F(l)agging

I've been feeling more annoyed and frustrated with the assumptions and perceptions people have been making lately regarding my pronouns and gender identity. My response to this boxing, is f(l)agging.

I am reclaiming brightly coloured fitted jeans, cute homemade crop tops, and paisley shoes in an attempt to make myself more visibly faggy. It makes me die a little inside when folks assume 1) that I'm cis (the woes of passing benefits) or 2) straight. Ok, well I don't think anyone who knows me even remotely reads me as 'straight' but I can tell some folks try to put me in the gay-stream. And i"m like, "No, sweetheart. There's no way I could survive with all the raw sewage they try to pass off as beneficial to the masses.."

I need more mirroring of my identity. I need to be a little more flamboyant. I need to be a little more faggy. I'm ready for this.

Trans Day of Rememberance

I've been feeling subdued, somber, and reflective today.

I'm trying to hold those who have been lost to the hands of violence and honour their passing while also holding those of us who are here and fighting like hell to be seen, heard, and live our lives as full persons.

Our lives are beautiful and burdened, terrifying and inspiring.

We are warriors.

We are survivors.

We are who we have been waiting for.

My Summer as a Boy

Summer is officially over--at least with the return of the Rains in Western WA--and to commemorate my Summer, I have compiled a quick and dirty list of things I learned from working as a camp counselor for 45+ hrs/wk.

1) American football is the official language of American men. I swear to god, the looks on the kids' faces when I told them I don't like football. It was like I'd dashed all of their young hopes. It's not that I can't throw a football or that I can't follow the plays, I just DO NOT LIKE American football. This blasphemous statement was received with the same reaction as if I'd just walked in with a pink catsuit, Which leads me to...

2) Pink was not my friend. Seriously tho. I could be rocking a 'masculine' hat, 'masculine' shoes, 'masculine' jeans and a fly 'masculine' button up and the kids didn't blink an eye. As soon as my pink lunchbox made an apperance, all my 'masculine' credibility was tossed out the back door of a careening Metro bus. I mean, I'm just trying to keep my lunch cold, wtf cares what colour the container is? Oh, wait, all those damn kids. And some grownups too.

3) Basketball is a big f'n deal. Not as big a deal as American football, but still.

4) The Mufasa voice is real. One of the best things about the past few years was when my voice began to drop, and now I have that extra bass when I call a child's name. I could actually get a kid to stop mid-catch and get hit in the face with a football. Not my intent, but I'll take it. :brushes off shoulder:

5) What I had to say is more important than what she had to say. Whether it's repeating exactly what my female co-worker had been saying for the past four weeks or getting one of the stubborn kids to listen when repeating my female co-workers words one time or having my mediocre solution heralded as a solid. Seriously, I didn't get it as tough a time as my female co-workers. I tried not to be a jerk about it.

6) Little boys will followed me around trying to get me to throw balls at them. It didn't matter how many times I said, "No, I don't like to play football," or "I really can't  play HORSE right now," I ended up throwing footballs and basketballs at little boys.

7) The more monochromatic your wardrobe, the better. Like seriously, the more black I wore, the more 'manly' and 'masculine' I was. The all-gray ensemble was also very well received.

8) You can interrupt the casual sexism dished out by the older boys. This was a slippery slope for sure, cuz it's not like I was/am immune from sexism. But skipping over the more academic explanations of sexism and settling for, "You do not touch a (young) woman without her permission," is pretty clear for a 10yo.

8) Going into the girls' bathroom will get you on the girls' shit list.  It didn't matter that it was my job, it didnn't matter that I had announced my presence, it didn't matter that I'd been doing it for the last six weeks. As soon as I crossed that threshold, it was over. The rancour of the preteen girls was unleashed and it is a mighty and scary thing to behold. Hell hath nothing on the fury of a group of preteen girls getting walked in on lounging by the bathroom sink when we're already late to lunch.

A very educational summer indeed. I have a lot to learn, unlearn, and heaps to try and puzzle through. Hopefully I'll make some headway before I get back onto the field for my Winter as a Boy, coming to a blog near you January 2015....

seaweed-wrapped-around-my-ankles kind of weird....

This week I'm going through intensive trainings to get ready for my Summer camp counselor position. It's pretty interesting, and when it's not, I have my journal to keep me awake.

Anyhow, yesterday and today myself along with about 50 others sat through the basic state-mandated training in order to work with youth.  And while I gained some things from this two-day affair, I've picked up more about gender dynamics and the place that I am now operating form.

