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Mali, born physically male feels feminine inside but is insecure with the depth and expression of such. Over some years Mali has gravitated progressively toward feminine presentation. But the apparent ridicule of the world around, much of which Mali attributes to how they look in the mirror keeps them in check. Not to mention the more fem they let out, the more they are read as being 'gay' which feels like the painful end of hope for their most cherished dream, a melting love with a special woman. Now floating in Thailand as a tech-nomad, Mali is flirting with hormones and feminization surgeries, with no goal in mind but to face their identity once and for all before returning to the USA.

Cat is a successful Thai entrepreneur, educated in Japan with impeccable social polish and beauty, still seeking an elusive happiness that her heart is holding out for despite cultural and family pressures. Grappling with the loss of her lifelong best friend due to her apparent attraction to Cat, and an always lukewarm relationship with men, her current boyfriend no exception, she feels like she's reached the limit of being able to understand herself and move her life forward.

When Cat and Mali meet, a friendship develops allowing each a place of deep expression of what they've been unable to communicate with anyone else - in friendship and eventually intimacy. To Mali, Cat is the perfect woman who could get 'him' over the whole 'fem thing'. And to Cat, Mali is the perfect man, a 'rockstar', the answer to what has been missing in her relationships. To each, the other seems to be the answer. But in the way expected?

Chapters

Dedication

ANTECEDENTS
One Day

BEFORE
Koona
The Price Tag
Shocked
Kaa Kaa
Dee and Dee
MRT

DESPAIR
Standing
Thai Reality
The Pink Button Down Shirt
Fuck. Fuck? Fuck!
Frustrated Shaman
Home
Re Koona
The Night Market
Recollections
The Chinese Tune
Reunion
Open Soul
The Creepy Sperm Bank
All Living Things
The Klong House
100 Years
Japanese
Kali
Cat's Heartbreak
The Blackest Sheep
Sarai

CAT
Un-American
Chatuchak Park
Away
Chiang Rai
Skype
A Plan
John Lennon
The Restaurant
Piano
The Path
Sweetness
Parting
Kad Suan Kaew
Surprise
Suan Benjasiri
Are We There Yet?
Broken Rules
Only You Are Confused
No Promises
The Actual Dessert
Roles
I Think I Should Go Now
Back Alone

LAY OF THE LAND
Such Misery
On the Moon
Parallel Life
Ultimatum
The Motley Crew and Thailand
Ruminations
The Free Fuck You
Really.
Home Again
I Need Help!
Karina
"Normal" Trans
Terrasanto'sWonder
A Girl Who Knows a Guy
Doorstep
The Face
The Way Back to Love

HOPE
Hello World
Hating on the Road to Bangkok
Dress Shopping Dress Wearing Anastasia

AUTUMN The Pumpkin Head Snoutmark Streetlight Silhouette Going Crazy in a Park Secrets Out Thai Pancakes and Watermelon Escaping the Ten Minutes Searching for Godot Reflections from a Motorcycle Farang Kon Katoey Soi Katoey

TRUTH Girlfriends Aussie Ape Man Going Deep Loi Krathong Separafusion Codigo Rojo Intertwined Fabric of Life Sinking Fortress

TRANSIT 767 Coming Out Chaos New

OMAHA

The Smile Gender Confirmation Stereo PTSD Tough Customers Caged Spark

About

Dedication

To... Who has always been here but for acceptance, a name and outward appearance. Who never gives up searching, often on the tail of a feeling and a distant hope. Deciding to trust oneself, body and feelings, even when the external world has come up empty on answers.

~ ANTECEDENTS ~

One Day

One moment can change a day, one day can change a life and one life can change the world.
— Buddah

Hospital Moderna, Montevideo, Uruguay

The wall-clock across the room ticked away, making it all real now. 8:05am.

Ana put her hand on her heart and massaged, gently kneading into her small developing breast, the warmth and softness in stark contrast to the almost scratchy starched gown she was in.

I’m sorry about this. Sorry you’ve hurt so much.

The lump in her throat came and her eyes contracted with mist.

You can always tell me ‘no’… still. I’m listening now too.

An image of herself as a young child. The girl with full wavy auburn hair inside the playhouse simply turned her head, smiled back and then turning back went on playing like nothing.

She nodded. Business as usual. Just as before. Simply the feeling of things being right… with herself, the world…

Even that clock on the wall.

If I die in this process, I’ve died fighting for myself.

I’m at peace.

She was starting to see the pattern. These decisions took aggression to make. Each choice to change nature’s physical default, required a certain threshold of something almost like anger despite feeling at the same time right and absolutely necessary.

She shook her head.

The paradox of being violent against her own body in the name of authenticity. It had taken the last eighteen months to face and accept that. And years more to even get to that point.

But I’m still sorry.

She ran her other hand over her face and neck, letting her fingers gently sink in and massage the flesh.

Hi face… hi neck… everything inside… I’m sorry…

The dark nothingness approached… it was planned to last over eight hours today.

The one I’ve already put through hell.

The tears intensified in her eyes.

“I’m sorry little cells,” she pout-smiled and intoned almost inaudibly, as a mother to comfort a child, herself choked up with emotion.

