Rejection still hurts

I had plans to write some positive blogs, especially for the first one of the new year. However, I've come to realise that plans, just like good intentions, don't always come into being. Today's event has left me shaken even though it wasn't a total surprise.

It's been almost two years since I've seen my best friend from high school. When we last met, it was over twenty years of friendship that spanned many life changing events. If any of my friendships were to survive my transition, I would have thought that this would have been it. Sadly, this friendship was officially put to rest this morning. 

As many of you may know, the last two years of my life have been tumultuous. Through those ups and downs I had offered several invitations to my friend but there were always reasons why they couldn't be accepted. I'm not one to read too deeply into things because sometimes people are busy, sometimes people actually do have valid reasons why they can't accept your invitation and sometimes it is just unfortunate that your events and theirs continue to clash several times in a row. It is too easy to come to false conclusions (and I have had many false claims levelled against me) and I am not about to make allegations against a friend without knowing the facts. Today, however, I received the facts from him. It is too hard for him to move on and as our lives have moved in different directions our friendship has come to an end. 

I have mentioned, in previous posts, my thought processes regarding my transition and whether or not I should have told my friends or just left. Telling them is, I still believe, the right thing to do since I have acted with honesty and integrity. Whatever actions they all take is a testament to their character and not a weakness of mine. However, for all those in transition, be warned, it is a painful process and the pain continues far after all the physical aspects of transition are "complete".

What continues to astound me, is how people expect to resolve problems by staying away. As an ex-male I know that retreating into the man cave is a way of coping but it never actually resolves anything. With all relationships, contact (be it physical, verbal or virtual) is important. Distancing yourself from someone cannot somehow magically remove an issue so that your relationship will somehow become better again. An extended amount of time spent apart will only serve to spread the relationship further apart. 

So, chalk up another scar and call it experience. I sometimes wish I didn't have to experience so much and I wonder how much I can take before I am totally enveloped in scar tissue and there is no heart left.

Finding a place to fit in

Part of what makes us human is our tendency to interpret things and to search for answers and a reason. This inquisitiveness is a good thing but it also highlights our fallibility as we often tend to focus on over simplistic explanations for complex behaviours and problems. Indeed, Occam's Razor is often misquoted as saying something like "the simplest explanation is often the best". 

"I am thrifty with money because I was raised in a poor family."

"I enjoy spending money because now I have it where as I was raised and brought up in a poor family."

Our tendencies to focus on simple explanations and reasons often cause us to fixate on factors that jump out at us. Whilst these factors may actually be contributory, they probably aren't the single or even the single most significant cause for our behaviours. This can be seen when the same situations are used to explain different behaviours in different people. There must, therefore be other factors at play but it's a line of faulty reasoning that we fall into again and again. Perhaps we do this because it is simple and our minds really aren't that good at processing a lot of complex information without distilling it down.

Whatever the reason, it's possibly something to be aware of when transitioning. Growing up, I've always felt that I didn't fit in. It always seemed that I viewed things differently and that caused problems when dealing with others. I didn't understand nuances in schoolboy rough housing that made others upset at me and I still don't understand why their actions in certain games were considered okay whilst I was called a cheat if I did the same or less. This resulted in me, starting from very early on in primary school, spending most of recess and lunch times by myself counting the days till the next school holiday. 

In high school, my way of thinking resulted in teachers not liking my essays and creative writing and usually missing the subtle points I was making. English was one of my least favourite subjects during high school and I gravitated toward mathematics, physics and chemistry where problems could be solved with flair but (at high school level) there was only a single final answer. 

At high school and university, as interpersonal relationships became more important and more complex, my strange views caused further friction with those that I was close to. Girlfriends couldn't understand how I could be friends with ex-girlfriends (assuming ex's wanted to be friends with me). How I could be friends with a girl who cheated on me?And nobody could understand how I could remain best friends with my friend she cheated on me with! Then there were the (to me) arbitrary boundaries that defined whether two people were friends, interested in each other or "really good friends"... I still don't understand these nuances and I still don't understand why people just can't show affection and love without it being interpreted as something more. My views and beliefs often resulted in me feeling left out because they would translate into poorly received actions or I would have to pay close attention to my actions and behave in a way that, well, wasn't really me.

