Reprise: A Return to Theatre

I couldn’t be more thankful to be out of high school forever; the only redeemable part of my four-year experience was the theatre program. Recently, I took a trip back down memory lane by watching this year’s spring musical. Half of the cast members were too young for me to know, and those I knew as freshmen were now seniors and juniors, some of whom were performing for the last time before graduating. I’ve never felt more ancient: I went to visit the cast after the end of show and was met with blank, unrecognizing stares from the younger students who had never even heard my name.

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I did seven shows during high school, both plays and musicals, and to this day I have lasting friendships and bonds with people both older and younger than me. In particular, our school has a tradition of senior speeches: on the last night of each show, every senior would get a heartfelt speech from an underclassmen friend that celebrated their time in the program and the memories they made. I got my speeches from two underclassmen, Nikki and Brett, both of whom are two years younger than me.

This spring, I got to see them both perform their senior show, having matured both as performers and as people in the time I’ve been gone. I felt like a proud parent, cheering on my kids from the audience. Despite our small age difference, my senior friends and I had taken younger students under our wing, teaching them the theatre traditions and helping them through school. Now, returning after two years, I could see they no longer needed the guidance and friendship I had provided: they had grown up, moved on, and taken on younger students of their own as apprentices.

It feels strange, knowing that you’re no longer needed in their lives. It’s a watered-down version of parenthood, like watching your own kids go to college and leave you behind. I couldn’t be prouder of what all my underclassmen have accomplished, and what they will accomplish at college in the fall, but it’s bittersweet to know that it’s over. I haven’t felt the pain of leaving since I finished graduation and walked out of the high school without so much as looking behind me, because I thought I was done forever with that part of my life. It turns out life has a way of holding on to you, even when you thought you were able to finally let go.
As a form of repayment for my senior speeches, I wrote a letter to each of my younger friends on the last night of my senior show two years ago. (Every single one of them cried when reading it, which I was secretly quite happy about.) Nikki still has hers, in the original envelope in which I gave it to her. My “life lessons” weren’t so much advice as reassurance that they don’t have to have their lives figured out now that they’re technically adults–God knows I sure didn’t at the time. I hope that as they leave that stage of their lives, they pass their own lessons down to the next generation of theatre geeks, and keep alive the cycle of support and love I sought solace in years ago.

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[originally posted on bucultureshock.com]

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Running Out of Time

 

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Here’s a (not-so) fun fact: My parents went on their first date on April 2nd of their sophomore year of college. Guess who’s about to miss that deadline?

When I was little I heard the story of how my parents got together and thought to myself: “20? That’s so old!” and “College is where you meet the person you’re going to marry!” Now that my 20th birthday is fast approaching without a significant other in sight, I’m not so sure of myself anymore. Like I’m always saying, dating is hard in the modern world, but my parents didn’t seem to have much of a problem with it when they were my age. My friends, most of whom are in committed relationships, didn’t seem to have any issues either. Now they’re lying in bed together, discussing their future apartment and wedding plans, while I struggle to even start a conversation.

I grew up thinking that when I got to college I was going to have a perfect love story, too, and that I’d follow my parents’ timeline and get married and settle down before even hitting 30. Everyone around me seems to be following that narrative, too. Nothing makes you feel more inadequate than watching everyone else’s lives progress around you while you’re stuck where you are, single and waiting alone.

It’s not all bad: being single has allowed me a more clear-headed view of romance and long-term relationships, and a healthy skepticism about things moving too quickly. In a way, I think it’s better I don’t settle down as soon as I start seeing someone for the first time. I want to have a rich variety of experiences and meet new people, not just lock down the first one I get. I think in the long run it’ll be better and healthier for me to grow as a person first and solve my own problems, not being dependent on someone else. I’ve learned how to be independent and alone in a way I never would have been able to if I was in a committed relationship and suddenly dumped for the first time. In fact, I worry that sometimes college relationships move too quickly, and people will settle with the wrong person before they’ve finished maturing as a person. Maybe I’m a bit too jaded, but I’d rather be cynical than naive when it comes to dating.
I’ll keep looking in the meantime, but screw my parents’ deadline; I’m my own person, and I’m figuring life out my own way. Hopefully when I do get into a relationship I don’t become the kind of grossly overcommitted person I poke fun at now. Being in a relationship is great fun, but it’s not worth sacrificing my own identity and autonomy for someone else.

