Today's the anniversary of when I came out
(CW: internalized transphobia, racism, surgery, medical stuff, suicide mention, UK politics)
Could this have been written from a different angle and interwoven with a myriad of positive experiences to present it as a very nice "you should transition" piece? Yes.
But it would be a lie.
Negative stuff after the cut. The severity of the issues being discussed are not a knock against transition; there is only ever one regret here: not doing it earlier.
The truth is: I didn't approach coming out to my partner seriously.
I didn't agonize over it. I didn't spend much time building up to it either. Perhaps I thought as long as I didn't really care, it wouldn't hurt as much. I had already presumed to know her answer. So it was on a whim (of pain, of hurt) to have the talk. We had just had dinner. The dishes were done. Our flatmate was out that night. Everything in place except for my heart. I opened my mouth, yet a bout of violent fear seized me and forced me to change my question.
Cowardly, I asked, "Would you love me if I was non-binary?"
I was too scared to voice the truth. Perhaps I was trying to inch towards it. But I'm not non-binary. It was just another lie, another mask, another bit of self-deception. If you're offended at my appropriation of the term "non-binary", go right ahead. I will admit my lack of courage--a common theme you'll see as I go on--as inwardly, I thought this was the only question I needed to ask. She'll say "no", and once I got that definitive, conclusive "no", I would stop. I would never talk about it ever again.
My partner didn't even hesitate. "Yes. I'd still love you."
The fear magnified. The hurt I had bottled up threatened to burst out. Part of me wished she had said no.
After a long moment, I asked if she would love me if I was trans.
She looked at me, eyes flickering briefly in thought. That moment hung over me like a guillotine.
"Yeah. Of course," she said.
I don't remember much else except telling her, "I think I'm a girl," and then bursting into tears.
My partner lost her job a week later. For months on end, I went back to repressing myself. Everything put back on hold as we struggled to find our footing. It was surprisingly easy to go back into the closet. I had done it all my life.
All I had to do was not think about it.
Later, once we returned to a bit of stability, when I could finally ask myself questions again, everything made a turn for the worse. The excruciating wait for hormones was only part of it (there was a wonderful phone call where they tell you that they're suddenly understaffed so they have to delay your hormones by a few more months). The other part was realizing that your entire life was going to come crumbling down.
It's unfortunate, but people will stop being an ally once they notice having a trans friend socially degrades their position. I can't remember who said that 'likeability is survival for us', but I think about that quite often.
I have lost multiple friends since coming out. The number continues to go up every month or so. It's frightening to think that twelve years of friendship didn't mean anything. Or that being the best man for someone's wedding didn't matter (nevermind that I sacrificed and cut my precious hair that I had been growing for five months to present better for him). The fact that I was finally happy wasn't something they ever put into consideration. My parents, possessing that trademark Asian min-max mentality, say things like, "Well, maybe you should've come out sooner before your body got irreparably damaged. Now everything's ruined." My QAnon in-laws already think Satan sent me to seduce their daughter away, let alone that I'm trans (they still don't know). Either way, my life didn't just come to a halt; it actively regressed.
Everyone's who's gone through this will know it's not just about the destruction of your social life. If you're lucky enough to afford laser/electrolysis, you can spend the next year and a half in pain. God help you if you want surgery. Not to mention the voice training, the shame, the embarassment, the horror of looking into the mirror and slowly building your wardrobe for--what feels like--the first time ever. It's about coming out to people over and over again (and at some point you might ask if you should just do it in groups to get it over with), being forced to explain yourself under their looks of surprise and horror before the sudden influx of rude questions about what you're going to do with your genitals. I discovered too late that I didn't have to justify anything. I could just reply, "that's none of your business."
Coming out is about realizing you're suddenly worthless. Congratulations on being a burden. Please submit proof of your value.
My endocrinologist told me on three separate appointments, without knowing any additional detail, that I was 100% going to get divorced by my partner. (we're engaged, not married) When I came out to my friends, they all asked if we'd already broken up. My parents literally told me I was making a mistake by giving my partner up for this 'frivolous whim'.
With every successive interaction, my self-worth evaporated. Twitter is full of people saying that you should break up with your pre-transition partner; I understand the context behind why they are saying this and a lot of their reasons are valid.
But these talks weighed on me for months. It weighs on me even now.
Finances are the number one reason for a breakup. I have, in my darkest moments, asked my partner if she ever wanted me to go back. To just not be transgender. We have had multiple hour long talks about the fact that I would be blowing through my entire life savings and more. When I told her the price for laser hair removal, her eyebrows flew through the roof. That was just the beginning.
