With you, I felt like a woman.

Thursday

6 a.m. — Wake up, shower, throw on some makeup, pack up my things, and off to the airport. Try not to think about it.

11 a.m. — Board the airplane. I’m sandwiched between two strangers and I can’t stop crying. It’s awkward.

12:30 p.m. — Land at the airport. Pick up my suitcase from baggage claim and board a train to Tokyo. I’m seated next to Maddy and I’m crying. It’s awkward.

1:30 p.m. — Arrive at the station, give a rushed goodbye to Maddy and Luca, buy a shinkansen¹ ticket, and head to the platform. I’m seated in-between a couple eating bento.² I’m still crying. It’s awkward.

3 p.m. — Pull into my home station. Walk to a Starbucks and grab a hot chai latte, and head to the bus platform. A few other stragglers with suitcases board the bus with me. This time, I have a seat to myself, which is nice because I’m crying. But it’s still awkward.

4:30 p.m. — Reach the bus stop outside my apartment. Climb the steps to my door, roll my suitcase into the spare room, and collapse on my futon. I’m crying, but it’s not awkward anymore.

Buzz, buzz! It’s Maddy.

I think you look pretty when you’re crying

That’s something, at least.

Monday, last week

My phone vibrates. A message asks if I’ve packed yet. I reply: no lol

I leave for our trip in less than twelve hours, but no worries. I just have to throw some clothes in a suitcase. It shouldn’t take too long. What’s far more pressing right now, is that I need to make myself look like a girl as best I can. We need a girl shower, and we need to do some self-care. I pop my AirPods in and switch on my Bad Girl Club playlist. Let’s get to work.

Pluck eyebrows. Get bolder and pluck more than I’ve ever dared before, and hey, it looks good.

Squirt some shaving gel in hand, slather over legs, shave with razor. Do the same for my ass and chest. While I’m already in the area, boof the day’s progesterone. Then, epilator for the arms because it’s the only place I can stand the pain.

Finish with moisturizer and a face mask.

Tomorrow, I meet with Maddy and Luca, whom I haven’t seen in six years. Despite all three of us being genderqueer in some capacity, I still feel like I have to prove myself. I must be the best version of a girl that I can be. The last thing I want is to show up nearly a year into my transition, and have nothing to show for it. I have to be pretty.

It’s stupid and I know it, but I’m very insecure (and I know this, too). Maddy asked me the other day if I was excited about our trip. I gave her a mixed answer. I am excited to see them again after all these years, but I’m swimming in anxiety. The last two trips I’ve taken with friends in Japan resulted in those friendships ending immediately after, and those were before I transitioned. I don’t want that to happen again. Definitely not with these two.

So, if I can just be pretty enough; if I can just be friendly enough; if I can just be cute enough; if I can just be funny enough; if I can just be better, then maybe I’ll get through this trip with our friendships still intact.

My head hits the pillow a little after 1 a.m. Another buzz from my phone as our group chat is alight with excitement about tomorrow. I silence it. For now, rest. Tomorrow, it’s showtime.

---

Are you enjoying your first year?

No. It’s fucking hard and expensive and draining. It’s worth it, absolutely, and I’m really proud of the progress I’ve made. But I would’ve preferred to never have had to do this in the first place. Transitioning in front of everyone—my students, especially—is just embarrassing. Uncomfortable. All of this puts a certain degree of attention on me that I’ve worked my entire life to avoid. I don’t like the spotlight, but in order to move forward that’s where I have to be.

Saturday, last week

After deciding on what to order, I set the menu down on the dark wooden table. This TGI Friday’s is much cleaner than those I’ve encountered in America. The tables lack that dull sheen and stickiness so characteristic of many American chain restaurants, and the menu’s pages aren’t stuck to one another with some sort of mystery goo.

