This piece “Lillian”, by an FTM poet called Miles, blew my mind so hard that it forced me out of the lull in my blogging.
Miles was given the name Lillian by his parents, but in this poem he tells the story of guarding that name for his future daughter. Given the distress that so many trans people –myself included– associate with our birth names, it’s so liberating to see someone rebuild that pain into an idea this sweet and beautiful.
Here’s the video and –after the jump– the transcription I typed up. If anyone knows anything about Miles, please let me know — I’d love to hear more of his work, but the video doesn’t have enough information to go on. Edit: commenter Andy let us know about Miles’s blog.
Yesterday, my dad organized our family’s first Boys’ Night Out. I wasn’t invited.
I had managed to swallow my frustration and get over it, but today several people told me how much fun it was. Plus, I missed seeing some of my cousins who live far away. I’ve been pretty happy and busy these past weeks –which is why I haven’t been posting– but this really annoys me: my dad knows I’m trans, and he knows how much I enjoy spending time with my male cousins and uncles.
Does anyone else have a story about being left out (or included!) in family events because of (or regardless of) gender?
I signed up for college a few weeks ago and was instructed to confirm my registration online around this time of year. A while ago I tried to do it: I typed in my ID number, found my legal name, and proceeded to answer several statistical questions: Which secondary school did I attend? Do I have a car? Does my home have a computer? Am I male or female?
At first I answered “male”; went back and marked “female”; decided it was just for statistical reasons and clicked “male”. But when my registration was almost complete, I was asked to confirm my personal data: I was going to need it to pick up my student ID. I found out that my sex wasn’t just a statistical fact: it was one of the three or four pieces of information that the college considers important. What would happen if I marked “male”? My whole application might be considered invalid, although my full legal name and ID number should be enough to prove my (legal) identity. This university has a quarter million students; if I mess up, fixing my mistake would be a bureaucratic nightmare.
So, why not pick “female”? After all, my legal name is already there; it’s not like choosing “male” would fix the identity mismatch. If the system had classified me as female from the beginning, I wouldn’t have minded so much; I wouldn’t have to mis-identify myself. But having the choice right in front of me –and nobody physically present to ask “Are you sure you’re male, Rosa?” (not my real name)– is sooo tempting. It’s hard, not being able to choose what feels right; having to define myself in a way that’s grossly incorrect.
I’m going to think this over, but I know I’ll probably mark “female”; I don’t want to risk missing a semester because my info wasn’t processed correctly. In any case, I have to argue with the registration people to let me include my preferred name somewhere, so I can fight this battle when I do that. At least my student ID picture will look like me.
I only started assuming a male identity when I realized that I didn’t have to reproduce the dominant types of masculinity; that I didn’t have to be misogynous, oppressive, and rude. Of course, not all men are like that, and many women are, but I had to overcome that mental hurdle. I’m not the only one: it seems like many other transmasculine people have the same internal struggle.
I aim to embody a non-violent, non-aggressive form of masculinity. Since I started being perceived consistently as male by strangers, I’ve striven to be especially aware of what a male presence might mean to women. For instance, I try not to walk too close behind women because I know they might get nervous; being in her situation makes me nervous, too. In fact, I don’t know why I single out females (and kids, and the elderly); in a way, I’m reproducing the stereotype that those groups are defenseless. I feel that, as a guy, I have a debt towards all of womankind, but I’m kind of conflicted about that simplification: gender isn’t the only source of power.
In any case, I think I’ve succeeded in looking relatively harmless. My small and non-muscular body helps, too. But recently I’ve realized the costs of gentle masculinity. Apparently, looking peaceful makes me look passive, and that in turn makes me look vulnerable. At least, that would explain why people try to rob me so much, threatening me with violence. Apparently, young teenage boys are the target of preference for mugging. But why? Is it because we aren’t physically strong enough? Because we haven’t yet learned to be aggressive? And why only boys: do more girls shout for help, or are strangers more prone to help girls and women?
I’ve learned two things from these experiences. First of all, that I want to take a self-defense class to feel safer on the streets (Which one, though? Can I take a women’s class?). Second, I think this is a physically-explicit example of why boys reproduce hegemonic masculinities: it’s about survival. Maybe mugging experiences aren’t essential for most boys, but I remember that the least aggressive guys in primary school were singled out for bullying. They were called fags, and people who look like fags can still get attacked on the street.
In that context, I bet that all the guys tried to look tougher; the ones who couldn’t had a hard time. Even now, knowing about power and privilege, it’s hard for me not to wish for the ability to look more threatening to thieves (although I’d like to be able to turn it off for everyone else). So imagine what the threat of violence –physical or verbal– can do to a growing boy, too young to think about the big-picture consequences of his attitudes. Add all the media images of masculinity, and that’s enough to suppress any visible signs of gentleness in young men.
