…God created a boy named T. T looked like a boy, acted more or less like a boy, grew up like a boy. But T was always confused about whether he was really a girl. At a very young age, T instinctively “knew” that a girls are better than boys; dresses are better than shorts; long hair is better than short hair; and mom’s wardrobe and make-up case is full of wonderful things. T also “knew” that somehow, he had to hide how he felt. So, in public, T would make a point of being boyish, while in secret, T tries out his sister’s dresses, and secretly yearns to be her.
Well, that was my story growing up. Those were confusing times, and it only got worse when I hit puberty. I started noticing the changes in the girls around me: their bodies, the way they dressed, the way they presented themselves. Their changes were more wonderful than those I was going through: the facial hair, my lowering voice, among other things. I graduated from rummaging my little sister’s closet to raiding mom’s wardrobe. Hers was filled with wonderful blouses, skirts and dresses. My favourite was her leather pencil skirt. Wearing them felt natural, and I hoped that one day I would grow up to be a woman.
But at some point I needed to get my own clothes. And so on trips to Hong Kong each summer, I would go to the Ladies’ Market in the Mongkok area to get myself some items. No one seemed to care whom I was buying the clothes for, but as long as I paid them, it was fine. Later, I got myself a wig and some make-up online. By the time I was in university, I’d occasionally wander around campus late at night, dressed like a normal young woman. It was liberating!
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