I often pondered what it was about me. Many things crossed my mind such as my ethnicity, my geekiness, my physical make up or my confusion over my gender. That last one can be a problem for those transitioning as it is all too easy to believe that your problems will be fixed once transition is "over". Each milestone in transition carries a kind of holy grail with it which only leads to disappointment when we realise that we the same person we were before but we just look different or have the genitals we always wanted. Many things change but many things do not. 

I am glad that I transitioned but, it may surprise many to learn, I still feel like I don't belong. Core beliefs and values tend not to change when transitioning and my beliefs and values still tend to be way out field compared to many. That's not to say that I stick out like a sore thumb or mope in a corner in social situations; I've learnt to navigate those waters well enough. Rather, I feel more like a golf ball that nestles into a social circle only to realise that this hole isn't the cup in the green but a divot in a sand trap and that I'm about to be whacked out.

Sometimes I just want to find a place where I feel that I truly belong but then sometimes I feel like Groucho Marx when he said, "I don't care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members."

Yesterday

Yesterday was the anniversary of when my ex and I first started going out. Strangely, I didn't actually realise that until today and I don't know if that is a good or a bad thing. In some ways it was fortunate since by the end of last night I was already in bad shape and knowledge of another once happy day passing by would have compounded my already despondent mood.

After finishing some reading last night for a university unit that I'm doing over summer, which interestingly included two pages on gender identity, memories began to flood back about my house. Due to the fallout from our financial settlement, my house is currently on the market and I am no longer living there. Yet, memories still remain. Every room in that house has a story to tell of happiness and sadness, promises made and dreams and potential unfulfilled. Tears streamed down my face and I sobbed quietly into my pillow, dark spots spreading across it's surface just like my grief spreading through my body. 

Curling up underneath my blanket, I hugged myself to sleep.

These times of despair are happening less frequently now and, for that, I am thankful. For now, though, they still do remain.

My Day in Court

I just returned home from a full day in the city where I was at family court to settle financial matters ahead of an impending divorce. It was an arduously long day but after seven hours, an agreement was finally signed. Was it fair? Am I happy with it? Can I live with it?

I can't say that I am happy and I don't know if it was fair. All I can say is that it was the best that could be done under the circumstances. It's not particular fair that I've had to struggle with this gender identity burden. Neither is it particularly fair that when I finally managed to wrap my head around it and brought the truth to my soul mate, she decided that she was no longer my soul mate. How do you put a financial figure on that?

It's not that I'm against being fair or even against the concept whether in theory or practice. However, I do believe in acting with integrity. Proposing a solution in private and then presenting a legal offer demanding so much more is not acting with integrity. Friends who said they would be there and then couldn't fit me into their busy schedules and then later blame me for not reaching out to them; that is not acting with integrity. 

Ironically, she could have had anything she wanted if she had just asked me instead of pursuing it through the legal route. She knew that and I made it abundantly clear to her on several occasions. We would both have had more since we would have also avoided the legal fees. I can't begin to imagine how the love that she once had for me has soured into a tonic most foul that she has had to take this route. Yet, for all that has happened, I still love her and I think that is what hurts the most.

Attaching Emotions

I'm reaching a point where I'm almost functional during an average day. Worries about life are no longer totally overwhelming and I don't live in pervasive fear or anxiety and I'm not constantly in tears or a state of despair. Almost.. 

Unfortunately, I find myself still traumatised by emotions that are attached to what were once happy memories. Places, things and events trigger memories in my mind that then release a flood of sadness that washes over me as quickly as a tsunami. Observers might think I were bipolar if they observed my mood swings but that would neglect what is actually happening in my thought processes.

As an example, there are now a number of movies that I can no longer watch. Antz was a wonderful animation that I enjoyed but it was also the first film that my ex and I went to see together. Avatar (the James Cameron film) is another that I enjoyed but that reminds me of the final times during which my ex and I were still in contact. As of writing, it was the last movie that we watched together. Remembering these movies is distressing due to the associated emotions and, even at this very moment, it requires a pause as I am brought to tears by these thoughts.

I did not choose to associate negative emotions with these memories and I have yet to figure out how to detach them. This places me in precarious position as I can find myself quickly crashing down when what might seem to be a small or innocent detail is brought to my attention. Judging by how my mind has dealt with other events, these associations will not go away but I can only hope that their effects will lessen over time.

Au revoir my therapist

Two years ago, I fronted up to her workplace as a boy for my first treatment in IPL hair removal. I was nervous but she immediately put me at ease. She knew why I was there and what I was going to be doing but she made me feel welcome and, dare I say it, normal. Her personality was honest, engaging and open and my confidence in her grew quickly. 

