This is a post that scares me to write. It has to do with desire, hope, and the possibility of euphoria. But it feels important to write down what I saw in my imagination when I first realized I was transgender. (I even had to take a moment to edit my bio here on Medium. I had left it saying nonbinary as a defense mechanism).
I tend to describe this moment, THE realization, as though giant, cosmic puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place. It felt like seeing the sun rise after a too long night. Anxieties I’d lived with all my life vanished — because they finally had a reason for existing. In other words, I finally understood them. For the first time, I made sense to myself.
In this moment was a sense of calm, a sense of new peace. But in the next moments and days, I was deliriously happy with possibility. It will be hard for me to fully articulate who I saw myself as, but I’ll do my best.
I work part-time as a tutor at the graduate school I attend. One of the students who I’d helped a few times, AM, has, in my mind, a similar complexion as mine. I’d like to think that in some ways, we look like we could be related. In lieu of being able to picture myself as a woman, I borrowed her image in my imagination. She is the same height as me, has curly, kinky textured hair that maybe mine would look like grown out. She’s beautiful. Caramel skin, wide eyes, with a demeanor next to joyousness and deep feeling.
I imagined myself as her, but in the circles I ran in. I imagined appearing before classmates and other people newer to me with a big smile, wearing a flowy summer dress in a bold color and design. Because I pictured myself so happy in my body, I even felt more in touch with my Blackness. And in my imagination I was dancing; with friends, classmates, and strangers. I saw myself as mesmerizing, attention-grabbing, and earnest. I imagined the supportive shouts of people not for a successful transition, but simply for who I was. I felt able to harness whatever connective, relational power is mine and feel at home with everyone. Never second-guessing my thoughts and actions; simply being.
My wishful thinking pictures me dancing a lot. Especially with friends. I saw myself caught up in movement, riding the whirlwind of non-thinking enjoyment, able to express with my body that I belonged on this earth, that I was alive and here and full of love for everyone around me.
I kept this image in my mind for days. Whenever I pictured it, I was transported fully, leaving the real world to dance in the promised land. Not long after I came out to myself and before I came out to anyone else, my partner and I went on a camping trip. In my bliss, I forgot nearly everything I was supposed to bring. I brought my toiletries and one shirt, and not the food, alcohol, and other clothes I needed for the trip. When I was alone, walking from our tent to get to a water faucet, I tried to walk like this new me would walk. When I think about it now, this walk wasn’t to lure anyone’s gaze. It was a walk of enjoyment, of feeling out the new body I was in.
I saw myself in the body of AM for a few days before I saw myself inhabiting the bodies of other women, as my mind guessed randomly what I might eventually look like. I even saw myself learning the guitar and how to sing, and posting videos to Youtube covering songs by Against Me!. In those visions I was more petite, more punk, surprising old friends who might find these videos with my appearance and newfound talents.
It’s surprising to me, as I write this, how central music is to my deepest fantasies. I wonder if it’s the magic of forgetting oneself through music, or the ability to express something beyond conversation. In my life I’m not a musician. If anything, I’m a wannabe DJ who performs for only myself through Spotify curation and obscure radio channels.
If I question this aspect of why music is so integral for me, the answer might be that maybe I’m tired of being self-aware. I’m tired of desperately trying to understand the mystery of myself and always failing, always trying to correct what I imagine I’m doing wrong. I want to let go and believe that I do understand myself and even when I don’t I feel secure in what I do know.
A few months down the line, I imagined myself singing in public. My partner volunteers for Sofar (Songs From a Room) shows; small, intimate performances staged in people’s homes. When Lianne La Havas’ self-titled album came out in 2020, I imagined doing a cover show at one of these events. I wore a half-mask that accentuated my lipstick and eye makeup as I sung songs about desire and empowerment. I wanted to showcase my voice and my beauty. I imagined which three songs I would sing (“Bittersweet,” “Green Papaya,” and “Weird Fishes”). I even imagined talking to strangers in the audience after my set, fielding flirtations from guys while my partner exuded her pride in me with teary eyes.
Who is this me that I imagine? When I think of her, I think of the word “power.” Not as in the power one wields over people, but a sort of personal power expressed in a solidified self. To be honest, I feel distant from these imaginings, as lately I have been more in a “wait and see” period of what effects from hormones will be expressed. But I want to feel as happy as I imagined myself feeling capable of. I’ve always lived a desired full life in my imagination, because the options of actually living them out were rife with punishment, ridicule, and apathy. I know that these are narratives that I have to let go of, but I hope one day not to be caged by them.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading. Talking about my desires is one of the hardest things for me to do, and I appreciate you taking the time to read a few of them. I guess in a way, these are my dreams. Thank you for witnessing.
