Cross your legs, don’t cross your arms, small bites. Stand tall, smile – not too much. Do these things without thinking.
Avoid handling money, greet differently, say goodbye carefully – don’t ever dismiss.
Try not to laugh, try not to sneeze.
radiohead – electioneering – ok computer
the white stripes – bone broke – icky thump
the flaming lips – ego tripping at the gates of hell – yoshimi battles the pink robots
yuna – lights and camera – nocturnal
milan & phoenix – istanbul (not constantinople) – istanbul (not constantinople) remixes EP
thom yorke – atoms for peace (four tet remix) – the eraser rmxs
I’ve taken to blending out. It’s like blending in, but in addition to looking normal you try your damnedest to go unnoticed. It’s like passing, it’s related to passing. I hate that term ‘passing’ like ‘pass for a woman.’ I don’t even care anymore, just as long as no one sees me, which is ironic.
It’s anticlimactic, ‘passing.’ It’s getting back to square zero, where everyone starts, “Oh look it’s a baby boy.” The birthright, your gender. I get a gender.
I wonder how I could have explained this to myself a year ago, if I could go back in time; that I go by a female name with a mostly female body, that I don’t live in the same place or have the same job. That, all told, it cost about $20,000 (not including doctors’ visits and most prescription costs). That our only real ambition now is to get through the day without feeling like crawling under a rock, to go unnoticed. To live quietly, our painless lives.
Relatively painless. I don’t know what I would have done or said if I had heard this a year ago. I think I would have felt joy. I think I could have lost consciousness. I think I might have hugged me, I don’t know. Why do I think about these things?
I’m at a loss. What I’ve experienced was so harrowing, so stressful and painful and seemingly impossible. And now it’s quiet, I’m passing. I’m this tense, awkward, doofy-looking woman whose clothing is ill-fitting and spectacularly out of season… but I’m not perceived as transgender. I look like what I’ve been through.
No one expects much of me, except that I make eye contact with them. It’s an interesting expectation, like I need to be scrutable at all times, present, and at whosoever’s disposal. It’s subtle, subtle, subtle, and it took me weeks to notice, but it’s like I’m under this warm spotlight.
I don’t know what I was thinking, this being a woman and all. It’s just something I had to do, and now it happened. Now I have to deal with it. But it’s wonderful and beautiful, and so, so real. The world is just so real, and almost mine. I can’t understand it.