The usual response did not surprise her.

“It’s okay. We’ve got this.”

Once again they were going to war for her.

With their blessing.

Only minutes from now, she guessed. Thrown into a state of trauma and shock. Confusion. Attack. There was no way that it was not that. The loving and innate intelligence that no matter what would fight for survival until the very end.

And even happiness.

So maybe, then, there’s no conflict after all.

“Good morning Ana.”

The man in green scrubs and a surgical cap whisked around the corner and smiled, causing an immediate smile back from Ana, puling her out of contemplation.

He came see me before the surgery.

Just as he had promised.

The last little thing in the trust rebuilding process.

Check.

The one… she’d flown half way around the world for. With whom she’d fought with almost to the point of canceling plans several times in the six month waiting period. During that time she had wondered if she could trust him and his team. At best their email communications had been volatile. And now, if she had to do it again, she would have flown here six months ago to meet him in person. Because in person confirmed everything about her choice.

Terrasanto. Everyone just called him that. No ‘doctor’ prefix, just Terrasanto. An aesthetic and surgical genius. A hacker in his own right. A man with an internal barometer of what was good and what was not. He did forehead reconstruction differently than any other doctor in the world. The online forums were full of back and forth about him.

In the end, when someone is the one, they simply are.

And you know it.

It hadn’t been about any promises he made her - in fact he only told her what he could do and where his limits were. He didn’t ask so much what she wanted but more like an artist told her what he thought would be a best total result. So much different from the technician surgeons who seemed to think of her face in pieces, as if they were themselves insecure in taking responsibility for the final result and instead asking her ‘what do you want to do?’.

And she’d seen examples of Terrasanto’s work. So on paper and inside she knew.

A hope she’d never had before.

Back then she barely had the faith such was possible. At least for her. Not the least that all the other surgeons she’d met with at best had been reluctant.

Maybe the only one in the world who could do this.

For her. What she needed. She knew enough of life to trust such strong senses, as they were not always so clear.

If I don’t trust things when they’re crystal clear, its like taking a sledgehammer to my internal barometer.

She knew that from experience.

A spontaneous deep breath entered her lungs as if her body was giving its blessing into his hands. The same that had always come when she contemplated this choice, regardless of the apparent external conflicts in the interim.

“How are you this morning? Sleep well? Get here alright?”

Terrasanto continued in strong but accented English, the rapid fire questions making it clear that detailed answers weren’t required. His perceptive eyes were already studying her face.

“Yes, everything was fine. Glad to be here finally!”

She smiled. Although fluent in Spanish she no longer cared to assert so when addressed in her native tongue. It was funny how the more she liked and became herself, the less ego she seemed to need to support her.

The surgeon was followed by two other men in the same type of scrubs.

“This is the rest of my surgical team, Dr. Salvatorre, Dr. Rivera, and you’ll meet Dr. Guzman my anesthesiologist in the quirofano.”

Standing around her bed the surgeons began talking amongst themselves, her face was the object, discussing the locations of the incisions they’d make for the various combined procedures and the surgical game plan. With the green head covers and surgical masks, all she could see was the focus and intentness of their eyes.

Another deep breath came. She felt surprisingly calm. She felt complete trust in this team and what was coming next.

How much more you appreciate what you have on the day you leave.

There was something inside that shriveled when she recognized how her defenses, the anger and anxiety so often present played into alienating herself from others. And now the same feeling, but with life itself.

All the times I’ve cursed the universe for putting me in this position. Giving me these challenges. And not trusted. Over and over. And every time…

The tears again came to her eyes.

Because it’s been perfect. I’m always cared for in the end. Always have been…

I’m sorry life. Universe.

Thank you.

I love you. I wouldn’t change for anyone.

Really.

A smile broke on her face when she realized what she’d just said to herself.

She knew today was a big point between before and after. Every piece of imperfect trust had led here. The operation and change almost no one she knew thought she should have or ‘needed’.

That’s what hurt. But then again…

This is not running.

She knew how good it felt to run. Drop things, start over, go somewhere new. But today was different. In the last year, running had lost the power of promise.

This is what all the running of the past was toward.

From here on I live. I face things head on…

If I live.

For the first time in her life she really saw it for what it was, the passion that made her, to the outside world including her family, appear to be fragmented and lost. Albeit a world nomad who up to now did fine supporting herself and her enigmatic lifestyle and choices. And then the last sprint to the visible goal when the mystery unraveled enough for her to see things clearly, this past year.

As if the thought of running was the cue, the gurney-bed was now in motion, guided by a pair of nurses who had come silently to the task. On her back, all she could see was the ceiling as its dimmed lights as they went by.

No more time.

She couldn’t help the silent tears from falling now.

On the edge between choice and no longer having it. Like the occasional dreams she’d have of being in the waiting line to receive death.

Immediate non-existence.

Nothing about pain. Just the line between being on one side and then the other.

The huge emotion of letting go.

This must be how animals feel. On the way to…

Out of your hands unless you want one last fight.

I have no will to fight this… any longer…

A fitting climax to the past eighteen months of her life. Not to mention all the years before.

I’m all in.

