I don't know

Hey there, I know I haven't written anything in a very long time. A lot has happened since my last post: I've finished a doctorate program, got the co-edited memoir a publication date, met a lot of lifelong friends, been on a lot of awkward first dates, lost my PoPo and Travis, adopted a really cute cat, and I've been trying to relearn how to be in a romantic relationship in a more healthy way.

 This last year has been a bit of a whirlwind for me. I've been more busy than during any of my previous six years after one of my slowest years (I was on a fellowship and MIA from campus). It's been an emotional rollercoaster mainly due to a couple of people who were mainstays and pretty stabilizing forces in my life moving away. I knew it would be hard without Fe and Naveen in LA, but I think I learned pretty quickly how much they centered me in the department and outside. I know also as this experience has drawn to a close, I've been thinking about all the times I really didn't feel like I knew what I was doing...whether that was TAing or being the Instructor for the first time, or writing an abstract, or trying to figure out just what was expected from a depth exam. I used to say "I don't know" a lot to students, and I realized this week I almost never say that anymore. I know this has very little to do with obtaining some form of expertise, and more that I've learned to move onto topics that can be discussed concretely rather than sit around and speculate. But speculation is also an important part of life, and I think it's a problem that I've stopped coming from a place of uncertainly and admittance to not knowing. How can you be remade, and be open to critique if you don't admit that you will always not know? I admit that, maybe it's due to tolkenization and my increasing intolerance of it, that I am less open to critique without some form of construction than I was at the beginning of this program. This is especially true when teaching undergrads. It's often a revelation to students that they can be critical of what they read, and often students find discursive deconstruction very liberating because of that. But I think it's really easy to tear something apart, and much harder to build something from what may not completely jive with you. The students who are able to do both, and have a more nuanced look at things are the ones who often are able to both say they don't know, and use that critical not-knowing to start something original and intersectional.

 Anyway, I don't know. Quite often these days I wish I was not myself. Life is happening too fast, after 5 years of it happening so slow. I spent a lot of this time with a handful of people, books, papers, and trying to figure out what being a doctoral student meant. I feel like I am much more socially awkward than I was at the beginning of this program, and a lot less direct. I had some of the worst anxiety and depressed feelings for months at a time in this program, when I felt so cut off from everything that made me feel connected to a community. I was homesick for Boston for the first several years, while making a home with Freda and Bo. While living in ktown, the bike commute to campus literally saved me. It gave me something to always look forward to, and I still miss the nighttime bike ride back to Oxford Avenue when the LA streets are empty and the moon is out. I miss the long graduated Asian Am cohorts who welcomed me into their house parties and dinners. I miss bowling with Lina and Scott. I will miss a lot more as I move on to what will probably be a more lonely postdoctorate life. But I am really ready to not be a grad student anymore. I think I was ready to not be one last year.

 I'm not going to mince words: it was really really hard to be a trans guy at this school pretty much the entire time. The student healthcare center was a crapshoot as were the counselors at Psych Services. My first therapist was literally the worst, and I felt like I couldn't change counselors for the entire first year. After the first two years, I never thought anyone would touch or love me and often felt like a bad queer for not liking boys. I felt pretty alienated from the transmasculine poc community because I liked female identified people and I was on testosterone. So I tried hard to be straight and to go stealth in the bunch of times I got so lonely I tried to go get dates. I decided that unless someone queer decided I was queer I would not identify as such. My gender dysphoria was often really out of control, and I remember walking to and from class the first three years feeling like a "fake" boy/man. On top of this, once I had a complete hysto/oopho I started getting monthly migraines with panic attacks and daily hot flashes. It was miserable, and I often imagined joining a menopausal support group, just to talk to other people having hot flashes.

 So yeah, so much has happened in the past bunch of years. High highs, and very low lows. I've left a lot out in this, but ever since I filed my dissertation and had a chance to really reflect on things, I've been having flashbacks about all that has happened and I feel amazed, overwhelmed and overcome with emotions. This was not what I thought being in this program and at this school was going to be like when I got that acceptance letter over seven years ago.