This has been coming for a while now.
Nov. 14th, 2006 06:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ishyfaceThe first day in Anthropology...
Me: *settles down quite happily in chair*
Random guy, scooting up next to me: Hey.
Me: *noncommittal grunt*
Random guy: Yeah, you were the only other guy in here, so I figured I'd sit next to you.
Me: *noncommittal grunt*
Me, inside: OMG \:D/
When I was wee I was a girl. Not just a girl, but a Very Girly Girl. I liked foofy skirts and Mary Janes and little white socks with lace on them. I was that kind of girl.
Still, something must have showed, because whenever my best friend and I played Aladdin I would be him. And although I always protested I secretly didn't mind.
I knew what it was to be a girl, back then. It means that you were shaped differently, that you'd grow up and get married and have babies with a nice man like your dad. It meant that you were shorter and sweeter and couldn't open jars. It meant that you had to eat your crusts because they'd make your hair curly. It meant you wore dresses in family pictures and smiled when people asked you to.
I got glasses and started to grow up, sort of. My hair grew very long and I got quite fat and greasy, which I was very self-conscious about, and one day in sixth grade I read a book about a girl who dressed up like a boy. This wasn't exactly a new concept for me- I'd seen Mulan, I knew what was up. But still, it opened something up.
I remember being disappointed when Alanna grew her hair out and stopped binding her breasts. I told no one about this.
I remember my own first, clumsy attempts to bind my own, with bathrobe belts and stolen scarves. I didn't tell anyone about that either.
Things happened, like I fell in love with my best friend and wrote three novellas and started listening to music. The first band I really discovered on my own- that I didn't steal from my sister or a friend- was Placebo. (This is probably significant.) I realized that I was no longer Catholic, that kissing girls was about a thousand times more appealing than kissing boys (although Brian Molko was still really pretty, especially in a skirt), that jeans were comfortable, that I wanted to dye my hair like Davey Havok.
I remember I was at somebody's party and the boys went to one wall and the girls went to another, and I had no idea where to go.
And things kept on happening, one after the other. I cut all my hair off, and then cut it off even more. I had my first relationship, which was awful, and saw my first queer movie, which was awesome. I had a crush on a boy for the first time in a long time, and it confused me awfully. I felt like he was a boy, and I was a boy, and it made my head spin a little.
One day, when I was wearing flannel and looked rather pleasantly rumpled, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, I look a little like Ryan Adams. I wasn't prepared for the way that would feel. How good it felt, or how scary. Or how scary-good it would feel for someone to say 'he' as they glanced at my hair, my clothes, my walk. Sometimes details like that fill in the blanks for everything else.
I bought Boys Don't Cry and watched it alone at one in the morning and couldn't stop crying. My mum came in at one point and I felt intensely guilty. I wasn't prepared for the way that would feel either.
I played around with words for a while, like people would with clothes in a dressing room- trying on this and that, tossing some onto the floor in disgust, hanging some back up and putting them neatly away, until I was left with a small pile that sort of fit. I keep those, and I wear them when I feel like it. Sometimes I mix and match.
I wear the word "dyke" like I would wear a pair of combat boots. It gives me strength and snarly toughness when I need it; it gives me swagger when I feel silly or afraid. I also wear the word "boi" like a soft grey hoodie, framing my round cheeks and small hands. Sometimes I wear "boy", a worn pair of baggy blue jeans. I wear "queer" as a necklace, and it rests proud against my pulse when I walk down the halls. "Genderqueer" is my summer sarong, patterned in bright oranges and deep blues. "Butch" I wear as sneakers, skinny-puppy high tops. "Femme" I wear as knee socks, striped in a thousand different colours (pink included). I can wear them both at the same time, you know.
I don't wear "trans" that often- it's like a suit you buy and then are afraid to wear, because you don't want to get it dirty. I don't want to stain it with my uncertainty.
So I've kept some words, and cast off some others, and I still can't say which ones fit me best. All I have are the moments when I pull them on and they feel good and I know that they don't contradict each other.