There are lots of neat articles out there about radical masculinity and feminist masculinity. I just hope I’m brave enough to embody what I believe is right.
My parents never cease to surprise me. They were so disappointed when I gradually cut my hair and started wearing “men’s” clothes: I had a really hard time doing those things because I knew they suffered. For a long time, my mom looked at me as if I had a terminal illness, except right before haircuts — then she couldn’t look at me at all. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined their reaction!
When my dad found my letter, he woke me up just to tell me that he loved me very much and that he’d deal with my mom. He showed her the letter today, and they both came to tell me that they had imagined many of the feelings I had written about, and that they just needed time to adjust. Neither of them feel ready to use my chosen name, but that’s fine by me; it would feel weird, anyway.
I’m partly relieved and partly wary — it’s hard to believe that they aren’t going to confront me at all. But I’m trying to wave those concerns away, because even if I do meet resistance in the future –when I start T, for instance– it’s useless to worry right now. In any case I know that I’m immensely privileged to have gotten such a warm response. I just wish it could be this way for everyone.
This whole experience goes to show that people’s reactions really can’t be predicted. I had read about cases like this, where open-minded parents respond badly or viceversa, but for me, the lesson only sank in through experience.
Several weeks ago, I wrote a post stating that I wanted to come out to my parents. I didn’t change my mind: I just wanted to come out at the right moment, and I knew my parents were going to be really busy until now. I planned on coming out yesterday, but I lost my mind on Sunday and couldn’t finish my letter. And then I didn’t know how to actually hand it to them.
At this very instant, my coming-out letter sits on the kitchen counter, waiting for my early-bird dad to find it a few hours from now.
I don’t feel as nervous as I did during the last few days. I’ve been planning this for so long –writing the letter, finding resources they could relate to, printing out articles by supportive parents of trans children– that it feels as if I had come out already (almost). At least, I’m getting this over with. The tension was affecting me physically.
Really, how shocked can my parents be when they read my letter? I’m pretty sure my mom noticed that I bind. They already assume I’m a lesbian, so being trans can’t be SOOO much worse. In some senses it’s “worse” –I’m altering their whole perception of their child– but they’re already afraid for my safety; and it might be safer to be a straight-looking guy than a visibly queer woman. On the other hand, I wasn’t much of a tomboy growing up, so they might hang onto that as “proof” that it’s just a phase.
These predictions are probably useless, because they’re going to react with their hearts rather than their minds. Even if my trans identity were totally obvious, and made perfect sense, they would still be shocked.
Wish me luck :) And above all, the confidence to get through this unscathed.
Hooray! The Pride March is today!
For months, I’ve been attending a journalism course where all my classmates think –or thought– I was a cisgender boy. I’ve known the teacher for a couple of years –he used to teach at my school– so he knows I’m trans, but no one else figured it out. I used to think they might, but since then I’ve learned that most people in my context will see me as a guy. I could say that I “pass” well, but I know that in other places I might be perceived differently; so I won’t take any credit.
That class was my safe haven; the one place where I was treated unconditionally as a boy. Until very recently, only my closest friends managed to use my preferred name and pronouns, and on my insecure days I doubt that they really see me as a guy (well, I know they can’t, but it only matters on insecure days). With my journalism mates, I knew that my masculinity wouldn’t be constantly in question. If I didn’t bind too tightly, no one would think “ah, her –his– breasts are showing”; they wouldn’t even be aware of my chest. If I didn’t act super-macho, they wouldn’t attribute it to my female past. Having that space to look forward to, every week, helped keep me sane.
I might say that I was/am “stealth” there, but I didn’t feel like I was lying. Although I always got along well with my classmates, we’ve never spoken much about our personal lives. I didn’t have any reasons to come out as trans, and I did have a very good reason not to: my maleness would begin to be questioned, and I didn’t know if it would hold up to their scrutiny. Some people, after learning I’m trans, suddenly start using all the wrong pronouns; after all, for a heteronormative mind, it’s very easy to see me as a female/girl. I did not want to lose my gender oasis.
This last class, the teacher invited a gay activist for us to interview (gotta love this teacher). The activist was really trans-positive, so afterwards, when we were walking together to the bus stop –him, a classmate, and I– I mentioned I was trans. My classmate was surprised and said I didn’t have to “hide” who I was — uh, sorry, I was being myself when I introduced myself as a guy. But all in all, she was cool about it. Also, she wasn’t sure whether I was a trans boy or a trans girl — I love it when I confuse people that way. (I might miss my androgyny a bit if I take T, although it’s worth it.)