She massaged her heart again and nodded.

Poor heart. I’m sorry.

Regardless of the comforting, she felt her adrenaline kick up a notch sending a visceral chill of anxiety through her system in a cool sweat.

My system. My life. I’m playing with it. I made a choice.

She took a deep breath.

Time was speeding up more now, she could feel it.

And if this is how it ends, thank you life. I’ve loved you.

She felt the release of big tear dropping from her eye.

A port in a wall of glass approached. The sign said Quirofono 9. She turned her head in curiosity. Inside, smooth white tiled walls were accented with electronic equipment, blinking lights, a few metal tables. She saw the array of x-rays of her skull up on the lighted screen behind the operating table. One more detail making her feel safe, cared for and in the right place.

As her gurney cleared the opening, the glass wall closed behind them and the room became its own enclosed and protected station.

Terrasanto, the team, and a few other people she hadn’t met were already there. In her last two surgeries she had not even known if the doctor had arrived by the time she was put under, leading her to wonder even when waking up if the surgery had actually taken place.

Another detail making things just right.

As the gurney made its final roll and the nurses helped her transfer to the operating table, she was greeted by a smiling man who took her hand. Terrasanto approached them.

“This is Arnoldo Guzman, he’s a genius with anesthesia”.

Dr. Guzman’s smile captivated Ana. It was wide and warm. Like a Cheshire cat. He had backed in with the moving gurney, having taken her hand gently, and sat casually atop the table next to her in his differentially gray surgical uniform and wrapped head. Meanwhile several other hands were on her prepping for the surgery adding to the sensory overload.

“You may be a bit dizzy,” he mentioned almost in passing, still holding her hand with that mixture of comfort, professional confidence and care.

She had been put under general a handful of times before. She guessed soon they would tell her they were administering it and ask her to count down from 100. Probably that feeling of coolness flowing up her arm from the IV, the cool of unconscious sleep. Maybe the mask and to ‘take a deep breath’ of ‘oxygen’, they would say. That one would otherwise make her crack up… ‘oxygen… yeah right’… but she had never stayed awake to do so. Sometimes they did and sometimes they didn’t have that mask. The smell-taste of the gas was imprinted on her psyche.

For whatever reason, she paid close attention to everything that happened each time. On the way in and the first moments out. It seemed important.

But why did he say I might feel dizzy?

Then nothing.

Black. Not even that. Not even nothing. Void.

Not.

~ BEFORE ~

Koona

Soothed by the sound of the nearby waterfall the two young women sat next to each other, dangling their legs, feet playing in the warm water of the amorphously shaped pool of dark blue. Among the aroma of sea and suntan lotion, the beach-side sunset faced them, lulling and soothing both even beyond what the expert Thai massages had already achieved.

Long hair and slender silhouettes. Thai-slender actually, a level of petiteness, delicateness beyond, yet beautifully healthy. One woman with a round pretty typically feminine face, the other with a more forward face, eyes that rest in slightly furrowed ovals giving her an aura of being serious and quiet, even angry. Always the relative introvert or the two, everyone always said how striking she was but she had yet to believe it.

They were the only ones remaining, as it was midweek in off season. As well, the last of the hovering men they were habitually used to - according to Koona, really after Cat - had been waved off, as always, without second thought.

Cat toyed with the water surface with her toes. She had never really considered it, but it had always been this way with Koona and it felt strangely right. Forever friends and just here, alone together. They had always waved off the guys when they were hanging out. To the very last one, even the cutest and best looking. It was like an unspoken agreement, a loyalty.

That’s all.

Cat smiled and stared off into the approaching sunset, darkening blue skies punctuated and shrouded by clouds of every color from the light puffy to angry looking shades of dark gray. All framed by the surrounding trees and freshly lighted evening torches, the light warm wind soothing primally, deep inside.

“This is so amazing!” She could not control the feeling of beauty and awe not to mention the warmth and company of belonging with a lifelong friend, at the end of a few days of just hanging out, beauty treatments, massages and Netflix.

She caught Koona’s subtle nod in agreement, the other woman still staring off dreamily into the distance. Always on the same page with one another, without words.

She and Koona, were two of a kind in childhood in Chiang Mai but separated in early adolescence when she was sent to Japan for school. But they had both found their way to the same university in Bangkok which renewed their inseparability without missing a beat. Aside from another fateful trip back to Japan for herself for a year, they had both ended up living and working in Bangkok, like so many young up-and-coming Thai’s did.

Cat smiled to herself. To her, her friend had not changed a bit, but in the outside world Koona had become one of the top finance execs in the country. It was weird how this was. Working at one multinational then another, as well as with a seemingly constant flow of interested farang - foreigner - suitors. Good ones. Cat had always assumed the eventual outcome - Koona ending up in a foreign country, for work, love or both.

And of course herself with her own passion, her beauty clinics. But they still arranged at least every couple weeks to get together. At the mall or simply take a walk in the park. Celebrating the plentiful Thai holidays together when they were not returning to home up north, often also together. Always close and open with each other about everything, boys, then men, suitors, drama and whatever else was going on.

Each reached thirty years old this year. The birthday’s came and went without any apparent change in themselves or lives.