Since I saw her while I was laying down the foundations in exploring my transition, she was literally the first person to be involved in my transition. She has seen me go through the ups and downs. She has seen me through my surgery and she has seen me transform from the boy I was to the girl I am now. We have shared heartfelt stories and we have shared laughs over memories of Little Britain and over the funnier moments in each of our personal lives. 

Today, I fronted up once again for a short maintenance session. Only a few scattered hairs dot  around my lips and chin. I am so pleased at the result and for the work she has done for me. Sadly, this will be her last week as she is moving up north to what sounds like a wonderful opportunity helping to run a holiday resort. I hope everything goes well for her and I really do hope that we run into each other again one day. Sometimes you meet the most wonderful people in your life that you really don't want to leave. All the best Nik, I will miss you.

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.

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.

Thailand Inception

I'm going to have to start carrying a totem, these multi-level dreams are killing me. (Oh, and btw, Inception is a brilliant movie and if you think the ending was predictable then, chances are, you actually don't really understand the ending.) 


Slightly anxious, I was waiting at the airport for my wife. An old Thai lady was selling some trinkets at the entrance to a lounge where I was standing and I was trying my best to tell her that I wasn't interested whilst not taking out my frustrations on her. Had I really been that insensitive to my wife? She had been involved in a minor accident because she had been overworking at the office as usual and had fallen asleep on the way home. I always feared that that would happen one day and even though I know the non-financial costs of running a small business that is still in relatively infancy, she was more important to me than the success of her business. That sounded so unsupportive in hindsight, but it was true. Maybe I just hadn't phrased myself well and that was the last straw. I know that everything I had put her through was hard for her and I was glad and appreciative of her support. So, maybe this was the last straw and the resulting stupid, futile argument had broken her. My heart sank and I knew she wasn't coming on the flight with me and had withdrawn to somewhere else in the airport.

"I have to go find my wife", I tried explaining to the Thai lady. "I think she's in trouble, can you please look after my bags?" I gestured and pleaded in several different ways and in the ways of old Asian ladies, she waved her hands to calm down as if everything was going to be ok. She presented what looked like an asian pin cushion with an orange ball lined with red longitudinal like threads. Pressing it into my hands, she motioned me to go. 


What the heck did I need a pincushion for?! As I ran in search of my wife, I began thinking the lady must have been a bit senile as I squeezed the cushion. An extended loud whistling sound came from the cushion, startling me. I squeezed it harder and faster and the whistle was louder and longer. This is what the old lady meant? Ok, so I wasn't lost at sea but perhaps such an odd noise would attract the attention of my wife as I began calling her name. Squeezing the cushion from the sides, there was no whistle as I expected but, instead, the top of the cushion shone brightly. It's a lantern as well? Wow, this is a pretty cool gadget. I admonished myself for thinking the lady was senile and made a mental note to thank her profusely when I got back.


I searched the airport thoroughly, making sure I went through every entrance and exit, even if they did lead to the same place, moving from area to area, inside to outside. At one point, I passed a couple of ladies talking by a few step like seats. On the bottom step was a soft toy, maybe 40cm high, that was some sort of strange cross between a panda and a kangaroo. It actually didn't look anything like either, but I knew that was just what it was. Whatever it was, it was cute and cuddly. 
"Is this yours?", I asked the ladies. They looked at me annoyed as if I was at an international meeting of world leaders about to actually agree on world peace and I had interrupted and asked to go to the toilet. Shaking their heads, partly in a negative response and partly in condescension, they turned back to their conversation. I mumbled a thank you which they ignored.


This toy was so cute and I hugged it a bit longer, but it wasn't mine and I had to keep looking for my wife so I put it back down and resumed my search. Through corridors and lounges, lobbies and atriums, I ran looking, calling her name and squeezing the little, loud whistle. My path re-intersected with the seats where that soft toy was and I took it as a sign. Another lady was now sitting on the steps behind the toy. I reached for it, intent on taking it whether it belonged to me or not. I just had to have it.
"What do you think you're doing?", asked the lady in a stern yet friendly manner. "That's mine". I looked up to see her admonishing yet smiling face and then looked back down to see her dog retreating between her legs. Smiling, I patted the dog which it seemed to enjoy and apologised to the lady. 
"Sorry, I was looking for something else", I said ashamedly, looking around. My eyes lit up as I saw the toy sitting on the bench next to the steps. I stood up and went over and cuddled it in my arms.
"That's cute", replied the lady smiling.
"Thanks", I replied as I once again ran off to resume my search, but this time with a new companion.


