Legend by Bob Marley


Love? F*** it

It’s bizarre, but these days I have become particularly aware that I won’t be able to ‘fall’ in love quite the same way again. Maybe it’s the influence of spring that makes me notice couples everywhere – or just the fact that there’s no one for me to hold hands with while walking down the street.

It is strange; part of me craves the excitement of meeting someone I want to impress, but I don’t think I romanticize it quite as I used to. I suppose being transgender means I set myself up for solitude, or well…at least, a prolonged period of figuring out how to tell people and how to trust people with this information. Even those with the best intentions end up passing on the fact that my gender identity is different to my biological sex; admittedly, I find it peculiar whenever I find someone who already “knows”, because they are a friend of a friend.

How exactly do people start that conversation? Can’t exactly be a casual ‘bomb’ to drop on people, I guess.

“Yeah, you know Eric… he’s transgender.”

Nah, I don’t think that’s how it happens.

But then, how am I supposed to tell people? I guess I am more ‘myself’ with people who already know, but I think it’s just cause I don’t have to breach that topic with them. Then again, in situations where I’ve had to explain it (although I haven’t yet had to explain it to someone who doesn’t know what it means to be transgender), people seem to have taken it well. And we just have a quick Q&A and move on. I don’t mind being asked questions; just because I don’t argue or yell, doesn’t mean  I consent to answering questions I find personal. And even then, I find I don’t have the same ‘triggers’ as other people (well… not many that overlap, I guess).

Anyway, what was I talking about?

Ah yes, the joy of romance.

Meh. That’s what it has come to. I don’t feel able to engage with anyone on a particularly emotional or physical level.

What’s more, my luck with asking people out on dates is really bad. Well, that’s not properly phrased; it’s not like they laugh at me and say “haha…no”. Thus far, whenever I have asked a lady out, it has ended up being “just hanging out” – apparently I am too subtle and must make it more obvious.

This is fascinating to me. It is very likely people I have been interested in are just not interested in me and hence don’t see it as a ‘date’. I don’t think it is a matter of intent; in my experience, when a girl has been asked out “for a drink” or “to catch a coffee” by friends of mine, it has become a date. Maybe I’m not giving off the right “signals”?

Either way, I don’t think I can tumble into something quite the same way as before. Oh, I’ll still think about a lady I meet in that way, and express my sincerest appreciation of her awesomeness (usually by going “you’re awesome”) but somehow I just don’t really seem to care much about it. Or well… I care about my lack of interest rather than my lack of a partner; it strikes me rather as a point of intellectual intrigue and interest rather than the idea that “I have a problem because I don’t ‘have me a woman’ “. I dunno.

Maybe I’m just rationalising the whole thing too much.

I suppose the solitude only really gets to me when I see other friends or acquaintances who are in a couple (or two, or three.. poly peeps are fascinating!). Even then, I wouldn’t explicitly stop hanging out with my best friend cause she’s in a relationship. Meh indeed.

Ah, f*** it. I just want to write. Problem is, in fiction at least, I end up write about what I know. And I don’t really know anyone that no one wants to be someone’s muse or inspiration. No one wants to be a character in someone else’s story, so I don’t really blame them.

So… f*** it.





I dreamt I was back at school – or well, at least, living with my parents as I did during my school days. We had a pool and I was swimming in it.

Somehow the water in this pool was deep blue, like the sea, not the sterile blue of the chlorine-infested swimming pool. I swam through it and was also talking to someone, some bodiless voice. The water was reasonably calm at first, but this ‘voice’ was a friend of mine and  promised me it would conjure up a storm as storms were best for swimming in (this is a dream, remember!).

Sure enough I swam a while in the calm water but quickly got bored. After a bit of chat with this voice, I reminded the voice of this promise and wrapped my hands around a rock as the water swelled up. Seconds later, the wind was howling, and storm clouds gathered above the pool.

I deftly swam into the waves, but then somehow became aware that my parents were calling me and expected me to get ready for school. Coughing and spluttering, I crawled out of the pool and onto the stone patio. I knew I was going to need a towel, so I focused all my mental energy on getting one, as if it would be drawn to me, like magic. But it wasn’t enough as I was distracted when my mother screamed I ought to come inside and my dad popped his head around the door.

In my head, I told my weather-controlling friend that I had to go, and that I would return someday.

“What do you think you’re doing? Don’t just stand there and stare at me like a fish!” My mother screeched as I tiptoed into the kitchen, trying to sneak past her while not creating puddles on the wooden floor. “Go get ready for school!” She then barked out my old name, and when I explained I’m a guy, she laughed and said “you might think so, but you’ve misplaced a very important part of you.” She then proceeded to show me a chopping board with something flesh-coloured on it cut into neat slices.

I had nothing to retaliate with.

“Go get ready for school!” I hung my head and staggered towards my room. “And clean up the mess – I don’t know how you did it, but it’s full of snow in there!”

While I tried to grasp the idea of this, my weather-controlling friend apologised in my head, about not being able to control their powers.There was no way of setting up the storm outside without accidentally causing it to snow in my room.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it,” resounded the voice in my head.

As I reached my room, I saw the snow had melted, so all I could do was mop up.


Admittedly dreams are fascinating creatures to analyse, but all I could think of  after I woke up was the idea of magic, and disillusionment. As a writer, ‘magic’ is fascinating to me, because it is tied very strongly to the concept of imagination. If my imagination dried up, I’d begin to worry I was becoming an adult.