my transition

There was never really a decision to make when I  transitioned from a man to a woman. It just felt natural blossoming to an exotic flower. Although it was a difficult adventure at first, meeting girls who are  fenced in my world, made this journey a little bit less stressful.

I have a lot of sisters who were primarily my major influences. I saw them playing with their Barbie dolls. Colorful, pretty clothes. Make-up. Girly stuff. They seemed like magnets that drew  me so close to them. That’s probably the reason why I was so effeminate, I was surrounded with women and all that shines, glitters and sparkles with them. Just imagine a boy, crouched on the floor, hands on his chin, admiring the girls twirl in an invisible star burst, smiling with that beautifully painted face, hairs curled to perfection, well manicured and pedicured nails, and the clothes, those clothes…flowy, satiny . It’s what dreams are made of.

At first I thought I was just gay. A flamboyant boy girating with Cindy Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”. Then my desire burnt more intensely as I grow older. I had my hair grown longer. I subscribed to Avon for their make-ups. I used my sister’s clothes. I wore feminine underwear. Shoes, stilletos!

My parents were not in the same boat as I were though when they found out about my dressing up. My brothers gave me a hard time at a point of disowning me. Most of my relatives despised me. I was a disgrace and a source of embarrassment they said. Everyone it seemed looked at me as if I were a freak of nature… It was a very hard phase of my life. But I didn’t crumble. I studied hard and proved to everyone that despite my being different, I can still be a source of pride. And I did. I graduated with honors from grade school to college. I put myself to scholarship my entire academic career.My immediate family slowly and gradually embraced the person that I have become. My father officially gave up the day when  he gave me a hug and he said he was proud of me. That day was when I gave him my first pay check from my first job. My mother, sisters and brothers gave me their nod of approval at varying points of my life.

Although this has been the case with my  family, the society I lived in was an entirely different story. I got bullied, teased and hurt. Physically and emotionally hurt. Men would only want me for financial reasons, not for the love I was hoping to be reciprocated. Things like these would drive a person like me to depression or insanity. Nothing has kept me alive but  my faith in God. I know in time things would change.

Even though I live in Canada now,  sometimes I still feel that my journey has its bumps and hurdles.  When people would find out the real person that I am, the disgust in their faces are unthinkable. As if I were a monster that walked on the surface of the earth. This may be the case, but Canadian men love us ,to the point of spoiling us and that I am not complaining. It’s a good feeling being wanted even  if it’s lustful. Even if I am just a piece of meat.

It  is here in Canada where I had my breast implants, some facial feminization surgery, laser treatments, skin buffing, silicone pumps …the whole nine yards.

I love my life. It is too short of a journey for me to dwell on depression and sadness. But it did come at one point. Maybe it will come again. I pray for strength all the time. That when that time comes, I’ll be ready.