So basically, on Tuesday I roll into class "EastCoast" on time (aka 10+ mins early), and set up at one of the seven tables. Folks are trickling in and two dudes sit at my table before I decide this would be a great time to jot some thoughts down in my journal.  Fast forward ten minutes later, and I'm sitting at a table full of dudes.  And I'm just like, "Uhhhh--" and silently panicking about the situation I've just entered.  Well, unfortunately, I'm locked at this table throughout the day and my anxiety doesn't lessen as we participate in small group discussion, role-playing, outdoor games, etc.  I get a little more comfortable as time goes by, but there's something on my radar that won't let my guard down.

Today, I decided I didn't want to experience 'The Man Table' as the trainer so irritatingly called us, so I sit at a table with (seemingly) women-identified folks. Same setup as before with activities and role-playing, only this time I'm not as engaged with the folks sitting at my table. Mercifully the day ends, and I'm on my way home and decide to call a friend. This is a friend who I've made a mutual agreement to only leave voicemails--kind of like a one-way confession booth.

So, I'm leaving this voicemsg and start talking about the training I've just gone through. I talk about the kinds of things we discussed, who was there (demographics) and how I got along with the folks who I interacted with.  And as I'm talking, I'm reflecting and end up almost tripping up a hill as I stumble over the 'something' that wouldn't let me put down my guard.

Gender dynamics.

Because I was not socialised with the intent that I would grow up to be a man, I am not immediately comfortable in situations with people who have been socialised that way. It's not this inherent anxiety or fear or whatever of the people--it's an anxiety and fear and whatever of not performing the behaviours or actions or mannerisms that really wind me up.  I mean, I've heard and seen stories of transfolks who have faced negative consequences, often physical, for not 'doing' gender the 'right' way. And that's something I have to be conscious of, every time I leave my home, when I'm at the grocery store, when riding the bus, when at work, and basically every place I interact with folks who don't know me or are perceiving me as a certain person, i.e. a guy.  It's tiring and exhausting and something that I'm still getting used to.

So this was on my unconscious conscious radar on Tuesday and it wasn't until the voicemsg that I realised what was going on. And then I had the chance to reflect more critically.

Yesterday, even though I felt out of place sitting at "The Man Table", I was automatically acccepted. Even though I didn't talk about American football or basketball. Even though I only chimed in when the conversation turned to the World Cup or Pokemon, my (perceived) gender wasn't even a thing that had a chance of coming up.  And jfc, if it isn't nice to get a break every once in awhile!!  I was very leery of the way discussions would go and was poised to strike if the conversation went... awry. -___- But those guys were respectful and thoughtful and loud and goofy, but not any more than any other table.

This morning, I decided to change things up and sat with a group of (seemingly) women identified folks. Holy crap was this a completely different day. First of all, I felt the 'otherness' and the walls being erected by the people at the table with me. It's because I am viewed as a Black male (i.e. a threat), no questions there.  This lead to (un)conscious exclusion of me from conversations, which is fine. I'm not meant to be in every conversation. But it also felt weird to be intentionally shut out, whereas yesterday with the guys, I could jump in whenever, or not. I was also pretty intentionally quiet, because 1) when I'm being read as a guy, it's assumed that I'm going to talk more (and I'm not very talky with strangers) and 2) my voice and statements carry more weight, even when I'm completely off the mark and flat out wrong. Leave that mess to some cisguy to listen to himself talk.

There was other non-gender stuff going on at that table, but I won't go into it cuz I'm tryna stay on topic.

So this unintentional social experiment showed me a few things. One is that I cannot access the same spaces as I once did. It's occurring less frequently now, but near to the beginning of my T journey, I would naturally gravitate towards the women of the group. Now that I'm being seen as a guy, I cannot do that. It's not just about people not thinking I belong there;  it's about being respectful of the sacredness of that space. Although I can identify on many different levels with the experiences and struggles of women, that's not my current experience and I don't need to take up that space, physically or otherwise. Second, I need to take a deep breath and have more confidence in the fact that the last... 2.5 years have taught me something about how to perform... manliness?

Ugh, no.

The last almost-three-years has taught me how men in this society behave, react, respond, and all that other gender stuff. I'm too observant to have missed much.  Another thing is that I need to inhabit more men's spaces. I use that 'need' as my discretion and always prioritising safety--but overall, I need to put myself in those situations so that I can become more comfortable. Plus, guys can be pretty good conversationalists, when the topic is off of sports...

Being read as a cis guy is weird. So weird. Like, seaweed-wrapped-around-my-ankles kind of weird. Yeah, imagine that for a moment.

