A few days ago I passed by this beautiful old farmhouse. It was my very first home in Switzerland. I shared our half of the house with five amazing people who showed me what family and friendship are all about. We inspired each other, and were there for each other. Even though I stayed for only one year, I learned more than ever before.

I spent the last few days visiting family. it’s funny how we react to extremes. My dad grew up surrounded by family as far as the eye could see – parents, uncles, aunts, cousins… Since then, what he craves most is simply to be alone.
I grew up having hardly any family at all. I have come to love my independence but, unlike my dad, I am aiming for a healthy balance. I feel happy connecting with relatives I have always liked but never had much opportunity to spend time with. Listening to their stories inspires me and makes my heart soar.
This last weekend, three generations sat together and watched Super 8 movies of family events reaching as far back as thirty years ago. Photographs can never live up to moving pictures. Seeing my grandma talk animatedly and smile was amazing. I wanted to reach into that silver screen and pull her out for just an instant to smack one last kiss onto her warm, wrinkly, old cheeks.
Seeing myself was interesting as well. I wore clothes way too big, in an attempt to hide my burgeoning bosom. Quite frankly, I looked a bit like a balloon.
Far more interesting however, was to see my posture, my smile and mannerisms. It confirmed what I already knew: I haven’t changed much at all. I was homeless in the wrong body, but I was always Liam. I still laugh the same, love the same, move the same… but since those childhood and teenage years, I have come home in every sense of the word.
Lounging on the couch with my partner and my relatives, hearing everyone laughing and seeing them point each other out in the movies was a grand experience.
I was humbled by the open-mindedness of everyone as well. Here they were, right next to me in my adult, male shape and form, and every so often my wonderful aunt or someone else would exclaim happily, “Ah look, there you are Liam.” all the while pointing at the big-boobed teenaged girl on screen.
Is there anything more beautiful than to be accepted exactly as who you are?

This is my workspace for today, and all while visiting treasured friends in Zug, Switzerland. I am now working parallel on my 4th and 5th draft. Lots of revision to be done. I am still amazed by how crap my 3rd draft was…
My lecturers at the art academy taught me well many years ago: Don’t be satisfied with your work too quickly. Even if it seems to be good enough – revise, revise, revise. But then of course, you need to know when to stop so you don’t overshoot the mark. Happy Sunday everyone. Sending you sunshine from gorgeous Zug!

This picture was taken only days after I came out at my workplace and announced, “I am actually a man and would like to be called Liam from now on.” Everyone embraced who I was. My employer gracefully ignored my big boobs and sent me to the tailor to get my very first tailor-made suit. All thumbs, I never managed to tie my own ties. But, thanks to the lovely ladies at the ticket office who helped me every day, I was just a short step away from looking as dashing as James Bond.

This is my oma (German for grandma) with her best friend. Oma left us on 26th December 1996. Today, she would have turned 105 years old. Whatever happens, she will always live on in my memories – and in all of yours, I hope.
My book will be dedicated to her. Everything you will read will be in large part thanks to Frida Klenk – my amazing, irreplaceable oma. Throughout my youth she was always there for me, lifting me up with her gracious heart, her strength, her smile and her undefeatable optimism. Happy birthday Oma! Thanks for helping me grow into the positive force I am today. I am sending you the biggest hug imaginable. I love you.

For a while, I was male in body but still female on paper. If I had to apply for any kind of official documents, people would usually look at me and say, “Why don’t you send your wife?” I would turn red like a tomato, stammer, and would hate every second of our exchange.

A few days ago, I needed to make some phone calls to order divorce papers from years back. So my conversation with the friendly registrar on the phone went like this…
Me: “Hello, can you please send me a copy of my divorce papers from 2004?”
Registrar: “Sure. May I ask, who was your wife at the time?”
Me: “I was.”
Silence…
Registrar: “I am sorry, I don’t get it.”
Me, laughing: “I am sorry for confusing you. I had a sex change but back then, I was Mrs. William. I was the wife.”
Registrar:”Oh, I am sorry.”
Me: “Don’t worry about it. So now I am a man. But can you still send me those papers as they were then, listing me as female?”
Registrar: “I am still a bit confused, but yes, I will get right on it.”
Me, chuckling: “Thanks a lot. Have a great day!”
Registrar: “Thanks Mr. Klenk, you too.”
She had sounded so honestly puzzled and been so sweet about it, I couldn’t stop giggling for a good half hour.

And then it occurred to me: I don’t mind anymore. The process of writing my memoirs and reliving so many incredible experiences must have helped as well. I feel completely relaxed and unconcerned. I am at ease with who I am. Yes, I am transsexual. Yes, I do not fit the norm. Yes, I have had a crazy odyssey so far. Some of it was incredibly hard to deal with and survive…

Thank you universe, for every single second of this precious life. It has made me who I am. Thank you with all my heart.

Surrounded by turquoise oceans teeming with life, I often pondered one of my favorite quotes from J.R.R. Tolkien, “Not all those who wander are lost.” I had sometimes been lost before I had wandered. Ever since I had started exploring the world and myself in the process, I was definitely far from lost.

Adolescence was difficult to say the least. I tried to fit in. But I wasn’t girl enough to be able to connect with other girls and I wasn’t boy enough to be accepted by other boys. So I decided early on to try and find virtue in being a loner. I immersed myself in books, wrote poems and short stories, pondered about Schopenhauer and Kant, and ordered books from Native American reservations, at one time even learning a Lakota dialect. My favorite pastime on weekends was helping frogs across the street or rescuing falcons from Arab sheiks. I was lonely as hell, friendly, smiling.
Kill them with kindness, I thought. Be yourself. Eventually, you will find your way and they will accept you. In these early days, it never occurred to me that I was already well on my way, just many years away from understanding an important truth: being me is enough.