That's about when I realised I was dreaming. Suddenly, I was running through the airport with a couple of bags in hand and my teddy bear, Ching, had somehow appeared. He must have thought the panda/kangaroo cross was interesting and had decided to accompany me. Obviously, I had been shopping and in the bags were odd items to be buying at at airport. Towels? Porcelain plates? T-shirts? Ok, that last one might be understandable but the time skip combined with the silliness of the items had triggered my dream alert sensor. Having said that, I can see that one day I will be eating my words when I buy towels at an airport.


Rushing though the building crowds and fancy vip lounges, I wondered if my wife had managed to get inside one of the rooms that I was not allowed access to. Not that there was any privacy since it seemed they wanted everyone to see the modern technology and luxuriousness that they might be missing out on. Up ahead, I saw my brother in law and a couple of friends.
"I think we know where she is", he yelled out to me. He checked his watch and calculated how long it would be before check-in closed and how long it would take us to get back there. 
"It's ok", interjected one my friends, reading his thoughts. "I think she already checked in."
But I haven't, I thought, I had been waiting for her. I did some mental calculations and realised this would be a race for me to check-in in time. I pushed my way to the crowds and ran up the escalator to try to catch up to my friends that were already crossing a walkway and had almost reached the other side. While doing so, I was glad my brother-in-law was still talking to me and wasn't being awkward any more.


I ran across the long walkway, past the fancy American Express vip lounge with it's modern white colour scheme and the gorgeous blond asking if I would like to come in. It was like a premier unveiling as translucently thin silky curtains began to life showing the insides of the lounge.
"I don't have time right now", I panted with a smile as I ran past. She smiled back ever so glowingly and I wondered if I had been entitled to enter or whether that was just a recruiting ploy. Whatever, it was a moot question now. I reached the escalators down and, even though there was space between the thinning crowd to run down, I knew what I had to do. Running towards the escalators, I jumped up and slid down the stainless steel plating that divided the two escalators. I rode it like a hero and a pro. Both James Bond and Tony Hawk would have been impressed. My friends were conversing with what looked a tall English butler and I began running towards them. Something was wrong and I realised that my hands and arms were empty. Spinning around in panic, I saw the bags, and, more importantly, Ching lying on the floor at the bottom of the escalators. I must have dropped them when I landed. Running back, I noticed the wood panelling on the walls in this room gave it a rather different feel to the rest of the airport. 


My bags had fallen over and the contents had spilled out. They had also bumped into a shelf and a few items had fallen off the shelf and were intermingled with my items. I sorted through the items and began repacking my towels, porcelain plates and other miscellaneous items. I considered pretending that a glass and pewter decanter was also one of my items but then I realised it was actually a little ugly and, besides, it was chipped so I placed it back on the shelf where it belonged. In my arms I was now carrying three soft toys, or maybe more, and I thought about rearranging my bags so that this wasn't all so cumbersome.


Reaching the English butler, he pointed me towards a door that my friends had just run through and had just begun to start closing again. I hurried towards it, but reached it a fraction too late hearing it click shut before I could stop it. I looked for a handle or some other mechanism to open it, but to no avail. Suddenly, a wood panel on the adjacent wall in the corner began to open. Was I supposed to go through this one? I looked back at the butler and saw him walking away. He turned his head around and, deducing what had transpired, simply turned his head back and continued walking without breaking a stride. Well, this would be my only way then and I stepped through the secret doorway.


This is where my dream became silly. My bags and soft toys were no longer with me and I was wearing a white, plastic armour suit rather like a Storm Trooper in Star Wars. There were no gloves or helmet but I think the shoes matched. I had found myself in a curved corridor, walls covered in tiles and a concrete floor with a small semi-circular concave gutter to one side. It was your typical movie corridor, be it from a horror flick, the passage in some experimental concentration camp or maybe a group of rugby players were about to run out onto the field of glory. I slowly moved along with trepidation.
"Hello?", I shouted out a few times. "Anyone here?" It's the obvious line just before the victim sees the shadow of murderer ahead. 
"What are you doing in here?", asked a matronly English voice. To the right there was what looked like an old fashioned fridge, but there was a gap separating the fridge and freezer in which I briefly saw a pair of eyes. I saw her move further down behind what resembled a serving counter. It was kind of like a serving counter, if you were 12 foot tall and were being served wafer thin chips on flat paper plates.
"I might have taken a wrong turn", I stammered feeling rather embarrassed. "I think someone may have opened the wrong door for me."
"Oh well", she replied nonchalantly. "I think you there's actually someone waiting for you outside."