:shudder:

But I also know that I have a lot more credibility and weight to throw around to make a difference when people are being shitty, in general. I have spent a lot of these past few months focusing on the dangers of being seen as a Black man--they are no less serious than before. Now, I know I'm going to start taking a little more risk and seeing how far I can stretch the boundary in men's spaces.  I mean, I have this shiny-new membership card so why not use it? So long as I don't have to talk about American football.... 

Ugh, Pronouns (Again-again)

I'm increasingly working in situations where I am refered to 'him' Mr.' and 'that guy'.  And while I still try not to roll my eyes and try not to be too bewildered when I can only walk the boys to the restroom, it's not causing as much of a visceral response.

What does this mean? 

I've noticed that I'm getting a lot more closed with my transness, or not needing to have that flag flying in every and all situations. I'm telling friends to introduce me as 'he' to their friends, just because I really don't feel like I need these strangers who I may or may not have a significant relationship with to know about that aspect of my identity.

What does this mean?

I'm finding it easier and easier to adopt that veil of 'standard masculinity'--the raised voice, the macho posture, the saunter. I even pitch my voice deeper in situations where I'm with a lot of men.

Ok, what the hell does that mean?

I'm hitting the second wave of big brain chemistry changes. It's disorienting and very interesting how I didn't remark on it until a buddy who's also on T was mentioning it to me. It's as if there's this external fixation on physical changes and sexual changes, and on alert for 'increased aggression' and all that bullshit. But what about mental processes? What about ways of relating to my emotions? It's not as obvious as before, and it's more difficult to enumerate and articulate.

Ugh. I can pretend to know what this means, but that's all talk.

I am increasingly feeling the weight of being perceived as a Black man. It doesn't even matter that I am not identifying as a Black man. Ok, it does, but for the intents and purposes of the outside world, it does not. The weight is soul-cruhing and it's allI cnan do to clutch my bell hooks to stay afloat.

So, what does this all mean?

Well... I'm no sure. But I know that this is

"Wait... Your Partner's Black??"

What I was thinking about last night, was how I have heard nearly all of my friends--hmm... Yes.  I have heard nearly all of my friends, at some point or another, mention--directly or not--that their family would be borderline mortified if they took up with a Black person.

At this point in my life, I don't even raise an eyebrow anymore. Anti-Blackness is so real--in and outside communities of colour--I'm surprised when I don't hear someone mention how they could never date/marry a Black person without some relative flipping a table in disapproval. It doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt or that I don't feel saddened that people of African descent are still regarded as undesirable and less than, if not sub-human. I just am no longer surprised when I hear this.

"Look at Dat Big Booty!"

Yesterday I was thinking about how infuriated I get when I see non-Black folks Gazing at Black bodies. I don't care who the Black person is or my relationship to them--instantly at 100max and biting my tongue ferociously to not say something catastrophically scathing.

I was thinking in particular when I was hanging out with some folks recently and they were commenting on a Black athlete's butt. The guy was just doing his thing, ya know, working and playing his sport, but these non-Black folks were all like, "Damn look at dat big booty!" I had to close my eyes, both in prayer for patience at the appropriative use of AAVE, and to  avert the shade daggers that threatened to take out the room. Not here for it, because that's my life, everyday. That non-Black Gaze that rates and assesses not only the relevancy of my existence, but also objectifies my worth against the white man, while simultaneously fetishising my body as a sexual tool.  And this is just for the mere fact that I am Black. I haven't added any other identities.

It's like we will never get a break. Even the most 'enlightened' and 'aware' folks say this fucked up shit in casualness, as if commenting on someone's body--their body--while they are just living, and making remarks about it is ok in any circumstance. 

Oh, wait. 

That person's Black, i.e. hypersexual, sexually available, deviant, animalistic, less than human, 'asking for it', a potential sexual threat, 'I wonder how big his dick is?' 'I wonder what that Black person is like in bed?'. They're totally fair game.

These are the things I hear when a non-Black person comments on a Black person's body. It's as if history is screaming in my ear, spewing all of the physical, emotional, mental and psychological assault and trauma my ancestors endured, my family endures, my peers endure, I endure, my children will endure. We have to have endurance to deal with this constant assault of animalising, anti-Black bullshit. 

And I am so tired of merely enduring.

Rite of Passage

I've been thinking a lot about culture--in general, my personal culture, and how the ways I carry my personal culture were brought to my attention when I moved to Olympia.

Thinking back now to the rejection and loneliness I felt when I was in community with those folks, not many of whom I interact with now, I realise there was a lot of queerer than thou bullshit going on (qtpoc policing and regulating the way the identity of 'queer' and its definitions), anti-Black racism, and internalised racism. It was hard and it hurt and I wouldn't wish that experience on anyone.