Maddy is seated next to me, with Luca across from them. Behind Luca, tall panoramic windows showcasing the Tokyo skyline stretch across the dining room, making him appear angelic as the blooming daylight casts him in silhouette and spills over its edges. Christmas music plays over speakers, and multicolored lights wrapped around the decor twinkle in sync. I sit there, enjoying the moment, knowing it’ll likely be one of the very few moments I have this year that actually feels like Christmas.

“Are we ready to order?” I ask, and everyone nods. I hail the waiter over. Maddy and Luca order cheeseburgers. I order mac n’ cheese, and onion rings for the table. The waiter departs.

We make some small talk as we wait for our food, but my friends are slaves to The Algorithm and inevitably their attentions turn to their timelines. I stare out the window and feel slightly smug at being able to stay off my phone for more than five minutes.

Luca looks up from The Algorithm and stares right at me. His brow furrows a bit. “For what it’s worth, I just forgot you’re trans,” he says, then turns back to his phone.

I don’t believe him. I believe he’s trying to be nice, but I don’t believe he earnestly forgot. Then again, that was a strange thing to say out-of-the-blue. Does he mean to imply that I pass? If so, he surely needs to get his eyes checked.

Still, no one has ever said such a thing to me before. I’m flustered and probably blushing. I’m not used to this sort of attention. Usually when I receive attention toward my trans-ness, it feels uncomfortable and invasive. But this? It feels good, even if he is just trying to be nice.

You know, I could get used to this.

---

Hey, do you find that your pants fit better since you started E? My pants are always falling down now. Like, look at this. My pussy is out!

Now that you mention it, I suppose so. I used to wear a belt every day, but now they’re more a fashion accessory than a necessity.

Wednesday, last week

Lock. The. Fuck. In. We’re an hour away from our Airbnb and our only hope of return is the last train of the night. We have to navigate these train stations and make these transfers flawlessly if we want to be sleeping in our beds tonight.

Normally, this would be no problem. I’m pretty good at navigating around Tokyo. The thing is, I’m absolutely plastered and I can’t walk straight to save my life. It turns out, estrogen has made me a bit of a lightweight! Oops.

We’ve got about a seven-minute walk from this izakaya³ to the station, a fifteen-minute train ride and a transfer after that, and a transfer after that. Also, I have to pee. Like, so bad.

Hold it in. There’s no time.

We make it to the station and step onto our train, and transfer to another train after. As I ride the train, my bladder screams at me. The absolute last thing I want to do is piss myself on the first day I see Maddy and Luca in six years. What would they think? Oh god, look at what E’s done to her. She’s a total mess!

Thankfully, our next train won’t depart for about ten minutes. Maddy needs to go, too, so I follow her to the restrooms. To the left is the men’s restroom, painted in blue hues. To the right is the women’s restroom, painted in pink hues. Maddy hugs a right immediately. I hesitate for a moment. Even in my sloshed state, I’m scared of following Maddy. Despite clearly presenting as a woman, I’m still hesitant to enter the women’s room. I have yet to make the switch. All it takes is one transphobe and my night’s over.

But honey, I ain’t using the men’s room in a fucking skirt.

Fuck it. I rush after Maddy and burst into a stall before my bladder does. Sweet relief. I exit the stall and wash my hands. My face looks blurry in the mirror. Strange, I didn’t expect to find the women’s restroom using funhouse mirrors. Then again, maybe it’s just the alcohol fucking with me.

It’s probably the alcohol.

Japan hates paper towels, so I shake my hands lightly to dry them. As I do, I look around and see:

A restroom. It’s not very interesting. It’s very normal, actually. It’s so normal that it’s incredibly mundane. I’m bored already.

And what’s this? That feeling of extreme discomfort of being the only one presenting as a woman in a room lined with urinals is… not here? Oh, huh.

And the transphobes, where are they? A trans girl is using the restroom and no one’s calling the police? Oh, huh.

You know, this is pretty alright.

Maddy smiles at me. “Ready?” she asks.