I have some things I wear sometimes- not jewelry, quite, but trinkets. A Norwegian good luck charm, a pendant from Trinidad shaped like a foot, a wine cork on a chain, a rubber bracelet from a concert. One of them is a wristband. I put a trans pride pin on it a lot time ago and it's been happily rusting there ever since. I wear it most of all. It fits me snug, and it's pleasantly ratty, and it never gets in the way when I write.
But on the other wrist I wear a silver butterfly bracelet, and that fits me just as well.
A note on the subject: I'd really like it if people stopped using my given name, at least here. "El", "Ish", and "Gerald" are fine, but my birth name bothers me. Also, I have a filter I normally keep all this stuff under- if anyone wants to be added to it, just tell me.
In other news, I wish I looked like Carl Barat. Or possibly Michael Pitt. Or both.
Me: *settles down quite happily in chair*
Random guy, scooting up next to me: Hey.
Me: *noncommittal grunt*
Random guy: Yeah, you were the only other guy in here, so I figured I'd sit next to you.
Me: *noncommittal grunt*
Me, inside: OMG \:D/
When I was wee I was a girl. Not just a girl, but a Very Girly Girl. I liked foofy skirts and Mary Janes and little white socks with lace on them. I was that kind of girl.
Still, something must have showed, because whenever my best friend and I played Aladdin I would be him. And although I always protested I secretly didn't mind.
I knew what it was to be a girl, back then. It means that you were shaped differently, that you'd grow up and get married and have babies with a nice man like your dad. It meant that you were shorter and sweeter and couldn't open jars. It meant that you had to eat your crusts because they'd make your hair curly. It meant you wore dresses in family pictures and smiled when people asked you to.
I got glasses and started to grow up, sort of. My hair grew very long and I got quite fat and greasy, which I was very self-conscious about, and one day in sixth grade I read a book about a girl who dressed up like a boy. This wasn't exactly a new concept for me- I'd seen Mulan, I knew what was up. But still, it opened something up.
I remember being disappointed when Alanna grew her hair out and stopped binding her breasts. I told no one about this.
I remember my own first, clumsy attempts to bind my own, with bathrobe belts and stolen scarves. I didn't tell anyone about that either.
Things happened, like I fell in love with my best friend and wrote three novellas and started listening to music. The first band I really discovered on my own- that I didn't steal from my sister or a friend- was Placebo. (This is probably significant.) I realized that I was no longer Catholic, that kissing girls was about a thousand times more appealing than kissing boys (although Brian Molko was still really pretty, especially in a skirt), that jeans were comfortable, that I wanted to dye my hair like Davey Havok.
I remember I was at somebody's party and the boys went to one wall and the girls went to another, and I had no idea where to go.
And things kept on happening, one after the other. I cut all my hair off, and then cut it off even more. I had my first relationship, which was awful, and saw my first queer movie, which was awesome. I had a crush on a boy for the first time in a long time, and it confused me awfully. I felt like he was a boy, and I was a boy, and it made my head spin a little.
One day, when I was wearing flannel and looked rather pleasantly rumpled, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, I look a little like Ryan Adams. I wasn't prepared for the way that would feel. How good it felt, or how scary. Or how scary-good it would feel for someone to say 'he' as they glanced at my hair, my clothes, my walk. Sometimes details like that fill in the blanks for everything else.
I bought Boys Don't Cry and watched it alone at one in the morning and couldn't stop crying. My mum came in at one point and I felt intensely guilty. I wasn't prepared for the way that would feel either.
I played around with words for a while, like people would with clothes in a dressing room- trying on this and that, tossing some onto the floor in disgust, hanging some back up and putting them neatly away, until I was left with a small pile that sort of fit. I keep those, and I wear them when I feel like it. Sometimes I mix and match.
I wear the word "dyke" like I would wear a pair of combat boots. It gives me strength and snarly toughness when I need it; it gives me swagger when I feel silly or afraid. I also wear the word "boi" like a soft grey hoodie, framing my round cheeks and small hands. Sometimes I wear "boy", a worn pair of baggy blue jeans. I wear "queer" as a necklace, and it rests proud against my pulse when I walk down the halls. "Genderqueer" is my summer sarong, patterned in bright oranges and deep blues. "Butch" I wear as sneakers, skinny-puppy high tops. "Femme" I wear as knee socks, striped in a thousand different colours (pink included). I can wear them both at the same time, you know.
