This was 1995, roughly a year before my gender reassignment surgeries. My clothes couldn’t be baggy enough and my coats couldn’t be long enough so as to hide my traitorous body. Alien female curves and boobs as big as gene-manipulated water melons disappeared behind these thick layers of tent-like clothing. By covering what shouldn’t be there in the first place, the young man inside of me was able to at least take tentative steps into the courtyard of the prison he was trapped in.
Today, twenty years later, an organic food magazine made me smile. Next to a photo of juicy apples, tomatoes and avocados, I read, “Take care of your body. It’s the only place you have to live.”
Oh yes. If only they knew how profoundly right they are… far beyond the vegetables…
My body will never be perfect. But, after all that’s happened, I feel content and have claimed my place to live. I’m home within myself.