It’d be nice if this never changed.

It was a thought she had never had before.

Maybe that’s what’s different after you hit thirty?

She nodded unconsciously and smiled ironically.

I wonder if we’ll loose this when one of us gets married.

“What are you thinking about?”

Koona’s husky voice modulated close to her ear, pulling Cat off-guard out of her world-off thoughts.

She turned her head to Koona with a broad smile as her world, one that was so orderly and bright teetered, like a glass ball balanced at the edge of a precipice.

The Price Tag

“Hi Mark,” he whispered, rubbing the photo gently.

The words escaped full lips, gray-blue eyes meeting with his current reflection in the mirror ahead while the old self, Mark, stared back blankly from the voided passport in his hand.

A person I am no longer.

And today even less, by legal name.

Switching his eyes to the freshly minted passport, he smiled, seeing his new name in the black ink. He ignored the icky feeling resulting from the fact that his picture looked more like a gay queen than anything resembling female. One who in the past habitually made a point of paying attention to such subtle conflicts and detracting feelings, at some point the noise and drive in the foreground had gotten too loud to consider such things.

The chain of events over years that brought this moment came from somewhere deep inside. A part of him - seemingly very physical and in his body - that seemed to hold an override switch even over what he wanted most in life and in his heart. This driven part of him had its own momentum and agenda.

Or more like a compulsion? Was it healthy?

When ignored or displaced, it would sooner than later return full force and irresistibly. The start was always sexual.

To be taken.

The both forbidden and delicious feeling in his gut that only in recent years had he decided to be okay with. If for no other reason than he had no control over it.

To surrender. To feel embraced and penetrated completely that the energy in his pelvis could run up his body and fully express itself… straightening his spine, opening his heart and neck along the way before it then connected him to all that was and is.

But from there it led elsewhere. It needed to be expressed and he could never conceive of not doing so.

In intimate connection.

And not as a man. It was just not acceptable to not be a woman in this expression, the mandate coming from the most visceral parts of his body. Mental gymnastics and therapy aside, he could never get there.

Getting smooth. Waxing. Always the first step.

Where it led after required every ounce of self-permission he could muster. And each time more than before. Not to mention the time, money and energy. And fighting the unspoken feeling and thought behind all this that told him this was a waste of life and resources.

Becoming high maintenance. At least relatively.

All vanity.

This drive supplied the needed aggression and the leap to execute on things the world thought - or wanted to think - were out of character and even not natural, not to mention breaking his own heart in the process.

So here I am.

The sadness came the moment he saw the old passport.

The man who once was.

He could see this, feel it. Who seemed to have a certain possible future. Not that he wished him back. Even when he’d tried, time and again over the years to give him another shot…

Even as he watched his world get smaller and smaller, from being higher maintenance to the stress of not conforming to the likes of society as a whole….

The path always ends up back here. One way or the other…

To my worst nightmare.

The hope of some normal resolution had been dashed on the same rock too many times for the damage not to be imprinted.

He put his hands on his knees to balance himself and took a deep breath to balance the lightheadedness that took over more and more lately. He felt his ever faithful heart beat heavily in his ears. The walk up the five flights of stairs had had the same effect as it had started to of late.

Tears came up to his eyes.

Like wounding an innocent animal…

My heart. My body. The faithful and insistent life inside, nature itself. The collateral victim.

It was this feeling, that came more often these days, that…

I’m in the process of destroying myself.

His trajectory felt like a runaway train that not only could he not get off, but at the same time, one he chose to stay aboard.

Another wave of tears came and he didn’t hold them back this time.

“I’m sorry I could not be you,” he looked at the photo in the old passport, “I’m sorry I couldn’t make you happy.”

All of which simply increased the crescendo of tears.

Maybe this is why people don’t like crying.

Crying had always felt good before. But this time it was different.

Maybe this is how people feel at funerals.

He’d never understood that completely either.

Looking back into the mirror he knew he’d fought his whole life to stay in the light and away from this. Even as a child, San Francisco had felt to be a dark place. The gay place. Of ‘alternative lifestyles’.

And now here he was in this tiny studio in the Tenderloin, in the heart of the deep San Francisco fog, something in any possible future he would have prohibited from his life… Living in the darkness.

BDSD, S&M, TS/TV… gay… bisexual…

Words from the shocking adult newspaper he as an adolescent had once found on an SF street on a family visit to the city. All indelibly etched along with the feelings and images a child creates when contemplating incomprehensible sexual acts, some involving pain. Hearing about men, bathhouses and an out of control disease that was killing them. Men who dress as women.

And that he was a man too. At least seen as one.

And that I always loved being penetrated.

Well… I look gay.

It fits right in now.

Alone. No real in-person friends. Not having had a date much less embraced with anyone for years now.

Not living… in this world or that one…

And mine getting smaller and smaller.

The ghost of the woman who could have been the one for him cried along inside. Who he’d longed for since early childhood. She was the only point of doing anything in life.

Still.

But I don’t even imagine her anymore, holding her when I fall asleep at night anymore.

Because it all seemed further from any possibility. With each step on his path toward what he called the ‘fem’, powered by this inner force, it seemed females in the world took a step away from him.