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[originally posted on bucultureshock.com]

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My Chronic Experience

Disclaimer: I do not have a chronic illness. I am “able-bodied”, and as far as I know, that won’t change anytime soon. All I know is taken from the accounts of others who do have chronic illnesses and conditions, and I’ll try to be as respectful as possible so as to not talk over them or overshadow their experiences.

photo credit: HaoJan 原來我還是滿熟悉這樣的感覺的嘛 via photopin (license)

Several months ago I injured my neck, which has led to chronic muscle spasms in my neck, shoulders, and back, and a near-constant ache that refuses to go away even after treatments. As someone who has been able-bodied my entire life, without any physical problems, the change was quite a shock to my system. I got a small taste, so to speak, of what life feels like with a chronic illness. My condition is mild, but it still prevents me from doing daily activities such as exercise and lifting things, and it interferes with my sleep. I have special pillows, muscle relaxers for the pain, and physical therapy treatments now.

My roommate, as well as several of my friends and acquaintances, have genuine chronic conditions. I watched their struggles with what empathy I could, but I retained an air of detachment: however hard I tried to relate, there would always be a barrier there because of my lack of experience. I tried my best to listen and help when I could, but there are certain boundaries I could not cross.

Lately I’ve had to accept that at least for now, there are limitations on what I can and cannot do. It’s an odd thing to think about, since I never had to consider it before. Prior to this fall, I could skip exercising all I wanted because I didn’t have the motivation, but it hurts to know now that it’s not possible for me because of physical limitations, not mental ones. For a while, I fell into the self-pitying narrative that people like to spread rumors about with regards to the actual community of people with disabilities and chronic illnesses. It’s a touchy subject to talk about, especially with people who experience much worse pain and discomfort than I do on a daily basis.
I’ll be grateful when the pain subsides, but I won’t forget my experience; instead, I want to learn and grow from it, and educate myself about the realities of chronic illness and pain. After all, if I have this much pain on a daily basis, imagine how it must feel to deal with this every day, both on a larger scale and for possibly one’s entire life! While my journey with chronic pain is temporary, and hopefully ending soon, I hope that what I learned and experienced will help me be more empathetic and compassionate.

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[originally posted on bucultureshock.com]

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Swipe Right

“Why are you swiping left on all those girls? They were cute!”

“Wait, why are you seeing gay guys?”

“You’re making this so much harder than it needs to be. Just get over it and message someone!”

Yeah, it’s not that easy.

Dating was hard enough back in high school, before I began my transition. I already dressed butch, with short hair and no makeup. Straight guys were hardly interested in a masculine girl, and there were never more than three or four lesbians in high school, so my options were limited.

photo credit: torbakhopper “love you more” and the date raping of america, scott richard via photopin (license)

It has been a while since I was out in the dating pool. After the end of a long-term relationship at the beginning of college, I found myself in an unfamiliar world of dating apps and one night stands. Not only that, but it was the first time since I began my transition that I found myself single and “ready to mingle.” Other people’s views of me had changed drastically.

I’m on Tinder as male: that’s my gender. But I’m stuck in a strange limbo. Socially I present as male, and I want to date people who like men (obviously). But on Tinder, a lot of people are looking for hookups more than relationships. Since I haven’t medically transitioned, my body doesn’t match my gender, and so people who are looking for men often aren’t interested in sex with someone with – for lack of a better term – a “female” body. I don’t want to have my gender invalidated in a relationship, but at the same time how do I explain this duality to people who may never have met a trans person before?

