Wednesday, June 29, 2011


Last Saturday I went out with Zulzaga. Disclaimer: nothing romantic, not interested in romance, or relationship, or even one-night stand or any(!)thing at this point. Just two broken-hearted individuals who felt ok enough to talk to each other during their hardest and darkest times. First we trooped to Flight 7:12, a live rock performance by various emerging bands organised by ArseholeForeverShite group NGO (surely it was a joke) - fantastic performances though, then onto the LGBT party. After weeks and weeks of going nowhere beyond the bare necessity, that was quite an undertaking. I don't want to even begin talking about four beers and their effect the next day - I have sadly become a very boring non-smoking teetotaller. Dislocation: I was trying not to mingle at the party, sitting with a few gay boys in the corner table next to the stage. I've never been much of a party animal, I usually skip them. Parties just ain't my scene. Even when I do go to parties, I am often hanging out outside on the fringes, smoking or talking to people. A fringer. All my group photos (the ones I've taken) show me at the fringes, never inside, never in the middle. I get claustrophobic in a small space, next to people I don't know and wouldn't most probably enjoy getting to know anyway, and no way of finding out whether I would enjoy getting to know them since it's often too noisy, too physical, too superficial. Anyway, as my bedtime came and passed around 11:30pm, I started inching closer to the exit, and in the process was caught by Zulzaga who made me sit at their table, the girls' table. Obviously some girls knew I began my transition because they were really looking-looking at me, while some of them didn't obviously want to share the same breathing space since they wouldn't move to give me a sitting space, so I panicked. I felt so dislocated. The same feeling I got a few days prior to the party when Baya asked how I should be introduced as a straight male to someone who needs some translations done. The same panicky dislocation. The same feeling of panicky void. And here is why: although all my life I've been a lesbian, and I am truly endlessly happy that I had finally begun my transition, to suddenly be called a straight male (which is what I am now, technically, since I am a man who loves women) or to be perceived as someone who shouldn't share the lesbian table... It was nerve-racking. I don't know whether that was really what those girls were thinking, but since I don't know them all too well, and they don't know me all too well either, it was easy to assume that they would be thinking exactly that: what the hell this transitional female-to-male dude was doing sitting there. I panicked and I got up at the first opportunity and pretended to go to the loo, but quietly fled.

PS: I tried contacting my mother. No answer. Dreamt she was dead last Thursday. Woke up scared, decided to contact her myself because I don't know if the freaky woman ever gave her my new number. The feeling of dislocation is a little stronger.

PPS: I just discovered a note I made on my mobile that night while still sitting at the boys' table.
"Some men are... men, I guess. They think they can take more space than they even need. This little boy who just sat down at our table pushed the table and pinned me to my side of the table. As I also sat down on the other side of the table, I know that actually there was ample space and no need to push the table pinning people literally. He did it deliberately while looking at me. And there is no one who witnessed this little incident. If I was one of those angry and fucked off dudes, I would've thumped him because he's really puny, half my size. A question: did he pin me to my side of the table because I still look female and being gay, they are projecting female-hatred that I've noticed many times in some gay guys, or is it just that he's simply rude? No idea. Don't like it. Other kids asked me about my transition though. Very cool."

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