Except to have a gay friend.

He nodded sadly.

I’ve become my worst fucking nightmare.

And I’m not even fucking gay. Jesus!

If there was a way to put out into the world every possible wrong signal about who he was and wanted most deeply inside, this was it. And the heartbreaking thing was, whatever this was deep inside…

I still want it.

I don’t make a reversal.

When I try it never sticks.

This is my price.

The fem is more important than my heart.

Maybe than even my life.

He shook his head and dropped to the floor. Against the wall of the dark closet, falling back through the hanging clothes, embracing his knees with his arms, surrendering to the deeper tears. The ones that take over sound and breathing, running through the body as if they own it.

Because today they do.

Shocked

Cat had turned her head in the direction of her friend’s husky voice. Koona’s now striking soft alpha face was very close. Dark eyes, wide, with what seemed like perpetual and indelible makeup that was just their natural beauty. They searched Cat's own coffee brown before they traveled down to her lips. Koona was leaning over and it was only inches that now separated them.

Busted.

Koona’s proximity disturbed and invigorated something deeply intimate in Cat. It was the last thing expected and she had no idea what to do. What with always being close, hugging and embrace between them had always felt so normal. But this, even though they were not touching…

The tone had changed.

No words were spoken but there was no escaping what clearly was now, just like the object they had watched way out in the ocean become apparent as a ship… and then a cruise ship… then the Princess line.

That real.

Koona felt both excitement and fear inside. Not only Cat was her best friend, but she did not understand completely what was going on with her. Why she was losing control. And why now? She’d held these feelings close over the years. But they were now breaking her apart.

Maybe its just age. Time passing… makes you crazy…

Cat held Koona’s gaze, unable to relinquish it nor process what was going on either. She swallowed. Her jaw relaxed and lips parted slightly, unconsciously.

Something in deep in her abdomen felt an incredible excitement too, desire yet enveloped in fear, nondescript but it felt very personal and vulnerable.

Dangerous.

In the given moment it was an unclear and confusing feeling.

But not foreign.

So from where?

Without warning she felt her feet brace against the pool wall, as if not her own, with them and a feeling of giddiness, her hands pushed off like a rocket and buried herself in the water. As deep as she could. Holding her breath as long as she could. No thoughts, just the impulse action of activity, of doing something, anything to maintain her world intact.

Kaa Kaa

“Chan chop gin puk gup kaew ka,” Mali completed the sentence perfectly albeit mechanically.

“Kaa kaa!” Kuhn Nok, the teacher at the whiteboard affirmed, “Jonathan, poot arai Mali na Angrit ka? -- Jonathan, can you translate what Mali said?”

“He likes to eat vegetables and rice?”

The teacher smiled in partial acknowledgment and corrected, “SHE likes to eat vegetables and rice. Remember, ‘ka’ at the end is for female, ‘krup’ is for male.”

The other student, a big black guy from Chicago, looked about to protest but thought better of it.

Mali’s lips turned up in a smile.

Fuck me. She’s correcting people on my gender. All for the price of using the ‘ka’ instead of the ‘krup’ at the end of the sentence.

He had had no ‘identity conversation’ with the teacher or anyone in the class. Not the usual crap you had to do in English if you want something when you don’t meet the standard the culture has set for you to be yourself: ‘I identify as female and use the pronouns she, her and hers…’ and all that bullshit.

It seemed obnoxious to $er.

Something Mali had no heart for because…

I don’t look to people like a woman. I look like a rockstar. Or a gay guy.

A gay rockstar probably.

I would have to go around the world telling everyone then. I don’t want to force people to make me be what they don’t see in me themselves.

Uphill battle.

And there was the latent truth that $he did not even realize at the core…

I want to see and be seen. For who and what I am. And on the trajectory I’m on, if I can’t have that… I’m truly destroying my life.

Fuck me.

Fuck you English.

Fuck you puritan creepy fuck-off American culture.

Thailand is so much easier.

The fact was, below the surface as it was, Mali’s pronoun and gender for him, her, or whatever ‘self’ depended upon the world. How others seemed to define him, her, them, whatever. Setting up a perpetual conflict with others and the world.

And reading the above paragraph you can get the sucky confusion and wordiness if you don’t know which pronoun to use for someone…

Or what is right with yourself.

So in this moment Mali wrote proudly in the notebook in block, double embossing each letter…

$HE
$ER
$ERSELF

For now that’s what I am.

Like a variable in computer code.

A variable in code is a placeholder which at least in some languages can be assigned anything… and generally changed while the program runs.

$he = ‘she’  
$he = ‘he’  
$he = ‘Mali’  
$he = ‘Mark’  
$he = 12345  
$he = [‘The’, ‘Real’, ’Fuckface’, ‘Von’, ‘Clownstick’].join(‘ ’)

A placeholder, and what’s inside is changeable. A work in progress. Like a shell in a shell game, you may know which shell contains the item, but the shell itself is not the thing inside it, which you may or may not know what it is.

If you’re hacking into some code, you may see the variable but until you look inside it, you don’t know for sure what it contains. It might have a nice name like...

xxxxxxxxxx
$Cassandra

But look inside… what is in there?

