will and kate: a romance made to last

The vows.  The kiss.  The gown. The wedding of the decade.

According to a news survey, Prince William and Kate Middleton’s matrimonial ceremony is the most watched  TV event with more than 2 billion viewers glued to the boob tube! And so Ellen Degeneres said, that only 8 people in the world failed to do so.

It`s truly a remarkable moment where the world suffers too  much from tragedies and bad news, that a fairy tale romance could somehow alleviate everyones` spirit, even for a short time. I for one was mesmerized at this event and praise Kate for her impeccable taste for her wedding gown. I actually imagined her in that exact gown. The classic silhouette , the feminine lacy details, the simple and elegant outcome is just breathtaking.

Prince William is a stunner himself. That vibrant red military uniform is his homage to his fleet. And my respect goes to that.

They look so beautiful together, and I hope this marriage would be in for the long run.

Cheers to the newly wed Will and Kate J

I'm a B*TCH

Sometimes it’s so hard to find myself in the crowd. I look at the mirror and I don’t recognize the person in my reflection. So much had changed in me both physically and mentally through out my adult life. It’s a constant struggle to stay sane in this crazy world. I am never the pessimistic, but negative stuff does take its toll on me. I guess I’m only human to succumb to my weaknesses.

I grew up unattractive. Pimply. Short. Dry hair. Betty Suarez in the TV series Ugly Betty is far more beautiful than I was. I was poor too, so gearing up fancy clothes and accessories to cover my outside flaws , was out of the equation. So there I was ugly face  and wearing ugly clothes. Good thing I was smart and academically forward so that diverted the public’s attention to my achievements. But finding someone to share love  with was a struggle. Physical attraction was always the key. And I didn’t have that attractive physicality.

Good thing I have the best girl friends in the world who shared their beauty secrets to me. Feminine hormones to smoothen the skin. A trip to the salon for the hair. Gym and good food for the body. So I suddenly turned from being ugly to somewhat not ugly. Still not on the beautiful meter. But it has been a journey getting to the somewhat not ugly stage and for that I’m already grateful.

Money hadn’t been a problem when I moved here in Canada so I had the resources to do more in the beauty department. Surgeries. Implants.Laser treatments. Gym membership. Full hair lavish treatments.  And the best cosmetics , clothes and accessories my credit card can afford.

I consider myself pretty now. Guys recognize me with a different passion. But I  still find myself lost in the crowd, my reflection suggests another person. I cry some nights, but not with anger with what Ive done with myself, but with what Ive done with who I am. I have become more arrogant, snobbish and stuck up. I have demeaned girls in my world who are ugly and masculine looking. I have toyed  with people’s feelings. I boast of my designer stuff like I’m a celebrity. Bitch, that’s what I’ve become.Worse is I am aware of all of these and I choose to do it still. Like there is the devil telling me to do it.

Yes I am pretty. Quite attractive.  Inside I’m burning. But hey, I know I can still put out that devilish fire in me. In time , I will. I know, I will.

to all men who adore trannies....

Why do some men treat us like toys?  I have been in the tranny scene long enough to know SOME of the reasons why they treat us like a piece of meat. First of, they watch too much porn, that when the time comes that they are faced with a real  tgirl, their cock pulsates like their brains migrated there. And in so doing think from that appendage that grows hard upon the sight of something sexually stimulating. The thing that pisses me off extremely  is  that their hands are all over! From the ass,  to caressing the cleavage and to the crotch.   Unbelievable.  And they wonder why the girls are rude to them. Secondly, they are paying ( this applies to escorts) , so they think that they have the authority as a customer or a client to do whatever they please. Like spit on your asshole, put the bare finger in the asshole, go bareback,  biting, slapping,  and so on and so forth without the consent of the escort. Now, what is very annoying is that they are only paying for a chicken nugget but wants the whole chicken, catch my drift? Thirdly, is that they perceive what they see. They see a tgirl dressed in nothing but the skimpiest of clothes, they see a slut, a whore, and yep a piece of meat. Sigh, I guess we girls should start dressing up as nuns in order to gain respect.