Knowing this person, she’s probably going to tell some of our other classmates, which is fine. We only have a few lessons left before summer break, so I don’t have much to lose, and it’s a good chance to teach the other students a couple of things about trans people. First, that we aren’t always visible. Second, that we can be kinda nice people. A couple of kids made transphobic jokes at one point, so I hope I make them reconsider their view of trans folk — or at least, make them think twice before telling those jokes among people they think are cis. I’m not going to change the world, but I think tiny actions like this do help a little. I hope that, someday, I feel strong enough to do more.
Finding my first name was easy: it popped into my head suddenly and I simply knew that it fit. My middle name won’t be so important, so I can relax and think about what it will mean to me: do I want it to have a symbolic meaning, honor someone I admire, or be original?
I thought of using something rare because my first and last names are pretty common — there are two people at my school with my same full name. I considered a couple of non-Spanish names, but using something non-European seems like cultural appropriation, and using something from the elsewhere in Europe –especially something in English– seems like selling out to cultural imperialism (although, of course, Spaniards came to this land through colonialism). I want to read more about these issues, but in the meantime, I think I’ll stick to Hispanic names. At least they feel more familiar.
I also thought of using my old name as a middle name, but right now, it’s hard for me to even hear it. Sometimes, when I stumble over it unexpectedly, I feel a little confused — is that really my ID? Both reactions –rejection and detachment– aren’t exactly positive, so I can rule out that option. Actually, I don’t even know if it’s legal for a guy to have a girl name: the Argentinian naming law forbids any names that cause confusion about a person’s sex (it also forbids “extravagant”, “ridiculous” or hard-to-pronounce names, which sounds rather imprecise). There are traditional exceptions, such as María José for a girl and José María for a boy. In any case, right now, it’s impossible for me to get a name or gender change on my ID for legal reasons that I’ll explain in a future post.
My best choice is my dad’s middle name. I love it for several reasons: it’s a way to pay tribute to my father, I like how it sounds, and I like its initial — it fits well into the rest of my name. Plus, I identify strongly with it, and its meaning seems appropriate: “new house”. My first name, by the way, means “free” — interpreting broadly, I’d be free to find my place in the world.
Those meanings aren’t uber-important to me; it’s nice to know that my name doesn’t mean “cranky”, but that doesn’t have much weight in daily life. People are more likely to associate other people with their namesakes rather than with their name’s origin. For instance, the name Eva, to most Argentinians, would evoke Eva Perón rather than Adam and Eve. None of my names has such a strong association, which is fine by me — it could become an onerous burden. And I want to be “free to find my own place in the world”, don’t I?
For now, at least, I’m enjoying the freedom to try on different middle names.
This week, it finally hit me: in two months, I’ll be done with secondary school. I only became fully aware of the consequences today, at a “how to sign up for college” information session. I thought I wouldn’t have to sign up until next year; as it turns out, registration is next MONTH. So I have to figure out, pronto, how to get signed up with my correct name.
I chose a college which, according to many word-of-mouth sources, has a “preferred name” system for trans students. However, I haven’t found any documents confirming that. Even if it is true, the person in charge of enrollment might not be aware of that, so I should be prepared. I tried calling several information numbers, unsuccessfully, and I sent emails to three different info addresses. If all fails, I’ll try going in person.
I’ve chosen to stay at my school for an extra year to do introductory college-level courses –allowing me to skip a whole year at the university– which is why I thought I wouldn’t have to sign up at college yet. I do, though, and on top of that I still have to persuade the secondary-school principal to accept my preferred name. The good thing is, if I manage to change my name at school but not at the university, it won’t be a big deal — I’ll have an extra year to work with that.
In any case, I have to come out to my parents soon. I promised myself that I’d talk to them right after graduating, so I can move forward with my life a bit. I’d like to start testosterone next year and actively research chest surgeons: I thought a lot about this, and I want both. Since graduation dates got pushed far into November, my coming out plans fall dangerously close to Christmas. I don’t want to postpone this indefinitely –even though it’s the VERY SCARIEST thing I’ve ever done– so I might talk to them before ending school. I don’t want to ruin my graduation, but it might be best to it during the school year so I have something to distract me for most of every day.
I hadn’t decided on this before typing this post, so I’m feeling pretty shaken now. But I’m glad that I’m finally going confront my greatest fear. In Spanish, it’s called “huir hacia delante”: fleeing forward. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but at least I’m going to be moving somewhere.
