Beyond Magenta: Transgender Teens Speak Out (3 page)

When I was sixteen, I saw a TV episode about the transgender community, and the first thing that came into my head was “
Oh, my god!
That could definitely be me!”

I was starting to come to terms with my sexual orientation. I wanted to be the masculine figure in a relationship with a woman, to be seen as a straight man attracted to women.

I wanted to transition, but before I did, my mother had to be the first to know because we have always been so close. I knew that I could not go into transition without her knowing about it. I would never do that. Still, I kept these thoughts to myself, never saying anything till the summer before my last year in high school.

Back in Florida, I started dating a girl I met on a social networking site. We had a relationship, but it didn’t last that long — it was more like a fling. But because of her, it became important for me to tell my friends that I was in a relationship with a girl. Before starting college, I wanted to make it clear to my friends in high school that I date girls; I wasn’t attracted to men. I called myself a butch lesbian.

On the day I graduated, I came out to my friends. I said, “There’s something I have to tell you guys. I’m dating a girl.”

They said, “Yeah, we kind a figured that because you’re not the most feminine person. We sensed it, but we didn’t want to ask you. We respected your privacy. We didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. But we feel bad that you couldn’t tell us because you’re our friend, and we love you no matter what.” It was a good way to leave high school.

It was also a good way to start college, knowing that my friends in high school accepted me as I am. When I went back to see them spring break of freshman year, it was so different because by then I was a hundred percent me. It was beautiful.

I said, “Mom, I’ve been reading a lot about the transgender community. I’ve been reading a lot about taking testosterone. I think that’s what I will be doing once I start my sophomore year in college. At the end of summer, I’m going to find a place where I can begin transitioning.” I said it to her just that way.

I could tell she was a little bit disappointed, not disappointed but drawn back. Actually, she was kind of shocked, shaking her head, like, Why would you do this? “Why would you want to?” she asked. “Why can’t you be comfortable with yourself? I don’t see other lesbians doing this.”

I explained that I never felt like a lesbian. I never wanted to look feminine. I’m attracted to the whole feminine look, but I never wanted it for myself. I love long hair. I love dresses. But I never wanted that on me; I wanted that on another person, the person that I was attracted to. “Besides, just because someone else doesn’t do it doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”

I told my mom that I wanted people to see me as a man in a heterosexual relationship. I wanted to be referred to as
he.
I wanted to live my life as the man of the house, masculine. I know there are butch lesbians, and all that stuff, but I didn’t want to be that. I just wanted to be a normal man.

She took it in. She cried about it. She cried in front of me about it. Honestly, it made me feel awful. It made me feel I was doing something horribly wrong. I felt like a screw-up. But I’m not a screw-up. I told myself that sooner or later she was going to come to terms with this. I told myself that as with everything in life, things happen for a reason.

Once she cried, I took a step back. For a while, I said nothing more about it. After all, I had to understand where she was coming from. I had to give her time to come to terms with me. As a new parent in the delivery room, when the doctor says you have a girl, you expect to have a daughter. You expect your child is going to be what society has paved for her. So I realized that I had to give her time.

Two or three weeks later, I talked to my mom again. I told her, “I want to transition. I’m at a point where I’m responsible enough to carry on my transition.”

She said, “I don’t know. I can’t accept this yet. You’re my daughter, and I want you to be the way you are. I’m happy with you being a lesbian; don’t transition. Don’t physically change yourself.”

We got into a heated argument about it. “Mom, I do everything to make you proud. I’m the child who never disappoints you. This is the only time I’m asking you to understand something about me. I know it’s hard. I don’t expect you to completely understand me, but please try.” I said this over and over and over until she finally accepted it. That truly showed her unconditional love.

Open communication is beautiful. Now she’s completely fine with having a son. She even put me down as her son on Facebook. Recently, she told me, “You know, I think you’re going to be a very handsome man.”

It’s a process. It’s a gradual process.

My mom’s my best friend and I talk to her about everything. It’s always been that way, but now it’s even stronger because she’s proven to me that she accepts me for who I am, not what I am.

I said to her, “Mom, I was always the kid who wanted the highest grade in class. I was the girl who beat the boys in basketball. I tried to be the best in everything, just ’cause I wanted people to see beyond my exterior look. I want people to see my accomplishments and say, ‘Wow.’”

My mom said, “I want you to blow the world away with your transition as a man. Start working out. Go to the gym. Look good. And you can’t be a fat man. No girl likes that.”

I love my mom. Without her support I probably wouldn’t be as open about my experience transitioning.

I don’t think my mother told my dad about me wanting to transition. He knew I was butch lesbian and that I was dating girls because I was bringing girls to the house back in Thailand. But he didn’t know about me wanting to transition.

A very close family friend has a nephew who was a trans woman, and my dad told me about her. I said, “Well what if I go through that one day?”

“I don’t want much from you. I just want you to be happy and successful. I want you to be happy who you are. I want to see you become a good person, someone with values and someone with morals. That’s all I expect of you. I don’t care what else you do. And I want you to take care of us when we’re older.”

My dad has always been a very busy man, so I’ve not spent as much time with him as I would have wanted. He was always traveling, always on the go. My mom raised me. My dad was the disciplinarian. He’s a strict and stern man. He’ll say something once, and if you don’t get it, you’re going to be disciplined.

He’s also very intelligent. He loves reading. He loves to study. He loves to build things. Everything I’ve learned as a man comes from my father. Be strong. Don’t cry. Don’t whine.

My mom is more nurturing. She’s the softer side of me. She’s the one who made me a hopeless romantic. She taught me how to make something look aesthetic and beautiful. She showed me that it’s okay to be emotional, to be sweet, to be caring, to be gentle.

She taught me how to cook because every girl wants a guy who can cook. She taught me how to clean so that there’s not a speck of dust in the house. That’s my mom. She’s a very caring, sweet, loving person.

I’m a college student now. Saint Joseph’s College is a private school with a Catholic name. I’m on a full scholarship, and I try to be a leader in school activities. I work for the campus activities board. It’s a very honorable position, and I like the jobs that I do. I ran for vice president of the school. I’m on the school newspaper. I know everybody at the school, and everybody knows me.

Years ago there used to be an LGBTQ (Lesbian, Gay, Bi, Trans, Queer) group, but it died out. As the only transgender student, I brought a new kind of diversity to the school. I became the president of the new LGBTQ.

The president of the college said that what I was doing was great, and that the whole school supported me.