“Yeah, let’s go,” I stammer.

---

Does it shrink?

Yes. No. It’s a muscle, so it’s like a “use it or lose it” situation. It really sucked for a while after I started E because my sex drive was basically nonexistent, yet I still had to make things work. If you ever want bottom surgery, you still want all that tissue, you know? It’s better now since I’ve started progesterone, at least. It’s become a lot more enjoyable and doesn’t take me like two fucking hours.

Friday, last week

The map is an orgy of so many segments and floors, it’s difficult to make any sense of it. But one thing catches my eye: a Rainforest Cafe.

“Oh my god, they have a Rainforest Cafe!” I exclaim, bouncing on my toes. “I didn’t know these even existed in Japan!” Maddy and Luca don’t seem as enthused about this revelation as I am, but they’re amused by my excitement. “I loved these as a kid. Can we go, please?”

They agree, and we wander through the mall’s endless corridors for what feels like hours before we arrive at a familiar tropical scene. A small reception stand keeps watch before it, with a remarkably cute receptionist stood behind it. She has jet-black hair in pigtails, dramatic goth-lite makeup done, nose piercings, and a fashion sense that I can only hope to attain a small fraction of one day. Damn.

As the only Japanese speaker of our party, I step up to the stand and ask the girl if she could seat a party for three. She looks up at me with her dramatically styled eyes, and pauses for a brief second.

Anyone around me wouldn’t think twice of her reaction, but after living here for about four years, I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing these brief little moments when someone is caught off-guard. I see it often whenever I visit anywhere that doesn’t see many foreigners: a split-second lowering of the socially mandated, outward-facing polite facade as the person thinks, Oh shit, a foreigner. What do I do?

These days, it’s more complicated. Now, it’s unclear whether the weird looks I receive are because I’m foreign, trans, or both. But seeing as we’re currently right outside of Tokyo Disney, the answer in this case is obvious.

The girl looks at me with confusion and a hint of disgust. It’s a look that reads: What are you?

I’ve received this look a lot today, and until this point I’ve been able to keep my cool. But receiving such a look from this girl at Rainforest Cafe feels like one too many. It feels like I’ve been reduced to a thing. Tears start to well up in the corners of my eyes, but I force them to retreat.

She tells me the restaurant is full. We go somewhere else.

Later that night, the three of us chat in the kitchen of our Airbnb. I excuse myself early, claiming I’m tired. Maddy and Luca chat for a couple more hours, while I wet my blankets with tears until I fall asleep.

Better luck tomorrow.

---

Are you going to stay in Japan for a while longer?

I guess. I don’t know what else to do. There’s not much waiting for me in America at this point, and that’s putting all the safety concerns with this administration aside. I’ve still got about a year-and-a-half left here, for sure. After, though? I dunno. Maybe I’ll stick around, or maybe I’ll go somewhere else. Thailand could be a decent option? I’d like to get bottom surgery one day. Maybe FFS,⁴ too, but I dunno about that one yet. How am I ever going to pay for any of that? No clue. But if I lived in Thailand for a bit, maybe I could get that stuff covered with insurance. That’s just an idea, though. I haven’t really looked into it. Thinking about what to do after all this is scary, so I try not to think about it most of the time.

Thursday, last week

My head is still pounding after overdoing it last night. I spent the morning and afternoon alternating between vomiting and sleeping, but I did my time and now I’m mostly okay. Maddy and Luca went out shopping, and I’m meeting with them in Akihabara because Luca wanted to visit it.

I haven’t been in years, but I’ve heard Akiba is a shadow of its former self. It’s true. Once the otaku⁵ mecca, now the place looks like something that once was, but no longer is. It feels sad. The fun hobbyist shops are mostly gone by now, and many of the arcades have gone to the wayside since COVID. It feels macabre, like a decaying carcass pawned off as a tourist trap. Many of the signs are English-forward, with speaker announcements barking advertisements exclusively in English, an occurrence I’ve barely encountered in my time living here. The only Japanese people in sight are the shop employees or the scantily clad maids lining the sidewalks in hopes to lure sad, horny men to their cafes. They must be freezing on this cool December night.