I told her she was free to break off our engagement.
I cried constantly during these talks. I told her that I was sorry--sorry for being selfish, sorry for lying to her all these years (I would tell her that I always knew, but also I never knew because I never dared so how could I have known?). More than anything, I was sorry for what I was taking away from her: a wedding, vacations, an easier life, a larger safety net because fuck the gamedev industry. And maybe, just maybe, I was taking away her deposit for a house that we knew would never happen, but at least the possibility felt like it was there.
She told me she never needed those things. She'd laugh and say, a wedding in this economy? "Also honey, you know I can take myself to Japan right?" She's speaking the truth, but hard times change people. And we're about to go through really hard times.
I asked if she misses the old me. She cracked up and pointed out I was always her wife. From the first date, I had courted her "like a lesbian". She reminded me that I wrote her love letters and made a scrapbook for Christmas. That her previous partners had all forced themselves on her sexually, but I had asked permission to kiss her on the second date and it made her blush so hard she couldn't stop thinking about it.
She told me that I'm "even more lesbian now" and so she loves me even more.
I asked if life is good for her because I am struggling like never before. I am selling our belongings for a move to, what I believe, a country with better access to resources but every sale constitutes another bit of gender-affirming care. Fuck, I am a mess and she sees it; there are days where she comes up the stairs and catches me crying and she'll burst into the room, wondering if I've hurt myself. And I am hurt. These are wounds that cannot be fixed by balms. The stitching hurts more than the pain.
She told me that she is happiest when I am happy. Prior to coming out, there was always something 'wrong' with me that she could never put her finger on. I was there, but not there. I was always scared to be in the present.
"There was half of you missing in our old photos. You weren't a complete person."
It's difficult looking at your dead self, so I pick the ones that I know are the happiest. I go far back in my photo album, thinking I could grab something before the dysphoria had set in. Ten years back, then, with an old ex. I remember taking some of these photos during the happier moments of my life. I think--I know--that I was smiling, that I was happy.
There's nothing but a sad husk. Dulled eyes and a hole where the heart should be.
She told me that I have never smiled as brightly as I have done now, and so, she's never been more happy in our relationship. She likes to say "my wife (she calls me that even though we're not married) is almost perfect--she just needs to play cosy games with me and not destroy me utterly in board games." I do not know what I've done to deserve her. I feel horribly, to this day, that my parents were right when they told me early on that "we're surprised she fell in love with you."
My partner tells me that the "man of the household" never needed to exist. That the "man" who shouldered every burden when she fell into unemployment twice should've let her in long ago.
And I told my partner the truth. That for so many months, I hated being trans. That's a thought you're not allowed to express in the queer community--not regarding random spurts of trauma dumping, but rather discussions in the proper context. If you do, you simply say, "[insert prominent trans figure here] said they just want to stop being trans. Because being trans is always something you're doing on top of everything else. You think there's an endpoint but there isn't." Somehow, this appeal to authority works excellently in shielding yourself from harassment and then you just wink wink nudge nudge your way into hinting that you might agree or go through similar thoughts, but actually, haha, you're just like everyone else! You love being trans! Boy, you're so proud of being transgender!
I'm so glad I have to fight to survive! (^ _ ^) Being put in a losing situation and struggling constantly for my life just makes us stronger and more intensely beautiful. (◕‿◕)
There is no beauty in what was stolen from me.
I want to say that I wish I was born cis or that actually, passing is the most important thing and I'm willing to do whatever it takes--and I understand how violent and self-destructive this drive can be, how ready I am to sacrifice to achieve this goal. But this thought is the betrayal, the knife in the back for your community, now you're one of those people who perpetuate that passing is the only thing that matters despite it being a wholly personal thought and you're despicable for making others in less fortunate situations feel bad; can you please just stick to messages of acceptance? Thank you. These are things you're never allowed to say, especially if you're not white; somehow your 'queerness' and 'clockiness' is something to be even more proud of when you're Asian. Won't you please think of your 'beautiful' ethnic features? ('beautiful' only in this context of exploitation and fetishism, but ugly everywhere else in the social world) But the thoughts remain and they won't leave: you're sick and disabled and struggling and just like everyone else you're depressed and fucking about with rent money and the underlying racism in this world, why do you have to do all this trans stuff on top of it all?
There's a running joke I have with some friends. Two red buttons appear in front of you. Each of them will take away 10 years of your lifespan. In return, one button will make you white. The other button will make you cis.
We laugh and say that we'd press both. And then we all agreed we'd live longer.
Don't worry, it's just a joke. Nobody needs to know what we'd really do.