This does not apply to all men though. Although some are dogs, some are puppies. Respectful, polite and chivalrous,  a man who knows how to treat a woman. Treat a tgirl the same way you would treat your mother. But if you have an estranged relationship with your mother and you want to strangle her, then that’s a different story. Just be polite and be nice. Buy her a drink if you are at the club. Ask her what you can do as a paying client. What are your limitations and boundaries. And don’t watch porn prior to seeing  a tgirl. The image playing in your mind would change your demeanor  upon meeting a tgirl face to face. Also make sure you have mints  and applied underarm Old spice when engaging with a tgirl. And when I say engaging I mean intercourse. Don’t wonder why she is of considerable distance when this engagement is ensuing.

So guys, all I have to say is, I may be a tranny, yes I am yummy as a steak, but nothing is more attractive than a guy who can figuratively belt out Aretha Franklin’s R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

a new beginning

Today I start a blog. This would chronicle my journey and evolution  as a transsexual;  my thoughts on things relevant or irrelevant to life; my opinions on current events, gossips and juicy headlines ; or just anything brewing under the blazing sun. This would definitely hone my literary and writing skills, or the lack thereof…

I would like to keep my identity anonymous to protect the people who are dear to me. Although this might be the case, my stories are pretty accurate and factual.

I grew up on a third world country in Asia, witnessed a lot of things a normal kid shouldn’t lay eyes on. Poverty had always been on my shoulders,  but I know this is just temporary as I am driven to change this course of my life. My parents pointed out the value of education early on in my existence. Saying this would be my ticket out of fish and rice on to the plate of medium rare steak and mash potatoes with red wine. Of course they are right. Although I prefer my steak well done, which I had two nights ago . Our house was small. Two bedrooms. One washroom.  A small kitchen. A leaky roof.  Six people. Natural disasters are our enemies , because not only do we fear for our lives during that dilemma, but after that as well. Our house is not built on the strongest of foundations,  and if the big bad wolf would pay a visit, he would just have to blow our house to get in. My childhood wasn’t about playing games and wishing on a bright star, it was more of a struggle…food on the table, clothes to wear, tuition fees for school, medicine when one of us is sick, etc. These things have defined me as person. And while now I’m sitting on my comfortable bed , typing on my Mac laptop, and snacking on Godiva chocolates, I look back on these and smile. Although I wouldn’t wish this to anyone who had been accustomed to a good life, I would definitely go through that stage again just because they made me strong. A strong individual who can go through almost anything . A strong individual who can weather any storm. A strong individual who can take on majestic risks and rise victoriously.

Barbie was actually my first influence to being a transsexual.  Her golden hair, wide blue eyes, those legs that literary and figuratively went on for days, and that curve that the Coke bottle envies, were my fascination. My sister dressed her up and vividly thought  that I was putting her clothes to. Those sexy outfits and stiletto shoes were what made my dreams. Somedays I would secretly snuck Barbie out of my sister’s closet and play with her. Brush her long shiny hair. Imagined putting on her make- up and conjured up a story about her snatching every men in the club. That was just the beginning of a tedious and rigorous trek to being the woman I am today.

In grade school, I would always approach and play with the girls. The boys back then are into rough games and tend to get cuts and bruises and  I couldn’t handle that. So I would stick with my girl friends and play some gentle games like jump rope. After that I would braid their hairs and pretend we were on pageants. I would act as the host and judge. Underneath me wishing I was the candidate instead.

High school was a bit different. Hormones had already started kicking in and they kicked so hard I despised that period. Acne, deep voice, broad shoulders, and hairs all over! How I hoped that someone had already introduced me to estrogen pills to supress those horrible effects. But no, I have to go through them, and endure those horrendous  transforming phase. At this point in my life, my effeminate and flamboyant nature had already been evident despite the masculine changes I was  entering. And that nature got me bullied a lot. I cried. I didn’t like being teased. My family thought I was queer too and my father would give me the hardest time about it. I just embraced the fact that I was different and in order to shift the attention from my unique personality, I studied hard and became an honor  student. My family was so proud of me but that didn’t shake anything. Their fear that I'll be something different still remain intact in their brains. And that my future would just be confined to the beauty parlor where most of my kind in my country end up.

Trying to prove them wrong, I got into a prestigious university and got myself a Bachelor’s Degree in Health Sciences. I thought that it would be a great pre-med course for I wanted to be a doctor. I have already been accepted to a medical school when the unthinkable happened, my family can’t afford to send me to my dreams of becoming a healer. I was crushed but that didn’t end my life. I looked for a job and after a long search ended up with one. I was overworked and underpaid but I didn’t complain.

I was in that job when an agency came to my city looking for immigrants to Canada. I applied and luckily got in. Long story short, I am already here.

More stories to come J