I think of it as a kind of hazing and I see it a lot in 'social jusitse' "communities"--the alienation and Othering that goes on by folks who are already in the community. It's a really warped, fucked up 'rite of passage' and I'm really over that kind of gate-keeping. Like, really really over it.

I spend a lot of time thinking about the ways I embody community and how the people I share community with embody the values of community--love, respect, safety, generosity--and how I, as a person who has been on both sides of the community hazing, can work toward tearing that fucked up shit down. It's not benefiting anyone and only serves to drive marginialsed communities further apart.

How can 'community' take on a truer representation in my world? How do I currently build community? How can I stretch myself and those around me more to be more open and vulnerable, with members of our community and those who want to be? How can we be compassionate and gentle with one another and while also being accountable?

After all, "we have to be careful with each other so we can be dangerous together."

Better Left Unsaid

I've spent the last week thinking about how much is said by what I don't say and the consequences of what goes unsaid.

What keeps me from saying certain things? Fear? Rejection? Actual understanding?

What does it mean when I withhold certain things/decisions/activities from those I love? How is their view of me limited or effected?

What is said in our silences?

Romantic Expectation

I've been thinking a lot lately about romantic expectation, and how society expects everyone to--at some point in our lives--engage in a romantic partnership. It doesn't matter how brief or torrid or badly it ends--every single person has the script shoved on them and shoved down their throats from an early age.

And I am so completely done with that rhetoric.

I've been realising more and more how much i've been frantically scrambling to find what page of the script I'm supposed to be on because it feels like I'm reaching the point in my life where I'm supposed to be engaging in a romantic relationship, one that will lead to children, the purchasing of a home and all hat 'happily ever after' mess.

And I am so completely done with that shit.

I don't often experience romantic feelings, and I'm finding that I mistake romantic feelings for deep platonic friendship.

This isn't to say that i won't ever experience romantic love--I'm saying I am so through with trying to transform friendship love into something akin to a 'happily ever after'.

I am way happier when I'm not in the throes of a supposed 'crush', I love my friends and I have plenty of warm, cushy feelings about them.

Why am I trying to force romance when it clearly is not present? At least in the 'traditional' sense which, by merely existing, I am actively challenging.

I feel like me throwing this romantic love script onto the fire is me taking a huge next step in my process of unlearning.

Emotionally Vulnerable

There are few things that scare me more than being emotionally vulnerable.

It's not something I learnt as a kid--in fact I learnt the exact opposite. It was seen as weak to show any type of emotion. Of course, this lead to me crying a lot in my room at night.  And as I grew up it made it nearly impossible to recognise and process any of my emotions.  Other than anger, sadness and frustration. I was really good at maybe not understanding them, but certainly recognising them.

Fast forward to 2010 and I arrive in Olympia. Little did I know the emotional metamorphosis I was embarking on. I would not only learn to recognise and understand my emotions, I would be forced to talk about them. Well, maybe only forced in certain occasions, but certainly encouraged to express and articulate them. Encouraged to dig around and find out what is causing me to have these emotions. Encouraged to learn to anticipate and communicate my emotions.

It's a rough, messy ride. I've been dragged kicking and screaming, always cursing (sometimes myself for being so stubborn, sometimes my family for not giving me these tools and always to Society and Colonisation which has taken so much from me and those like me caught up in this Diaspora). Nevertheless, here I am on the other side (kinda, not really), ready and willing to articulate my emotions.

But that doesn't mean it's easy.

In fact, I find it gets a little harder as time goes by--like with family and romantic potentials--to actually say how I feel. I'm a quick thinker but slow articulator and it takes me a bit of time to find my words.  It doesn't help that I'm a writer and it takes me forever to find the 'perfect' word order.

Woe.

Something i've never been able to shed is the fear or rejection/failure. Failure at what? Still trying to figure that one out. Rejection by whom? :eyeroll:

But every once in awhile, my... SuperEgo? I dunno one of the bossier Auriens get really, really fed up with complacency and paralytic fear and makes the decision for all of us that we are going for it. Because doing something is better than doing nothing at all.

I like to call this my Mollett Fever. And I am currently in its throes.

Sexual Confidence v Sexual Experience

I've been struggling with this concept of sexual confidence for the past few weeks. A friend of mine has been mentioning it and I've been thinking a lot about what it means, because my friend didn't define it or give examples.  Today I finally got something to go off of.

To my friend, sexual confidence is "being able to talk dirty and dominate/be domineering and be a tease."  It took me about two hours before the truck hit the wall. This whole time I've been wrestling with this idea of sexual confidence and how it isn't always applicable, but maybe it is and in which situations is I present and is it always present... But what I was actually doing was trying to explain/hypothesise on sexual confidence and sexual experience simultaneously.