The world… the people outside see only the variable, not what its value is. And they make inferences and judgements based on only that. Which you can imagine makes it hard for someone like this:

xxxxxxxxxx
$BigTallMan = ‘Jessica’

Especially when SHE walks into a bathroom in some hick town in Texas.

That’s why $he came back to Thailand. Thailand seemed to be less obsessed with coupling the variable name - its shell - to what was inside and made the country a good playground, compared to many places. It did not have the often present threat of outrage and violence that the US seemed to hold.

Mali’s naive thoughts upon making the travel plans were - and without timeline - maybe try out hormones, a couple of relatively minor surgeries to if not become female in appearance, at least a lot cuter…

Harmonize my variable… my container…

And do due diligence to know what this mystery inside actually is.

Dee and Dee

Cat plunged deeper into the twilight water, continuing to hold her breath for what seemed like a super-human time, and through it a series of semi-conscious thoughts passed that never quite made it through to prime time…

She’s my best friend!!!

But we’re both Dee’s. Feminine women.

In Thailand it is men and women, Tom’s and Dee’s.

Dee’s and Dee’s? Never.

She had heard of this but the couples were laughed at and called abnormal.

How could it be?

We’re both not only normal but successful people. High performing!

Far from the night life and the street…

But it was happening right now. Inside her and she’d lost her grip to keep it at bay.

Ah, but I’m not gay.

Somewhere more deeply sub-conscious, Cat had a hope that somehow Koona would make this easy for her. Koona was always there. She was always the one to get things to work right no matter what the situation was…

And without still knowing her true emotions, Cat surfaced and intently looked for Koona where she had been sitting.

Because even within all that fear in her was a hope she was not willing to admit, rationalized as friendship. And coming up for air, that hope was now.

As if Koona and the air she’d done without were one and the same thirst.

Cat’s heart dropped.

Koona was no longer there.

Or anywhere.

MRT

Heading out of the air-conditioned Sukhumvit ‘Times Square’ building, the sweet warm humidity of the Bangkok evening hit Mali. $he smiled. This felt good. The class, the little camaraderie with the other expats. Even the Chicago guy seemed okay in the end. There was something fulfilling about being social, even frivolously social $he had never really ever enjoyed before in $er life.

It wasn’t lost on $er that this was also the first time $er felt gender had ever been affirmed publicly. It was strange as $he never felt okay to ask for this or state it $erself. But given the choice of ‘ka’ or ‘krup’ $he knew which one $he was more of.

And here I get to choose…

I’m a katoey here. Ladyboy. Transgender woman.

I’m seen.

First a katoey. Not a gay guy. Not a drag queen. Not a ‘man in a dress’.

I’m defined as something…

At least more like I feel I am.

It doesn’t even matter what I look like.

That was something $he’d absorbed from the various Thai katoey movies $he’d watched in $er first time in Thailand the year before. The pride and absolute disregard for the haters but for the own femininity and self-regard of even the most masculine appearing katoey. It was amazing. Anyone, $he saw, could be fabulous… and just themselves…

_For the choosing. _

It had been two months since $er breakdown back in that SF apartment and the resulting decision to come back to Thailand. For hope. To progress. Steps which seemed far too difficult and scary back in the United States. Bangkok felt a world away from San Francisco. It did not have that dark energy. It was more like a hybrid between urban Mexico and NYC.

Walking down the steps of the Asok MRT subway station, $he felt just a little more $erself, more authentic. A little proud even. Proud was not a familiar feeling to Mali, so a little was a lot. With a slender one-hundred-thirty pound dancers frame, only that $er face was so much masculine, in a European-type way, long, oval with big lips, pronounced cheek-bones. Always a target for the gay men throughout $er life, making things ever more complicated in the social world.

I do wonder how Cat sees me.

One inconvenient fact was the Thai culture seemed to regard katoey as only being romantically and sexually interested in men, and of course that was a problem. Cat was the receptionist at the beauty clinic $he was going to for $er ongoing laser facial hair removal. On whom $he’d developed an enigmatic crush.

Would I drop the fem and be a guy if she was into me?

Would she be the one who is so special that it overrides all of this?

It was not a new thought for $er - that the perfect woman, ‘the one’ could fix this that ailed $er, but before it had always been a hypothetical question while the fem train $he was on continued it’s seemingly wayward journey. But now… the problem was embodied in a real woman.

Cat was that attractive to $er.

The perfect woman.

~ DESPAIR ~

Standing

Several Months Later…

Chatuchak Park, Bangkok

A slender silhouette stands by the edge of the lake amidst a chorus of cicadas. A thin oval head, slender body and big hair make an appearance that seems as likely in a Dr. Seuss book as in the surreality of predawn Bangkok.

Alone.

Stationed under the tree with huge protruding roots, half in the water and half on land. Those which are visible and those only known to existence by inference or from their subtle reflection through the water. And the massive trunk they hold upright. Above, the branches extend like protective arms in many directions with the effortless grace that only a tree can embody perfectly.

The figures arms, like branches too, are held circularly in front of their chest, fingertips of each hand pointing to the other, knees slightly bent, back straight. All seems to be in complete stillness.