It’s still an enjoyable time among good friends, at least. We stroll down the main strip, idly chatting about little things we find along the way. Maddy spies an oven mitt with a Shiba Inu on it that they’re enamored with, and I buy it for her.

In time, we walk the length of the main Akiba stretch and decide to head home. The conversation has dried up, and we walk toward the station in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. I think over the first couple of days of our trip thus far, then turn to Maddy.

“It’s strange,” I say. “You and Luca keep referring to me as ‘she’ and I find myself confused as to who you’re talking to.”

“Why? Aren’t those your pronouns?” they ask in a tone that implies I’m being ridiculous.

“Yeah, but no one really uses them. I mean, in Japanese there aren’t really gendered pronouns, so it doesn’t come up too much. I’m just not used to hearing people refer to me as a girl. It’s nice.”

“You are a girl.”

I smile. They’re right, of course. Of that, there’s no doubt, but I still haven’t grown accustomed to my gender being accepted and unquestioned. Everyone has heard about how difficult it is to get people to change how they refer to and see you, but many people don’t realize how difficult that can be for yourself, too. Transphobes might claim this is proof that one is just deluding themselves, but it’s only natural for it to take time to get used to seeing yourself in an entirely different light than what you’re used to.

These days, I look in the mirror and am frequently taken aback—Who’s that girl? Wait, that’s me. It’s not that I don’t believe I’m a girl, but the image I have of myself in my mind seems to lag behind reality. It’s similar to when I adopted my chosen name. At first, it felt strange being referred to by a name different from the one I’d been called for the first two decades of my life. It felt good, but it took some time for my brain to adapt to “Sage = me.”

It’s the same with pronouns. Maddy and Luca haven’t slipped once, though. We’ve spent a good chunk of time together, too. I’m starting to believe that perhaps they’re not simply entertaining me—maybe they genuinely see me as a girl.

And you know what? I’m starting to genuinely see myself as one, too.

---

I’m so glad you’re finally happy.

Hmm. “Happy” is relative and often feels like it’s not for people like me. But, I’m getting there.

Monday

This conversation is boring me to death. For the past hour, it’s been nonstop K-pop idol gossip and talk about pop culture that soars right over my head. I’ve never felt older.

The alcohol isn’t doing its job. Typically, when I feel awkward and out of place, it’s a great option to quell the anxiety that eats away at my insides. But tonight, this beer just isn’t cutting it. I’m stone-cold sober and, oh god, here we go again about some rapper I’ve never heard of…

At least this place is cute. A bizarrely labyrinthian, pastel-colored, two-story okonomiyaki⁶ joint in the heart of Dotonbori run by a bubbly Japanese woman. The walls are plastered with little signs in flowery handwriting explaining all manner of things. There’s more text on the walls than paint, yet I’m running out of things to read. I try to look entertained. We’re meeting with Grace tonight, who we haven’t seen in six years, and I don’t want to make a bad impression.

Now they’re talking about someone called Sexyy Red. Who are these people? And when did I become so out of touch?

I excuse myself to the restroom. It’s tucked away in a brightly colored corner, and it’s horribly claustrophobic, as restrooms in Japan often are. I have to press myself up against the wall to make enough space to even open the door. I shut it behind me, and let out a long sigh. A bored-looking girl stares back at me in the mirror. I practice some expressions to feign amusement, but give up. I’ve never been good at hiding my boredom.

Squeezing myself back through the doorway, I return to my seat. My beer glass is empty. Luca is saying something about Tennessee. He’s very drunk, and his words are heavily slurred. A white woman from the table next to us looks up, seemingly annoyed, and corrects Luca on the population of Tennessee. She says she knows many things about the populations of American states. Luca asks what the population of Nashville is. She says Nashville isn’t a state. I stifle a laugh. The woman rolls her eyes and returns to her food. The conversation turns back toward people I’ve never heard of.