It's hard for us not to see everything as a punishment for not coming out earlier. In every way, physically, mentally, socially, and most of all, monetarily, we are being punished. One of them said that it felt like she didn't fit in anywhere--not in the cis world because she was clocky, nor in the trans community because she wasn't white nor a programmer nor did she like gaming and that was all they ever talked about. Both were incredibly alienating. Her answer was to eventually pass, to go deep stealth, because maybe she could rejoin the cis world which felt more diverse and the goal was easier than forcing herself to be someone she wasn't: a computer science major.
It was incredibly funny hearing her say that. It was extremely sad to hear her be so tunnel-visioned.
When people say the obvious answer is, "you should just be yourself," I would like to respond it's always easier with a community. Having someone else take you thrifting for the first time, for example. Wanting to know how injections work in a country that doesn't provide any can be daunting--I'm doing it wrong, I'm scared of needles, I don't know where to start. Often, in order to proceed, you're forced to fit in, because the alternative is loneliness and fear and that can be overwhelming.
In time, they will be themselves. But for now, they're scared and the need for a safe space is crippling, so any shelter is shelter; any company, even Linux users, are welcome.
I think this is why passing is such a beautiful fantasy to so many people, because it allows the 'best' (subjective) of both worlds--being accepted (i.e. quality of life) while holding onto everything you once had. Most of us just don't fit into what appears to the 'majority' of the queer community. We don't like the same things. We don't make the same jokes. We simply don't talk or think the same way. I've spoken to so many people who tell me that they always thought they couldn't possibly be queer. They weren't like those people, and since those were the 'signifiers', they never thought to question themselves.
There's a transwoman I speak to from Taiwan on LINE (a messaging app). She tells me that she already knew as a child so she secretly bought pills and started taking them.
"Jealous?" she asked.
"Of course."
"Yeah, I knew you'd be." I cracked up at this response. This is not her being rude--this is simply how Taiwanese people speak. Our humour is rather harsh and cutting, and I always get whiplash whenever I fly home.
She said, "There's some things you can never fix. Your hips, your ribs, your shoulders. It's just too late for you." After a moment's silence, she asked why it always takes me so long to answer anything.
I told her that I'm always trying to use the 'right' words. If I was online, I would never dare to say 'fix' or 'too late'. (obviously there is no 'too late') There are consequences to those words; people bring in their own emotions and will derail whatever point you're trying to make. Comparatively, it was almost refreshing and funny to hear someone be so blunt to me again. Notalgic, even. We Asians grew up with being bodyshamed as 'obese' for having a tiny bit of what white people might call 'chicken fat'. Our parents never held back on their words.
「剩下的問題一切用錢解決。」"But for everything else, just use money."
「哇靠！你太台灣人了！」 "Holy shit! That's so Taiwanese of you!"
"Do you want a solution or not? At least you get the benefit of not living here. 現在換我嫉妒你了。 Now I'm jealous."
We laugh. She asked me if it's true that western society is more accepting of trans people.
My answer was that "it depends."
She told me that she's gone through six surgeries, one which she regrets terribly. It also happened to be the most important one. (Please note that six is not a lot. What constitutes as FFS tends to be four-five separate surgeries. She simply does them one at a time.) Life is a constant cycle of debt.
"The pain has to end somewhere. I either get there or I don't."
I then proceeded to ask the dumbest question I could ever ask in the context of two Asians speaking to each other: "Is it ever enough to just be you?"
「哎呀，你別那麼笨好不好? 」 "Aiya, don't be so stupid, okay?"
She's right. It was a stupid question. As if our surroundings allowed us to achieve anything but straight A's at school. In every way, society considers us both 'failures'. I used to tell my Asian friends that I was about ten places away from getting on the Honours board. Their response?
"What a loser." This is an incredibly funny joke. I hope you read it that way. Also, nine out of ten of them got on the Honours board, which made it even funnier.
But.
I am seeing a horrible, devastating trend among the Asian transwomen I speak to. All of us have this dogged determination that passing can be done. It must be done. It is a remnant of our school years and our upbringings; we will get into the top university or our lives are over. The sacrifice our parents did for us must be repaid. It's not enough to get there, you have to excel.
All the white kids at school laughing at us, saying, "C's get degrees, you stupid chinks!" while we toiled away. None of us bothered explaining that passing is losing. Our standards are not there.
And if we don't get to what's expected of us--
Well--
She then told me, in that silly tone of enlightened mountain sages or buddhist monks from our childhood TV shows, that humans can handle incredible amounts of pain as long as they know there's an endpoint.