I took a few more steps hurriedly down the corridor and saw that the tiles gave way to a full height glass curtain wall. Freshly fallen pure white snow layered the ground outside and covered the bottom 20cm of the glass. Standing outside under snowflakes drifting ever so gently to the earth was my brother-in-law, my friends and, most importantly, my wife. An immaculately dressed driver, complete with gloves and cap was holding the doors open to a vintage black limousine. I ran as fast as I could outside, still wearing this ridiculous storm trooper suit that severely hindered my ability to run. As the cold wind blasted across my face, I didn't notice it too much as I stumbled towards my wife. At least the boots worked at keeping me warm and I wondered why I didn't get the gloves because my hands were freezing. I did my best (or worst) Darth Vader impersonation as I stomped through the snow.
"Don't underestimate the power, of the dark side", I recited, even though I was wearing a white storm trooper outfit and not a black Darth Vader suit. Everyone laughed anyway as my wife and I fell into each others arms and we hugged for an eternity.


I woke up. At least it was a feel good ending to a ridiculous dream. I was lying on the couch, my head resting in my wife's lap and she was looking at the insurance report on her accident with a stressed look on her face. 
"It's ok", I looked up at her reassuringly, "Don't worry about it. Everything will be ok. The important thing is that you're alright."
She smiled and put the paper down and hugged me. My shopping bags were at my feet and I leant over and took Ching out of one and walked him up to my wife. That always made her laugh. I reached down again and took out the panda-roo and walked that up.
"I have no idea what this is", I said. "But I thought it was cute and you might like it."
She smiled and cuddled it.


I woke up. What was that about?! That was a rather strange dream within a dream. I smiled at the thought of the weird dreams I have sometimes. At least everything was all right though; I love my wife and it would have been horrible if I had lost her in that dream. I looked forward to seeing her again. My thoughts paused. My heart sank. I really was awake and had just confused reality for yet another dream. I wasn't going to see her again. Everything was not going to be alright. I sighed, a long, deep, mournful sigh. 

My Dream

Three days after surgery,I lie on my back, deep rhythmic throbbing of bruising in my chest and slight pains of discomfort from my groin. Tubes runfrom various points in my body carrying deep red blood to drainage bottles while a catheter extends from a pile of bandages around my groin to a bag at the side of my bed. Lifting myself to sit up the slightest amount is an effort and the pain of rolling to one side is not worth any minor perceived increase in comfort. So I try to pass the time, shifting my weight in the little ways possible to gain a slight grasp of some sleep. Any sleep is fleeting, lasting thirty minutes to an hour at the most, even during the long nights when I wait for the next day to arrive. Such short grasps are too short for dreams and reserved for mere sensations. My muscles twitch in defense to some unknown fear or I wake myself as I jump to the sensation of falling into a deep abyss.

Today was different.

I was standing outside a shanty looking house in a rough part of town. But the outside camouflaged the luxurious interior of my home with brightly painted white walls and polished steel framed leather designer furniture. It had such a modern feel which perfectly suited my wife who was standing behind a shelf housing a sculpture that I had given to her. We held each other and we kissed and for a brief moment we were still married and I was happy. Just like my sleep, the moment was fleeting.

She left the room and went outside and though I tried to follow, she was gone. Standing in my way was a group of ruffians intending to do me harm. I tried to defend myself and I awoke to my legs kicking wildly at the air and blanket in my bed.

So, now I lay on my back, trying to hold the tears from streaming down my face. I don't know what she is doing or if she is happy or well. I don't know if she knows where I am. All I know is that I still have a love for her and though I tried to follow her, I couldn't.