With nothing to contribute to the current act of socialization taking place before me, I try to convince myself I’m not actually there. I’m unsuccessful, though. My mind basks in anxiety. While everyone at our table is queer, I’m the only clocky trans person present. Luca transitioned years ago and just looks like a normal dude, while Maddy and Grace present conventionally female. I stand out like a sore thumb, in my purple cardigan and long black skirt, with my face that’s somewhere between boy and girl. To a random passerby, I may as well have a sign above my head that reads QUEER ALERT!

At last, our party decides to move on from this place. Good timing, too—I was just starting to get overstimulated by all its bright colors and echo-filled chambers. We shuffle out onto the dark Osaka streets in search of an arcade, and I hang a few paces back from the group. I consider making up some bullshit excuse to turn in early, but I decide against it. It’s Luca’s birthday and I don’t want to ruin it.

As we near Namba Station, Luca realizes I’m sulking. He turns to me, a little wobbly on his feet, and places one hand on each of my shoulders—perhaps to steady himself, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. Looking me right in the eye, he says, “Look, I wouldn’t normally say this, but I’m kinda drunk right now and…” His words are horribly slurred, and normally I would feel quite uncomfortable to be so close to a man—drunk or sober—yet I feel perfectly at ease in this moment. There’s an earnestness in his voice. It’s endearing.

“Sage, you’re beautiful! You’re absolutely gorgeous!” he says a little too loudly. “Like, you look soooooo good. You’re still in your first year of transition, and you look that good already? It’s craaaaazy.” My heart skips a beat, maybe two. It’s like he was reading my mind and knew just what to say. Maybe I’m not as good at hiding my emotions as I thought.

“That’s really sweet,” I reply, “but I’m clocky and I know it. I don’t pass. On the plane this morning, a stewardess came up to me and said, ‘Sir, please put your bag below the seat in front of you.’ Like, I’m wearing a skirt, a full face of makeup, nails done, and I’m still getting misgendered.”

Luca waves his hands in drunken dismissal. “I still had people that would call me a girl for a while. Even when I grew out my beard, they’d decide my voice was too high, and suddenly I’m a girl to them. But, you look good, girl.”

This is the most emotion I’ve seen from Luca throughout this whole trip. He’s laying it on a little thick, but it’s kinda cute.

Maddy and Grace join in, agreeing with Luca. “You look really pretty, girl,” they say. “Seriously.”

I blush and look away. I’m not used to all this praise.

“I try really hard. Even still, my voice sounds like a man,” I protest. “And fair enough, I haven’t done any voice training yet, but-”

Luca’s face scrunches up. “No,” he says. “No! Your voice is totally androgynous.”

Maddy and Grace nod in agreement. Of this, I know they’re lying. I’ve heard recordings of my voice. They’re just being nice. Regardless, it’s really sweet.

Luca continues showering me with praise. He goes on and on about how pretty I am, how I should feel good about myself, and how well I’m transitioning. Truthfully, it feels a bit like pandering, but I appreciate it nonetheless.

Maybe they’re right. Even if I don’t pass, so what? Who’s to say “pretty” is limited to only those strictly adhering to gender norms, which are bullshit anyway?

I may still have a long way to go, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be pretty now.

I walk a little taller. I sway my hips a little more. I let my wrists loosen, and sink into this warm feeling. I’m a woman. Fully. Not sorta-a-woman, not half-a-woman, just a woman. Just another girl on the street.

I smile and walk to the arcade with everyone, no longer lagging behind.

---

I’m working two jobs. Sometimes I go into work around 2 a.m., sleep during the day, and head to my other job in the evening. Just trying to make rent! At least I’m not working at Amazon anymore.