Over the last year I’ve come up with some strategies. I put my gender status right there in the description, warning off anyone who could be put out upon discovering I’m not cisgender. Even when I do match with people, it takes an enormous effort to strike up a conversation when I don’t know how they’ll react.

I’ve gotten some awkward questions, like: “How does sex work for you?” (Answer: pretty much the same as anyone else.) Or: “Wait, does ‘trans guy’ mean that you used to be a guy and now you’re a girl?” (Answer: The other way around. I’m a trans GUY.) There have even been some incredibly invasive questions about my genitals: can’t I get a “hello” first?

My experiences have been generally positive, but there’s always the threat looming in my mind that someone might become angry or even violent at the thought I might be “tricking” them about my gender or my body. That thought sticks in every trans person’s head when they go out with someone new. The history of trans women murdered for their transgender status creates a whole new level of danger to dating. I’m extra cautious because I have to be, but I wish I had the courage to be authentically myself without having to worry about anyone else’s opinion.

I ask cis people everywhere, especially on dating apps, to be patient with us. We’re people just like you, often with trust issues in the dating scene. If you’re not interested, that’s fine. Just swipe left or unmatch; we won’t take it personally. My hope is that one day trans people won’t have to constantly judge other people’s reactions to us. We’ll just be normal people, looking for companionship and compassion like anyone else.

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[originally posted on bucultureshock.com]

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Take Care

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My roommate is the most compulsively organized person I’ve ever met. She writes down everything she does – and I do mean everything – the night before, if not sooner, in her gigantic, perfectly parceled out planner with a section for every activity you could think of. It even has matching sticker sets, like a little latte cup to put on days you get coffee. She makes special bath scrubs and essential oil sprays for every part of your body, she’s always taking artsy photos of her tea when she goes to do homework at Starbucks, and she has a designated time for every chore from laundry to cleaning the bathroom sink. It’s dizzying to watch her exercise control over every aspect of her chaotic life and mold everything into a perfect checklist of things to do by the hour. In her world, nothing goes unaccounted for.

My life, on the other hand, is hectic on a good day. It’s not that I’m not organized, just not compulsively so, and in a student’s life that can make all the difference. If I have the foresight to write down my homework in my planner, I consider it a success; usually when I finally carve out a time to study I have to spend the first few minutes rifling through my syllabus to find what work is actually due for the next class. I couldn’t make it to one yoga class a week, let alone five. My idea of self-care is binge-watching The Office in my sweatpants for fourteen hours and eating lunch at 4 pm when the sun is halfway set.

If I was forced to write down and plan every aspect of my life, I would break under the pressure within a week. I thrive on being able to be spontaneous and use my free time however I decide, even if it’s not what I had originally planned. If my meticulous roommate was forced to live the way I do, she would constantly be too anxious to work, not knowing what she’s supposed to be doing. She needs the control over her life to practice good self-care, like the positive yoga blogs that are all the rage nowadays. On the contrary, the need to control my life makes me too stressed to enjoy it.

My self-care is not picture perfect. I don’t sit and color in an adult coloring book while making tea and preparing meals for the next week. Self-care, to me, means that I give myself the freedom to do what I want and to enjoy doing something meaningless or doing nothing at all. Unfortunately, my life is not what all those positivity blogs want it to look like; it’s much more similar to the thinkpieces by baby boomers about why millennials are “lazy” and “selfish” for never doing anything productive. I’ve struggled with the guilt of knowing that my life is not what other people say it should be. But self-care can’t be dictated by other people. It’s right in the name: self-care means doing what is best for you, not what’s best for some anonymous blogger with big ideas. If yoga makes you feel better, great! If it just makes you cranky because you’re not flexible enough to do the poses, maybe you should look for other ways to relieve stress. It was a struggle to accept, but I’m working on treating myself in a way that makes me happy in relaxed, not more stressed because of all the expectations placed on me. There are always options, and it’s ultimately up to you to decide what is going to make you feel better, not worse.

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[originally posted on bucultureshock.com]

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