Sunrise, Sunset

When I was in primary school and being shuffled off to piano lessons every week, there was a girl who had her lesson before me who was always smiling. She was several years older than I, but I was always struck by that radiant smile that always graced her face. While concentrating and playing the piano, a frown would always cross my face, but never hers. If she was waiting for someone and began reading a book, a hint of the smile would still be there. Her smile was not fake or forced but it was radiant and she exuded brightness and happiness whenever I saw her. 
I wished I could have been like her, but I felt as if I had little to smile about. Sometimes I did have moments of fun, but otherwise I lived in a melancholy world with few friends and, I felt, nobody who understood me. Even while my age was only single figures I wished, although I didn't understand the concept of suicide, that my life would end each night. In high school, the prayers became regular.
"Let me wake up as a girl", I would plead. "And if not, then don't let me wake up at all."
I guess God doesn't bow to earthly demands and many times I discovered that I lacked the nerve to actually take my own life. It has been the basis of many a comedians routine, but there is actually nothing more devastating to be curled up in tears at the planned site of your own demise, forlorn at the knowledge that not only are you a failure at life but you have failed at something else yet again.
By the time I left university, I decided to try the advice I was constantly given. 
"Cheer up and smile."
"Wake up and smile and everything will be ok."
"Smile and it will make you feel happier."
I suppressed all those unhappy feelings and began to smile. It sort of worked for a while, but years on I found myself out of work and was diagnosed with clinical depression. I guess you can't just ignore your feelings and hope everything will go away. At one of the support groups I cringed every time I heard the phrase "Fake it till you make it". The therapist must have felt my cringing since she didn't much like me either.


Another couple of years later and here I still am. My smile is still here, mostly, but now it is real and it is because I am really happy with myself. I am trying to live my life with integrity and even when I found myself in hospital recently, I had a strange sense of calm. It was as if there was nothing to worry about because I had lived my life the way I needed to. Perhaps it was inappropriate because I discovered that lying in bed smiling during (supposedly) traumatic events may annoy people around you. Barring social convention, I was at peace. 


Sometimes, events in life seem to conspire against you. When hopes, dreams and feelings are crushed it is difficult to smile, especially when tears are streaming down your face. It is difficult to believe in yourself when you question your integrity and the decisions you have made. So the smile fades from my face but I cling desperately to what I have, to what will keep me afloat; hoping that one day, I will find peace again.

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.

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.

Death of a ladybug

This little wooden lady bug used to look quite sprightly with its white body, a bright red nose, cute grin and lovely wooden polka dot wings. Around it's neck was a spinner with red with white polka dot plastic fans that was cause it buzz in the wind with joy. It sat happily in my front garden bed but now it's happiest days have long gone. I haven't been in my front garden for a long time but it caught my attention when I went out this morning and it brought a tear to my eye.


Okay.. that's an understatement. It made me cry... and I still am.


One of the biggest challenges faced by ts people is trying to deal or cope with loss. That may be the loss of friends, the loss of jobs or the loss of our home. But those things embody the arguably more important abstract things like loss of hopes and dreams, loss of drive and inspiration and loss of relationships. The harsh thing is that we are not the only ones affected, but all those for whom we are more than just an anecdote, are also affected. For me, knowing that I caused the same pain that I am feeling to somebody else is like another sword through my soul. 


So I wasn't weeping for the ladybug even though I can be anthropomorphist. Rather it was the association of the relationship with the person who bought it. We had shared experiences in the past and we had dreams, hopes and plans for the future. There were things we thought we had but, although one should not count their chickens before they are hatched, I was in denial about the big transsexual chicken that was about to step on all the eggs. So now our hopes, plans and dreams are lying broken in the dirt, much like the ladybug. And that makes me cry.

Filly's Frolic #2

I've been spending a lot of time with my aunt in hospital which was quite interesting on the first day becuase dad has been in denial about my gender even though I've been full time for over three months. 

When the doc asked my relation to my aunt, my dad said I was the nephew. When a nurse later asked the same, I replied I was the niece and dad corrected with nephew and I corrected him saying niece. He is also constantly surprised when I introduce myself with my girls name since he insists on calling me by my original name. Oh well.  I can understand his feelings....

Today I took a break at lunchtime from being with my aunt and went for a walk around Doncaster shopping town. I noticed one gentleman in his 50s eyeing me. He was shopping with his wife and I noticed his gaze following me for a good dozen metres. Feeling somewhat confident and playful today, I moved my eyes to his with the most alluring look and smile that I could muster. I grinned as he immediately dropped his eyes and looked away. I had to contain myself to not laugh out loud as I continued on my way. God, that felt so good!!!