I can’t imagine. I dunno how you do it—I’d be dead after the first week, if that. Though, I can’t say I’m faring too much better, financially. It feels like I’m just scraping by since starting my transition, and I don’t really have a plan to change that. That’s the thing, isn’t it? People like us—we don’t tend to care much about things other people do, like a career. We don’t have that luxury, you know? I’ve got this friend; she’s got all these plans for the future. She’ll talk about how this and that is going to lead into these other things. She talks about things like savings. She talks about eventually settling down one day, maybe. I can’t relate. I’m out here just trying to survive. Every day is a battle. I’m just happy to still be here. But, I’m living paycheck-to-paycheck, you know? Like, how am I supposed to plan for the future when I can’t predict tomorrow? I turned 28 last week. For most of my life, I didn’t think I’d even be alive at this age. I’m making it up as I go.

Tuesday

As we approach the mass of people, I spot Luca and Grace near the back. I give them a wave and push through the crowd toward them, with Maddy following close behind. Everyone’s eyes are fixated on a stage where men are dancing with what looks like evil Hello Kitty as it sings a song. It sounds truly awful to my ears, but the crowd seems to be into it.

I look to Luca. He appears to be enjoying himself, but he never looks unhappy. Grace is enthralled with the performance, occasionally miming dance moves along with the performers. Maddy gives me a look that says she’s feeling the same way I am and mouths, I need to pee.

I nod. “Me too,” I say. “Let’s go.”

We break out of the crowd in search of a restroom. We’re in the Hollywood area of Universal Studios Japan, made to look like an idyllic early 20th century America. The sun has set, and the streets are illuminated by cast iron streetlights. It’s almost magical.

Ahead of us is a restaurant styled like an old diner, complete with checked floors and cherry red booth seating inside; smooth curves and a chrome finish outside. “I love the look of old-fashioned diners,” I say.

“I was just thinking that!” Maddy exclaims.

“Honestly, I just really love that early 20th century American aesthetic. It’s so expressive.”

“I love the fashion.”

“Oh my god, yes! Like those flared dresses in bright colors?”

“So cute. You should wear one!”

“Ah, I don’t have that kind of confidence.”

“Well, I didn’t mean right now.”

We find a restroom tucked behind the diner. My skirt’s zipper gets stuck, and I fumble around with it for a few minutes. After I finish, Maddy is already waiting outside for me.

“So, um,” I start, “do you like, want to go back to whatever that was?”

They laugh. “Not really.”

“Thank god. It was so loud. Let’s go find somewhere to chill.”

After a bit of aimless wandering, we take a seat on a bench set against a small lake. It’s peaceful. The park’s lights bounce off the water, creating a van Gogh-esque scene in the reflection. The Flying Dinosaur, a Jurassic Park themed roller coaster, extends over the water. Every minute or two, a car zooms past on its rails, with distant screams reverberating in its wake.

“There’s still an hour-and-a-half left until the park closes,” I state.

“Anything else you want to do?” Maddy asks.

I check the park’s wait times on my phone. JAWS has a 30-minute queue.

“Well, there’s JAWS. The wait isn’t bad!”

“Ooh, JAWS sounds fun. Want to go?”

“I mean, they’re still watching that show, though. Do we just go without them?”

Maddy shrugs. “We could.”

“I don’t want to make them mad, though.”

“We don’t have to tell them.”

“Ha, that seems like a bad idea.”

Luca and Grace approach from behind and sit next to us. Grace tells us about another show she wants to go to. It starts in 30 minutes. I groan, but not loudly enough for anyone to hear.

Grace looks at Maddy and me. “We should go early so we can get a good spot,” she says. “Let’s head over, unless, like, you guys want to sit here some more.” Luca and Grace depart.

“Did you hear that?” I ask Maddy.

“Hear what?”

“Grace. She was like, ‘Let’s go, unless you wanna sit here some more,’” I say in a mocking voice. “Like, okay bitch! I just wanted to sit and rest my feet for a bit, damn.”