She had set one up for herself. Once she told me--and I realized how often I saw that specific number being parroted in the transgender community--I began to understand.
That number is the upper limit of what we can take.
"That's how life is. Society tells us to work hard. So we do it. We work harder than anyone. We'll sacrifice everything but it changes nothing--it's too late. These problems can only be fixed with a time machine."
Every single one of us begging to turn back time just so we can transition earlier.
「所以呢？」 "So?" she said.
「所以什麼？」"...Huh?"
「你要把這些問題割掉嗎？」"Are you going to cut these problems out of your body?"
I think there is merit to some discussion of this: passing (which correlates strongly with 'whiteness'), safety, and racism. Perhaps a parallel can be drawn with statistics about Asian populations and plastic surgery, how all of my Korean friends had them as a graduation gift to fit into white beauty standards and if they couldn't afford it, they'd take out loans because once you're prettier and 'whiter', then you'd get a higher paying job in western countries that'll allow you to pay off those loans quicker. Asian blepharoplasty (get you some double eyelids like white people) and rhinoplasty (increase the protruding amount to get closer to a white person's 'strong' and 'elegant' nose) are the most common surgeries in Taiwan. You can see a correlation to FFS, to passing itself, pressed up against the false idea that at some point you can 'stop' being trans or Asian, at the very least, fit in with the white people. Every Asian at my school envied the girls who were half caucasian, because only those girls were allowed to be proud of 'ethnic features' because they were white-conforming enough despite having some of our 'ugly' features while the rest of us were endlessly shamed for them. The names and descriptors white people called us. The bullying, the pulling of their eyes, the remarks at our flat, round faces. The constant "ching-chong, ling-long." It was inescapable--not just New Zealand, I experienced the exact same harassment in Australia and Canada (hilariously, it was Aussies in Canada who jumped me and beat me up).
None of us really want to be white. But at some point, we realized most of life's problems would be fixed if we were. During my early twenties, every single interviewer/manager would tell me that they've never seen a candidate as good as I am, only for me to meet the boss and have them look at my face and say, "Yeah, so, uhh, we're looking for someone who'll better fit into our company culture."
I cannot tell you how many opportunites I've lost for being Asian. And if you dare to reply to me saying, "well, you wouldn't have wanted to work at a racist place like that anyway," I am going to ask you very kindly to go away.
I did want to work there. I would've sold my body for it. Also, I want to pay rent. So go away.
My friend told me that one of the most important points of plastic surgery was whether you could hide it or not; there will always be scars, but make sure it's the ones that fade within 2-6 months. "People are mean," she said. Natural beauty is deserved. The knife is not. There's no 'earning' it, no matter how much pain or however much you paid for it.
White people always tell me that I was wrong to get plastic surgery in Korea and I should've just accepted my 'ethnic beauty' (sarcasm) and spend the rest of my life fighting injustices instead of--I don't fucking know--actually living a life and being treated properly in this society. They act like they're going to save me from media enforced beauty standards. Like, honestly, do they think we Asians are stupid? Do they think these ideas are 'western-exclusive'?
'You don't hate being Asian, you hate racism', yeah okay, as if I don't fucking know that? By the way, just let me go blast off in my fucking anti-racism cannon and go fix racism! I'll fix politics and capitalism and--uhh, what's that word--colonialism too while I'm at it! Whatever I do, just don't get surgery, oh no!
I loved the way she waved her hands when she spoke.
Her experiences echo why some trans women hide the fact they've had FFS. While it may be harmful to give the false idea that HRT can change your bone structure, what does it matter? At least they're shielded from harassment and rancid takes on body positivity and acceptance. Some of them will insist that FFS is 'corrective surgery' and not 'plastic'. The distinction matters because it protects them.
My friend reminded me of the previous things I wrote on cohost and the vitriole I received for not considering someone else's extremely niche situation in my own writing about myself. I think about cohost's reaction to the discussion on orientalism. Ultimately, there's no need to justify anything. Perhaps some people can take this as food for thought, but the truth is that this writing, this attempt at articulating my thoughts, was always my personal stand-in for therapy--cause, you know, trans people (if privileged enough to afford survival) are always forced to choose between spending their precious money on gender-affirming care or therapy itself.
Here's a joke: gender-affirming care helps you live while therapy gives you the will to live. Which one do you choose? Why, gender-affirming care, of course. You've gone through your whole life without the will to live, what's a few years more?
Haha.
Often, I remember the phrase, "all trans women are strong" and know that never applied to me. I always knew I wasn't going to make it. I still don't. Being totally honest, with how cruel this world is, I don't even think I want to.
I am fading away. I don't know how else to say this: but I am disappearing.