It’s way before sunrise but nevertheless tank top weather, the sultry humidity foreshadowing yet another completely normal Bangkok day. The sweet smell of natural bug repellent lingers around the figure. The early morning exercisers - joggers, the tai-chi and qi gong crowds one by one and few by few are making their way, to their usual spots and routines. Usually the first ones here, some notice the return of the silent farang to the scenery. Several months had passed since they’d seen…

Him? Her? Too slender for a man. Too minor a head. Too tall for a woman. Wider hips than a man. Not a woman’s chest. Crazy mop of hair, frizz that seems on its way to wanting to belong in some horrible frustrated neverland.

The face hidden in the shadows hides its distinctions secretly in the one time of day the conflicts are fewer. The occasional passing and curious onlooker wouldn’t know at this hour that the situation was almost as ambiguous inside as out.

Whoever.

Falang never show face.

Mali has long loved the solitude of the early morning. Time away. Alone. In the darkness. Before the emerging forms and definitions could be easily cast. A relief. Time to reset. A chance at a new beginning. Toward this everlasting hope and passionate drive inside.

For whatever reason years ago $he honed in on $er body being the answer to the conflicts $he felt. All the tension $he seemed to have no conscious ability to release or control. Not to mention the romantic sense and sexuality which has defied $er apparent male incarnation. The abundant feminine energy in $er pelvis $er primary teacher.

But even in the brightness of day, like the tree, half in, half out, half in overwhelming feeling, half immobile, half rooted in the ground yet stuck, but with a head and heart - and hope higher in the sky as seemingly anyone, as such was $er existence.

A tall skyscraper looms through the trees, on the other side of the street, poised to provide shade as the sun rises. ‘TMB’ in red and blue letters glows at top. Mali has positioned $erself specifically in its line of shadow knowing that $he will be standing here immobile for $er usual forty-five minutes - and it being important to be shielded even from the earliest morning sun. As much as for a few extra minutes of shaded solitude as to protect $er skin from what will already be indelible sun rays, and its resulting entropy.

Not good for skin or beauty.

A few ducks float by on their early morning food paddle making an ever so slight murmur in the still water, oblivious of the silent presence.

Mali is after something. Been after something. For years now, day after day, going inside. Not to mention all the years leading up to such. This practice, alone, the solitude and discipline for the good yet still not masterful rewards, also matched the rest of $er life.

Good but not great.

Closer but not spot on.

Even with this essential morning reset, on the average day things virtually always went downhill from the stillness, poise and whatever grace achieved.

I only know a few things for sure. I may not know exactly where home is. But I know this is the way.

Mali had the somatic inner confidence to dismiss every teacher, sifu and martial arts master to date.

My power is softness. Slow, minute movement. When my body becomes more aligned, more symmetric, muscles balance themselves, it brings…

Joy.

Anything or anyone empirically contradicting this got the boot. Anyone who espoused speed or force before perfect slow mastery.

$he knew this joy was inside $er but no one seemed to see it. It had at best been drummed out of the public view with laughter and ridicule in childhood. If in fact it was ever fully accessible at all in $er.

I can’t remember… But I can feel it there. The thing under everything. Like the eternal flame. Perhaps at times a tiny flicker but it’s always there. Another of the few things I actually know.

Only in the past year had $er discipline crystallized to a level of conscious comprehension, a system and checklist with consistent results.

As the body becomes increasingly symmetric, front to back and side to side, and the muscle tone between opposing muscles balance…

It was the practical theory $he’d come up with to describe how $he could get there. And more and more $he could apply it at will.

…comes true authenticity, joy… super-consciousness…

Or in more practical words, the ability to…

Just be myself.

This translated practically to acquiring the ability to move and adjust consciously in micro-movements, aligning the front-back tilt of each body region as well as the lateral and twisting relationship of every body part to the other.

It was ironic that the discipline $he poured in to excavating $erself - which showed increasingly as female or yearning to be such - in its diligence felt disciplined, focused, even controlling…

Mali smirked.

Using the male programming to become free of itself.

Pretty funny.

It made $er happy - and confident - to know that $he never had to be lost to $erself again. At least for long. What in the early days required much more effort, time and muscle - and sometimes loosing the path for months on end - as much as now it required the opposite - softness, balance and alignment, finesse. And just a few moments.

The practice was $er rock. For the mornings. Along with almost daily afternoon hoopdancing. Practice probably being the wrong word. Joy would be a better one. It was a desire and release, not a ‘have to’. Standing, solitary and contained. Hoopdance, passionate and expressive albeit following the same evolution over the years of brute force and effort moving toward grace, softness and minimal effort just as standing.

A slight breeze caresseed $er bare arm and face from the side. Like a gentle tug. A reminder of what is truly delicious. At the edge of the lake, like at the edge of life looking on in…

My life… practicing… just to be able to exist…

Each day coming and going like a number, starting like this.

This was $er lifeline and consumed much time, including what would be otherwise social time. $he was always aware of this tradeoff of friends, fun, even maybe lovers.

I’d have it no other way in the early morning. This moment I only want to be here. Alone.

