Mi Nombre

That name
In your voice suddenly recalls
hot tears, warmth, strength, touch, sadness, laughter and yes even the alluded magic I had
purposefully forgotten.

And the time between who I was, who I am, who I will be – merges.
For the gap of an hour and twenty-three minutes.
And I wonder what happened…

His-story: I was born. I and my mirror image. We danced and I put him away. The rainbows dazzled my eyes and I thought he’d stay away for good. But everytime I should have felt rainbows there he was instead. And when I looked in the mirror I kept waiting for him to reappear. So now he has reared his head again, and it’s ugly to remember that you’ve never met him. But you’ve known him all along. I knew somewhere you’d come into the story.

Her-story: I was born. I and my mirror image. We danced and she put me away. I watched the colors entice her and felt her rejection. But I knew that the unintentional invitation would always come. She’d unlock the door; being surprised and relived to find me. Standing, waiting, knowing. Too many tears. Knowing the I was really i was Thou. And the fact that you knew me without any name made it that much easier, that much more difficult.

We talk. Or rather I talk. And –ie tells me to shut up. I see the other side of the mirror, and learn how much I’ve forgotten myself. I wanted adolescence so badly I forgot adulthood. And when we talk I remember why I wanted adulthood. You have always been dealt a lower hand then you deserve. But I cannot tell you that now. I did, I would have once but I lost part of you then, and I don’t want to loose the rest of you now.

I am proud of you. I knew then that I’d be proud of you regardless. But that’s not an empty pride. It’s the pride of knowing, seeing, believing, loving. I feel like a mother (an odd thing to say from me). The older sibling I never was. I hurt that you accept your cards so often, when they aren’t worth your time. But that’s also why I love you, because you see in totality and love in totality. You always did that. (You even did that to me!) And I know it’s useless to tell you otherwise. Besides who am I to speak? It’s never easy to be dealt a new hand.

We are not so different you and I. We love differently perhaps, but not fundamentally. We hurt, run in opposite circles as we’re told. But when I hear you and when I speak I know it’s all a myth. But you’ve known that all along; that’s why you were the first to speak.

I hear the change in your voice, and your eyes are different too. They’re older, experienced direct with less naïveté. Well naïveté isn’t the right word. You’ve never been naïve. On the contrary, you’ve grown up faster then most people I know. In that way you always reminded me of sister. Perhaps it has something to do with being the oldest. I like the change. Expected it to be there, would have been disappointed frankly if it wasn’t there. And if you ask my family, I’ve never been big on change. It means you’ll surprise me, as you always have. And I love to be surprised by you.

I didn’t tell you about my lost Y. I stalled like when I wanted to tell you about rainbows. Am I ashamed? When I’m with you I remember how close we both were to our mothers. And when I return home it’s painful to see the gap between she and I. And I can’t bring myself to tell you about that. I feel like a failure, of –ie. Perhaps that’s all that Jean is; leaving out the best parts of a former self. A childish reinvention of a beloved woman, my mother’s mother.

But these things you do not need to know, so I do not tell you them now. But I instead I talk too much, about past loves and hurts women with whom I danced ungracefully. Trying post-high school divas everyone knew was wrong for me. The Dianas who love, but love the mirror more. And in the process I began to love the mirror too. You say you’re in and out with a man who love’s the mirror, and I wonder if that’s the way of things. We think that it’s all we’ll ever see and so learn to love what’s in front of us even while we know it hurts, and then it becomes familiar. Therein the danger lies.

I remember who I was and in that space who I wanted to become. And when I’m with you I still want to become that being. With the others it’s always been a Hollywood image of “perfection.” But all you want is a friend. A good, funny, kind, understanding, honest, loyal friend. No political, religious or social agenda. Just a friend. You turn off the floodlights, remove the make up, take away the script and remind me it’s not a performance. I’m not the author. I’m just Jean(ie).

Reflections on a Childhood Book in Regards to this Week

"I'll love you forever, I'll like you for alwaysAs long as I'm living my baby you'll be..."
Really? I wonder if the mom in this story ever thought about her child being trans (or anything outside of their own expectations)...Why is it assumed that it's a good thing for mothers to always think of their children as babies? What happens once that baby voices somthing the mother never suspected...is the child any less deserving of her love and respect? Where is the other parent/partner in this story? Just about every girl in my 5th grade class memorized this book for Speech meet (I did some poem by Edgar A. Guest) and everyone seemed to agree that it was somehow emblematic of what the mother-child relationship should be...I always felt kind of unnerved by it.
And some of the correspondences I've had this week make me wonder about this more. I feel like I've been erased (or at least that my parents feel as though they have to erase some of the happy parts of my childhood in order to meet this new stranger into their family) even while I've been in the center of my parents' thoughts. I want to tell them that I'm still here with all of my past (the happiness, pain, laughter etc.). And I don't intend on leaving. But I know this isn't true to their experience. It's shown me how tough it is to hear your child say they are now identifying with a part of a community you know next to nothing about personally. I read what they've written and get the picture of drowing...being thrown in the midst of something without an anchor. A lot of what I've realized is that my parents don't really know me...they've latched onto the most visible characteristics that they delt with four years ago...or they know the Jean that plays into the familial roles that we all fall into even if we've outgrown them. The one time they've seen me consistently is in that role which is something I've spent less and less time in since leaving for college.
In high school my parents used to say I wasn't "myself" and since coming to college they say they've seen more of "me" then they have in a long time. It's tough to say but have they considered the fact that this is because I've recieved the chance to find out and express "myself" without having to pretend? The relm of pretend was always the most deeply personal (and taboo) in my childhood. I had my boyhood there. I loved girls there. My twin and I established our unspoken truths about who we loved and were in essence. I've realized that in so many ways my twin has been my secret keeper (well really the family's secret keeper) in a really unfair way. I wish she could be free of our family somehow...as harsh as that sounds. I've taken her love and listening ear for granted too many times, so I've made a pact to consciously listen to her more and draw conscious bondaries. I think bringing pretend into reality is hard for a lot of people especially if it's associated with otherness or something that might make loving you harder to do openly without rejection from people you love or society at large. Realizing that claiming my transness and deciding to transition involved a lot of painful soul searching...but I feel like the final pretend is out in the open and like a newly born being I'm blinded by the world around me...seeing the world anew. Not a lot of it is what I'd call "pretty." I'm guessing this is what it's like for my whole family.
In the most painful moments of these last bunch of months I've told myself that I should keep my transmale identity in the place of pretend. I see my life staying female. I've talked to other women who identify more as men then butch and never transitioned or idenify as trans...but later in the conversation they tell me they're proud of being butch. I've always felt inherently male and never butch. It's never been about sexual orientation. And there's times when I feel like I owe it to my parents. Maybe I can skip hormones and surgery...but then I'll still have to come out to every potential partner as trans. It's true that whoever I'm with will have to love me as a transman. But that it's self is a form of pretend. One that's been rapidly eating away at me...I feel so selfish about this half the time. Do I owe it to my parents to not transition? Or wait? Does "we want you to be yourself" have the connotation "as long as we think it won't hurt you"? Will coming out be a joyful experience one day? A rebirth, painful yet exciting...a place in which questions, unknowingness and fear is part of the equation; not so full of sadness for everyone involved.
I am looking forward to the holidays at home; but not in a naive sense.