And almost breaking my brain in the process.

The two terms are not interchangeable nor are they inherently interconnected. It took a 60mph journey north on I-5 for me to finally realise this.

Sexual confidence is the ability to hold one's sexuality, be comfortable with it and being able to rock it, flaunt it and wield it to one's advantage. Sexual experience is the ability to perform various sexual acts with expertise.

And now that I have realised that they are separate things that can--but are not always--related, I can rest my brain. This is like three weeks of serious bruising that needs to heal.

Labels

I was just talking with a buddy about labels and how they sculpt and influence our perceptions. The abel we were specifically talking about was the term 'crush'.

I have spent so much of the past three years ripping my mind open (unlearning) to new possibilities and new ways of thinking and doing and Being that I forget that all of this work has brought me to a place where I can hold society's definition of 'crush' and look at it, nod, grimace and also hold my personal, ever-fluid definition of 'crush'.

And while I can be mindful of identity labels and that the journey of unlearning and that the ability to be able to have multiple definitions co-exisitng, if not peacefully, then at least civilly, is not where everyone else is at.

Hence, why over-comunication is so important.

Early Morning Questions

Sometimes I'll be getting dressed in the morning and my hand will hover above whatever article of clothing I'm choosing, and I'll pick it up. As I hold it I imagine how wearing this garment will impact people's perception of me. The finally question is always,

"Will I be safe wearing this?"

Today, I wondered how many other people ponder this same question as they get dressed.

Insecure Thoughts

This last week I've been having a lot of insecure thoughts about my desirability. The romantic kind. The kind i avoid writing because they are heavy. So heavy.

There's so much wrapped up in it--being Black, being trans and non-binary, being in this weird place called the Pacific Northwest. The intense interplay of my identities. Sometimes it feels like I'm wielding a sword, or gently drawing the bow of a violin, and others like I'm clutching a worn, over-used grubby plastic bag.

Thoughts that my complexity and density and intensity are... too much.  That I'm too much--too imaginative, too sensitive, too angry, too articulate, too sure of what iI want, too indecisive, too confident, too insecure.

This past week I've been wondering if there is someone (or someones) who arew willing and able to hold all of my complexity and not only accept it but understand and appreciate it.

I mean, like I know there is at least one person out there who will be able to, but I wonder if I'll be able to recognise that person/persons when the time comes. I wonder if I willb e able to listen and trust myself enough....

But I'm going to trust in the timing of this... intersection and just keep bumbling along till then.

I have faith.

Re-Learning Gentleness

Hand-written. Crosspost with FoD

---------------------

The other day I was hanging out with Baby Q and I pulled open a kitchen drawer for them. I accidentally overexerted and the glass containers inside lammed against one another with a very loud result. Baby Q looked at me in surprise, I looked at them with a shameful grimace and said, "Sorry. I'm re-learning gentleness."

This has been the case for me since about... three months on T, wen it really started to kick in and cause a sharp increase in my muscle density and strength. For about six week, I was a walking wreck--swinging my arms and knocking things over, leaning against things and knocking things over, tossing things too hard and knocking things over. It was pretty bad.

Starting T is a second puberty--relearning the way my body's strength and coordination work, individually and together. For a short while, I actually refrained from too much physical contact, for fear that a gentle squeeze would actually be a vice grip. But that didn't last long.  I work with kids and they demand constant physical contact . And it was babies who helped me re-learn gentleness and helped me undeerstand this new strength and how to control it.

For the past month I've been going to the gym and it's like Round Two of re-learning gentleness. More than a few times I've tossed Baby Q a little too high when we're playing. Luckily they don't mind, but that's not to say it doesn't matter.

My work requires that I am gentle--not just in manner and spirit, but also with touch. I think it's rather ironic that as I'm teaching a toddler how to use "gentle hands," they are helping me re-learn the same thing.

Oops, I Did It Again....

Yup. I did it. I found another unavailable person and I pursued them.

I sit here in my living room shaking my head. How does this happen? How did I again find an unavailable babe and decide that it was not only probably but possible.

:le sigh:

Well, I have let it go. We can be friends and hang out, because they are great to talk with and hangout with

BUT

I'm not going to hold my breath. I'm tired of hurting my Heart by lingering.

So. Instead I will redirect that energy to making friends in Seattle. There's a lot of stuff going on and luckily for me my roomie AL has their finger on the qtpoc pulse in this place. I'm so down to network and hangout and get to know the fly folks of my community.

Who knows, maybe I'll find the reason I decided to stay in this rainy, foggy, depressing part of this nation.