When my friend got assaulted in public and hospitalized for being trans, I cried for an entire week. I didn't sleep for two. Oftentimes, the cruelty seems unending. How could the world hurt someone I love so much? I want to scream that my heart can't break any more, so please, just stop. I hate this. I can't live with my friends in the UK telling me that "their government wants them to die" or that they're suddenly being "mysteriously let go." They whisper that they have to try and get everything done now even before their bodies are ready, before their hearts are prepared, before they even know if they want it, because what if it all gets taken away? What if you never get the chance ever again?
What if a children's book writer uses her billions as leverage to talk to the head of a political party and actively influence policy?
The villains are winning. You say, life isn't about winning, there's nothing to win! But these politicians have made it so. Gleefully, they are winning. There are days where I just want to say: Fine! You win! That's what you want to hear, isn't it? I give up! I don't want to be in this world anymore.
I hate being trans. I don't understand how anyone can claim they love being transgender.
This is torture.
Still, time passes.
The hormones do their work. I find love--genuine, great love--in the transgender community. I cry at everything now. Movies. Music, especially. Tunes that I once listened to stoically now bring joy with every beat and beautiful melody. Sometimes, I think sunsets should be outlawed because they're too amazing. The cows at the park bring me to tears and I spend half an hour listening to them fart and chew grass.
I love things because they are things. I do not need them to be any more than themselves.
I start research on every single procedure possible, despite being terrified of anything medical. I consider every option for finances and loans. HRT moves so slow, being told to wait and 'trust the process' can drive you mad. I do not think many people actually do that. Who doesn't look at transition timelines and go, 'this is because they started pre-25', 'this is because their face shape was androgynous enough to begin with', 'this is survivorship bias', 'only pretty people post their photos' etc. So I compile my own list and notes and prepare every feasible document years beforehand (except the ones that are time sensitive) just to feel some sense of control, only to end up sick in bed for hours or days afterwards. I am squeamish. The research has to be spaced out over multiple days lest I throw up. Anxiety makes me throw up anyway.
Medical things are my worse nightmare; the amount of fear and trauma I have regarding the "knife" is indescribable. But there's no other way. Do or do not, either choice leads to unspeakable pain--but one might have an end to it.
Estrogen may be magic, but the real trick was always surgery.
I begin to understand why so many people gravitate towards aggressive surgeons, even if they're not the best, even if sometimes cutting less is more. There's a false conflation here that the more they take, the more feminine you'll be. A lot of people see their bodies as something to defeat. They make jokes like, "Taking loans at firelink to fight the hardest Dark Souls boss: MY BROW BONE". If you can afford it, you can probably only afford it once, so it doesn't matter how big the risk, just cut it all, cut all these mistakes in life away.
I do not know if I will commit to the "knife". Worringly, I do not know if I will ever be able to recover from the trauma.
And I come to the horrible realization that I've never lived before in my life. My partner replies that this is the reason that she lets me do anything I want and have anything I ask for. Because despite her telling me outright to go for it, I never do it. I never buy the things I desire. She says I cook for her and others, never myself. She has a room full of lego and plushies. All my belongings fit in one box; less, if you take out the packing peanuts for my teacup collection.
Like every other trans woman, I've smothered my desires and lived every moment trying not to be a burden. My parents instructed me to "never ever cause trouble for other people". I learned early on how to fit in and keep quiet (to which the world praised me for it) and put my head down and study--just keep studying--life will pay off in the end with all your straight A's. This is what you should want. Compliance will bring those rewards. Little wonder we don't "trust the process." It just feels like an echo of the lies we were fed.
I don't think I've ever lived until now.
And yet, I've carved too much out to fit into this world and there's nothing left. I don't know what to do now that I'm finally allowed to be me.
Time continues to pass. The hormones work at a snail's pace, but they do work. I heal slowly. Life gets better. Turns out, dysphoria eats all your social energy. I was always a social person, but now I think I crave company.
I fall in love with so many people and this world. I tell my partner that I might be polyamorous and she says that's fine, I'm allowed to love as many people as I want, maybe introduce her along the way. I tell her that I break down crying--often in disbelief--at how lucky I am to have those trans friends. If you know, you know the sheer depths of joy and gratitude and love I'm talking about. Sometimes, I'll think of them and just start sobbing at my desk. I want to thank them for saving me, for supporting me every step of the way. I was never strong. I'm still not. I couldn't have gone this far without them.
I love you.
I love that I have the chance to love you.
I love every bit of these fucked up circumstances because it all leads to me loving you.
Oh.
So this is why people say they love being transgender.