Maddy laughs. “I guess we should go,” she says.

“Yeah,” I reluctantly agree.

The show is a musical about a group of friends gathering for Christmas. Inexplicably, the show is 90% Japanese and 10% English, with no translations of any kind on offer. Yet, the characters apparently understand each other perfectly. It’s also woefully over-acted in typical Japanese fashion, which I’ve always found grating. I pull out my phone and message Maddy, to keep my bitching private.

we could be on jaws rn

I know
This blows

lmaooo

Sworry
Ten minutes in and I was like damn I’m ready for it to be done

it’s really 30min

Yeah
Fuck

Eventually, the show ends and we exit the park. Grace takes the lead and begins hunting for a place for dinner.

Luca and Grace chat while they look for a restaurant, while Maddy and I follow loosely behind. Maddy points out a guy she thinks is cute.

“Yeah, he is cute,” I say, my voice starting to trail off.

“You good?” Maddy asks.

“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking about something else.”

“About what?”

“Oh, um,” I pause. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Ah, come on!”

“Fine. I was thinking about how bad I want a girl to rail me right now.”

“Oh?” Maddy giggles. “Like who?”

“I don’t think I care too much right now.” I snap out of it. “Sorry, I started progesterone last month, and it’s really kickstarted my sex drive. It’s kinda driving me crazy.”

Maddy begins to say something, but Grace shouts over her shoulder, “How about Hard Rock Cafe?”

It seems our unofficial directive for this trip is to hit up as many American chain restaurants as we can find. I don’t miss America much, but sometimes I get an itch that nothing can scratch quite like multi-thousand calorie, overpriced mediocre food served on gigantic plates. Hard Rock Cafe sounds perfect.

“Sure,” I say.

Maddy looks at me and whispers, “We’ll finish this conversation later.”

We’re sat at a window-side table by one of the most attractive women I think I’ve ever seen. As she explains the daily specials, I pinch myself. Is this real right now?

After she leaves, Maddy says the waitress is really pretty. Grace and Luca agree.

“Oh my god, right?” I say, trying to keep my voice at an even tone. “She’s gorgeous.”

“You should tell her that,” Maddy says.

“Yeah, put yourself out there,” Grace agrees.

“Absolutely not.” I shake my head. “There is no way in hell I’m saying anything to her.”

Grace and Maddy exchange a look of mild disappointment.

“Ooh, the bartender’s super cute, too,” Grace chimes.

I whip around in my seat and the table erupts in laughter.

“You turned so fast!” Grace bellows. “I’ve never seen you move so quickly!”

I giggle. “He’s pretty cute, but nothing like our waitress.”

The table fills with laughter once more.

God, this is so nice. Chatting shit, talking about cute boys and girls, idly bitching—I feel like one of the girls. No, I am one of the girls. It’s all I ever wanted. This is why I transitioned. This makes all the pain worth it.

---

Could’ve gone to JAWS.

We should totally be on JAWS right now.

Thursday (and evermore)

I’ve cried a lot over the past year, but today just might take the cake. I’m impressed there’s still enough moisture left in my body for tears. My eyes feel like leaky faucets, and I can’t turn the knobs hard enough to shut them off.

Strange as it may sound, I like crying. For many years, I was completely unable to cry, which denied me the cathartic emotional release it provides. As an emotional person, this was hell.

But today, I’ve cried for about twelve hours straight. I’m over it. I would like to stop, but I don’t seem able to. The truth is, I’m in mourning.

Of course, I’m going to miss being around Maddy and Luca. The past week-and-a-half has been so much fun, and we all still like each other now that it’s over. We’ve made many great memories that I’m sure we’ll continue talking about years into the future. But we’ve also spent 99% of the time we’ve known each other apart. I’ll be fine.

