The sun is so bright. I close my eyes. I open them again to see the road I am walking on, the tall grass, wild flowers, the fields and a river beyond. I look at the sky – the sky’s vivid red. I close my eyes. I open them again to see the road I am walking on, the dusty puffs my footprints leave. The sun’s bright. I keep on walking. You laugh, head held high "I know why you do the things you do", and on you laugh. The sky's red. The sun is bright. On I walk, my road ahead is my road left behind.
Monday, July 15, 2013
My eyes are closed. Tiniest droplets of mist kiss the skin of my face. It evokes music. The music evokes you. I imagine you laying next to me, getting kissed by this ethereal mist gently drizzling from the overcast skies, with the tiny disk of the noon sun above like a halo, and you, the astronaut in your universe, floating with eyes closed, face up, your translucent veins pulsing rhythmically, imperceptible to any eye but mine. I will you to be here for where I am, you should be. Then I remember what I did. How could I be so naked in my yearning? Restlessness, shame, defiance -- all at once -- engulf me. Likely scenarios arising out of my minute-long weakness -- improbable imposition -- flash in my paranoid brain, making me wince. I am no longer the beautiful music playing in my soul, it's only a jumble of an orchestra before the conductor raises the baton. All I am is fear. And pain. Why does it hurt so much? Why am I not over? What will it take? How can I stop feeling what I feel? Hasn't it been too long for this to even be "in-love" phenomenon?... Only the jumble remains.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
If we as adults are not allowed to make sovereign decisions what to experience with our own consciousness while doing no harm to others, ... then we cannot claim to be free in any way.
– Graham Hancock
The very foundation of anyone's being in the world is a primal blank slate where no judgement exists, but everything we do or are subjected to while growing up alters our primal state. We call it "becoming a human". In truth we only become our society's slaves who go about their lives taking in any and all information around us, those externally imposed values, for our very own truth. Everything we eat, drink, think, feel alters our body and brain chemistry, influencing our consciousness, our reality, and we are not even aware. To return to that primal state of consciousness, that blank state of conscious awareness we spend years doing meditation, getting stoned or worse, and still often fail to find what we're looking for. If everything, even our thoughts, alters our consciousness, bodily reactions and soul movements, we all do dwell in altered states of consciousness. Whether it is one of your own choosing, or one imposed on you, you have to find out. Years ago my ex-wife tried her best to teach me non-judgement, if you will. She never really succeeded because I was not able to see clearly, feel fully to be able to come to my own conclusions about non-judgement. Years later, I am finally here.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Yesterday as Guillaume and I were making our way to one place I hang out at most of my free days now, we came across a group of four men who were talking among themselves, happy, laughing. That small bunch was heading in our direction, i.e., the direction of the road, and we were going in the opposite, a collision course. I had to but look at them closer as they appeared different. Most Mongolian men of their age don't go around laughing, and are definitely not as fit as they were. I wasn't wrong: as they got closer and I heard them, they were Chinese. Given the abundance of new constructions going on in that area, in most probability they were Chinese construction workers. As I looked from one to another, I saw them meet my gaze for a fraction of a second and avert their eyes quickly, or look down, or even look away. Their eyes made me aware that externally (my hair) I do resemble those ignorant, hateful people who go around bashing anyone they perceive to be un-Mongolian, but with a friend who was non-Mongolian by my side, wouldn't they have known that I was not one of those unconscionable people? That if I was a racist ultranationalist, I wouldn't even be friends with foreigners? Which reminded me of the earlier in the day conversation I was having with a friend who is back visiting home from the US about what constitutes Mongolianness, who defines it as what. It's all about ignorance. Give people information, teach them healthier ways to question and criticise, there shall be no violence in any form. It's all about power, and the power, in this day and age, is all about information. Deprive people of this, you will have what we have -- increasingly insular ultranationalistic sentiments nation-wide, fostered and promoted as a matter of state policy, blind eye turned towards non-Mongolians being beat up or even killed. It's time to recognise hate, hate speech and hate crimes for what they are, time to make the society safe for everyone. Start with the criminalisation of hate, whether directed at anyone perceived as non-Mongolian, or anyone perceived to be non-conforming to the notions/definitions of what Mongolianness is.
Monday, July 1, 2013
The early hours of Saturday, words uttered in a venomous attack by my sister are still bothering me. Because it was again about who I loved as was the first time when I came out to her to love women 20 years ago. The most common mistake people make is to confuse sexual orientation and gender identity. Let's get it right, again: gender identity is how you feel about yourself, your sexual identity, your body -- in other words, inward feelings of one's own being. Sexual orientation is who you're attracted to, who you fall in love with, have sex/relationship with -- in other words, outward feelings and behaviour. All my life I've always fallen in love with women, so since at the time I thought I could never change my body, I resolved myself to being a lesbian, and, after my transition, I assumed that I was straight. No problem. However, it's been a year and a half since I fell in love with a guy, the very first time in my life, a guy who identified proudly as a man, no problem. Quite masculine one, too. Before my transition, I had a few attractions in my teens to very effeminate men, men who I knew then or later understood/found to have been mostly gay, or some transwomen, as a matter of fact. But the fact of finding myself at the end of 2011 in love with a man shook everything I thought I knew about myself. I went through a long period of denial, confusion, negation, painfully exhilarating time. From the end of last year, I decided I could finally handle this newly discovered side of mine, that I would just live and see if that instance of falling in love with a guy was a freak accident or something somewhat permanent, something that could repeat. I gave myself a ticket to explore my new -- new in the sense of sensual experience; otherwise, I am still in my very own world of queer people -- side. As it is, every day I am seeing and coming to terms with the fact that I am more attracted to men rather women. I have to finally say it: I am at this point in life more attracted to men than women, strangely enough. "How does that happen, do you have phases when you're more attracted to one sex than the other?" I asked a bisexual friend of mine, he wasn't sure. So I did tell my sister about this newfound side of my sexuality, and the next thing I know she throws it in my face in a transphobic and homophobic fashion "You don't even know if you're a man or a woman anymore, you were in love with a guy!" As if my inner feeling of gender identity have anything to do with my sexual orientation. So what that I am a transman who had spent 99% of his life loving women, but who is now exploring a whole new population. I am still who I am, a man born in the wrong body, who had finally taken steps to correct this mistake I was born with, and who is happily exploring his new gay side. But how much am I gay, though? I still have no answer with a percentage. As someone I met in DC a few months before my transition warned me, attractions change, they do, with transition.
in the wee hours of saturday morning i came home to discover the money i gave my sister and my nephew sitting on the kitchen table with a note attached: "take your money back. we didn't need it". the money i gave my sister was something to help her on her trip to russia. the money i gave my nephew was a gift for his 16th birthday. it was money i could hardly afford to give away, but the last money i had on me that i wanted them to have as she needed it, and i wanted to give it to my nephew since i wasn't there for two of his last birthdays. same old shit continues with her. she never changed. she's still the diagnosed schizophrenic who needs more help than i can provide, ever.
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2017 оны 7-р сарын сүүлээр хэвлэлтээс гарах "Амьдрал, хайр, эрх чөлөө: дэлхийн шилдэг ЛГБТ яруу найргийн антологи"-д багтсан ...
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