on you the moment you step out of your car. Looks of scorn and disgust are plain on some peoples faces as they stare at you while others show bemusement or intrigue. Each step you take is an effort as you feel the glares drilling into your self confidence and you fight the desire to run back home where you can hide from everyone else. You hear the muted discussions and overhear the occasional sentence confirming their thoughts about you or maybe an insensitive bigot yells out his thoughts leaving nothing uncertain. Imagine hovering at the entrance to stores for a split second, unsure of whether the sales assistant will show a disapproving frown or ask you to come back at a time when the other customers aren't there or maybe they'll greet all the other customers and totally ignore you. So image the total bliss you feel should someone greet you with a smile and address you correctly.


Welcome to my world.


Or at least it was for a while. Once I was able to make myself look like any other female I could once again immerse myself in comforting inconspicuousness. In the ts world, this is known as passing whilst should other people be able to tell from your appearance that you are transsexual, that is known as being read or being clocked. But in the end, all I want is to be accepted as another person going about my daily life.