I don't wear "trans" that often- it's like a suit you buy and then are afraid to wear, because you don't want to get it dirty. I don't want to stain it with my uncertainty.
So I've kept some words, and cast off some others, and I still can't say which ones fit me best. All I have are the moments when I pull them on and they feel good and I know that they don't contradict each other.
I have some things I wear sometimes- not jewelry, quite, but trinkets. A Norwegian good luck charm, a pendant from Trinidad shaped like a foot, a wine cork on a chain, a rubber bracelet from a concert. One of them is a wristband. I put a trans pride pin on it a lot time ago and it's been happily rusting there ever since. I wear it most of all. It fits me snug, and it's pleasantly ratty, and it never gets in the way when I write.
But on the other wrist I wear a silver butterfly bracelet, and that fits me just as well.
A note on the subject: I'd really like it if people stopped using my given name, at least here. "El", "Ish", and "Gerald" are fine, but my birth name bothers me. Also, I have a filter I normally keep all this stuff under- if anyone wants to be added to it, just tell me.
In other news, I wish I looked like Carl Barat. Or possibly Michael Pitt. Or both.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2006-11-15 12:10 am (UTC)I sure could! The fact that you remember that story amuses me more than you'd believe, by the way.
As for the voice change itself, it's an odd feeling. I used to have to work to speak from my chest, but now it's like my voice is starting to slither down there of its own accord. The resonance is completely different.
no subject
on 2006-11-15 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-11-15 02:11 am (UTC)When I have access to a scanner, I'll have to send you pics of little!Dev, especially the one of me as a flower 'girl' at my aunt and uncle's wedding. (Can we say 'baby butch'? Why yes, yes we can...)
no subject
on 2006-11-15 03:53 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-11-15 04:03 am (UTC)See, the funny thing is that back then, I had long hair and willingly wore dresses (no earrings, though).
I was actually quite pretty as a little girl, if tomboyish and prone to swaggering and climbing trees whether in skirts or not. Then, in a spectacular reversal of the story about the ugly duckling, I hit a phenomenally and painfully awkward stage. Over the last two years I've gotten to the point of usually liking what I see in the mirror.
no subject
on 2006-11-15 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-11-15 04:13 am (UTC)I'm curious about how you picture me: I remember you saying something about 'short and freckly' once, but that's not super-specific.
*g*
on 2006-11-15 04:18 am (UTC)Re: *g*
on 2006-11-15 04:37 am (UTC)Five-nine or so, not quite stocky but not a twig either. Pointy chin, high forehead and minimal freckles. Square hands, rapidly developing arm muscles, nothing really ressembling curves. Sorta-wide feet that turn out a bit. Greeny-brown eyes and five canine teeth.
no subject
on 2006-11-15 04:18 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-11-15 04:22 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-11-15 04:27 am (UTC)Fortunately, our mother didn't overhear that.
no subject
on 2006-11-15 04:31 am (UTC)(Do you still identify as queer, by the way?)
no subject
on 2006-11-15 04:47 am (UTC)As for me, yeah, I still identify as queer. I mean, I'm a Devin- not exactly a boy, but definitely not a girl either. I use male pronouns, take testosterone and want chest surgery, but I'm not precisely a man. (Not that transmen in general aren't men, just that I'm not.) As an in-between, any relationship I have is going to be queer in some respect, and I like that. I'm not meant to be conventional, y'know?
no subject
on 2006-11-15 05:04 am (UTC)I thought you did, I just wanted to check. I definitely can't imagine you as a conventional guy. I mean, I just tried to picture you as a banker and my head kind of melted. You couldn't climb trees in a business suit.
no subject
on 2006-11-15 05:11 am (UTC)P.S. He also has zebra-print fleece pajama pants.