It’s more than that. Maddy and Luca saw me as a girl, without exception. They used my pronouns without error. They didn’t deadname me once. They told me I look pretty. They treated me like a girl, and scoffed at any notion of doing otherwise. I wasn’t less-than, I was.

It was the first time I’ve experienced such treatment since I started transitioning. With them, I didn’t have anything to prove. I was a girl whether I had my makeup done or not; whether I was presenting overtly femme or not—no matter what.

But now it’s over. I have the weekend to myself, but come Monday I must return to my usual day-to-day: an uncomfortable place of occasional deadnaming and misgendering, confusion around bathroom use, and the constant disconcerting feeling that I have to prove myself. That I have to be better. That I have to be more woman than any other woman around me because all eyes are on me.

It’s back to the daily hum-drum of: what are you?

I’m no longer a woman. I’m a trans woman, at best. These tears are to lament the loss of my brief womanhood.

As I lay there on my futon, my hair spilled across my dampened pillow, I recall an exchange with my mother:

i just hate that me just existing creates these awkward situations for you. it’s not fair to you at all, you didn’t ask for this
i mean i didn’t either i guess, but you know

You existing does not create awkward situations. Other people’s inability to see that your decisions aren’t about them is what makes awkward situations.

thanks mom, i needed that. love you

I love you, too! Don’t let anyone make you feel bad about who you are. You are amazing and courageous and I am honored to be your mom!

The tears fall at a waning pace now. My mind drifts to Michelle, and the little I Saw the TV Glow keychains she made for my birthday.

My thoughts were if you’re ever having a rough day you can look at them and remember where you started and how far you’ve come, and that you’re more strong and capable than you may think or feel in that moment.

Transition is fucking hard. It’s one of the hardest things a person can do. Over the past year, I’ve spent an incredible amount of time, effort, and money to get where I am now. I’m broke and I’m tired and I’ve undergone so much pain to get here, too—both mental and physical. Hours of agonizing at my face in the mirror. Hours of plucking hairs and blasting my skin with lasers. Was it worth it?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

In January, I took a selfie the day I started HRT. I looked upon that picture and felt hopeless. There was no way a girl could ever be made of that! My skin was rough and ugly, and my hair was thinning at a concerningly rapid rate. I looked old and tired. But a year later, my skin looks supple and young, and my hair has filled in. I feel great.

In June, I had the crash-out of the century. I bitched about shaving and always cutting up my face—I no longer have this problem. I bitched about my bulge not allowing me to wear the pants I wanted—I no longer have this problem. I bitched about eyeliner being impossible to apply—I no longer have this problem. I bitched about never wearing a dress or a skirt—I wear skirts all the time now. I bitched about never being able to afford laser for my face—I’m five sessions in now. I bitched about not seeing a girl in the mirror—I see her all the time now.

In July, I wrote about feeling so hopelessly ugly. Now, I no longer have to tell myself I look pretty in the hopes that one day I’ll believe it. If I start to doubt myself, all I need to do is to peer into the mirror and the doubt fades away. Once, mirrors were the most terrifying things on the planet. Now, I find them affirming. A year in, I never expected to be where I am now. If this is where I’m able to reach after just a year, I can’t wait to see where I am at the two, three, four, five year marks. Luca was right. I’m transitioning beautifully.

Something happened at the eleventh month. It was as if everything started to click into place, and I could clearly see the fruits of all my efforts finally coming to fruition. While I still haven’t reached my final destination, I am proud of who I am in the current moment, and Maddy and Luca taught me that I’m not crazy for feeling that way. They brought out a self-confidence in myself that I haven’t felt in years.

I’m a girl, and I don’t care what anyone says, I look good.

The tears cease at last, and I drift into a peaceful rest. I don’t know it yet, but the coming weeks will bring about the most difficult challenge yet in my transition. But this time, I will be ready. This time, I know who I am and that I’m worth fighting for.

Transition is hard, and filled with countless hurdles that try to snuff you out. But I’m stronger.

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