The dusk, evening, going to bed alone, was when the longing would present.

A third thing I truly know.

Mali smirked.

Today we’re counting I guess…

Ever since $he could remember, the embrace, with a girl, now a woman. The always elusive melting contact together. True connection, intimacy.

The primary dream.

And the heartbreak that the same force $he was connected to now leading $er into increased authenticity was in direct opposition to ever having this.

That one magical night with Cat aside.

Even the general limerick in Thailand had been getting drummed into $er head…‘Thai ladyboy like men not women’… $he’d heard it over and over and it made $er pissed.

But what else could $he do? To stop fighting was not an option. To stop this practice, the entropy of $er grace and structure would begin to unacceptably degenerate in just a day or two making $er run back to the early morning discipline. Stopping this fight would be also akin to stop loving and revering life… and what $he felt inside.

The same reverence made $er doubt some of the things $he was doing now in $er life, and wanted to do. But they were all connected… $er pelvis, standing straight, opening $er chest and heart, feeling female, hormones, surgeries…

Too much passion.

I’ve come a long way. And every step of it toward the fem.

That night kind of proved it’s working.

In younger years $he felt due to the excessive tension and gridlock in $er body that trying to express the passion inside was like sending a million volts of electricity through a thin constricted wire. Energy that when tried to be felt and expressed would result in even more gridlock and tension because there was just too much of it and a constricted conduit getting blown out, burned.

But that night…

The full charge of energy came through $er unimpeded.

For the first time ever… and with another person…

$he shook $er head in disbelief still of that evening and smiled. It had been ridiculous. Everything $he had dreamed about in connection with another.

Complete union.

But the moment after…

Complete separation.

Until tonight.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

And why I am back here in Bangkok today.

Mali slowly and slightly rolled the bottoms of $er feet. Pressing the ball of the left foot just behind the big toe into the ground. And then the same on the left. Then each heel too, alternating feet. Outside ball of left foot. Then the right. Inner left ankle. Right ankle, slightly flexing each joint. Outer ankle. Pushing the left heel into the ground and feeling the left knee extend. Then right. Left hip up toward ribs. Right.

Left shoulder up… down… forward… backward, all with the right side in turn. And so $he worked through the body the preliminary exercise which allows the generally contralateral and differentially left and right wired brain sensory-motor areas to create a more accurate map of the current and actual body asymmetries and muscle tone imbalances.

The magic of all this which Mali discovered is that by bringing such awareness to the brain, without further conscious intervention, the brain takes over to do an often almost miraculous realignment… Essentially creating a ‘current state’ map, to which the brain is able to superimpose with the more ideal prototype it already knows.

My true self.

The template of the best me.

The image of a perfect, open spine with arms outstretched, unimpeded to the heavens came to $er as a visceral feeling. The innate, wise part of $er that seemed would take over and run the show if $he could eventually let it.

Being all that I am… and can be.

Just as a prism divides the pure light into a rainbow, the longing for bonding, intimacy and love had somehow become disconnected from $er innate sexuality not to mention, male or female identity.

$he was somehow now in this in-between place, living in fragmented light. It was currently a painful mystery that in the moment the prototype $he was after seemed to be at odds with $er core dream and longing.

Standing was $er way of getting the cohesive light back, it’s what $he felt and trusted… And Mali was spending $er free time writing an app which formalized this system…

Maybe other’s bodies work similarly…

So things - all this that is my solitary life - could mean something, someday, to someone else.

Another warm breeze caressed $er now slightly perspiring skin, the resulting coolness like a whisper making $er feel that everything was and would forever be alright. Everything was already okay in the pure now. Nature and the outdoors had that way with $er.

$er eyes teared as the peace of stillness overcame, finding that familiar better place. Muscle tension ceased to exist and as the alignment progressed, $he came to be as one.

Moments ceased to be divided and flowed together into a timeless place. A place where forty-five minutes, an hour, would pass like nothing.

$he fell into the nothingness of stillness and balance.

The sideline of life where $he felt $he lived most waking moments disolved.

There is no sideline.

I just am.

And have always been.

This.

A deep breath filled $er like water in the desert breaking the tears of freedom open further. The insidious complex of tension in $er neck, shoulders and heart broke as it often did.

A full smile came over $er face as the tears silently streamed rivers unhindered down $er cheeks, cascading down $er neck and down the middle of $er chest. $he could not explain the feeling aside from being authentic joy. Relief.

And the tears, freedom.

There was nothing more addictive than feeling this way.

Nothing.

Why I do this.

And everything.

It was the only actual feeling in life that made $er know not to fear death. The mind being off and everything being still was actually very sweet.

Now I remember…

Who I am.

I’m nothing.

And everything.

Onwards of an hour later $er closed eyes dozed open slightly allowing in with always surprising vividness color and light as if $he’d slept, as if it was a second new day but in a Technicolor world. Across the striking dark blue lake $er eyes made out the form of a slender and athletic Thai woman jogging. Poised and straight, a graceful neck that seemed to oscillate with each foot-fall, the envy of envies to Mali, being the major challenge in $er own posture. Straight black hair pulled back in a French braid. The muscle tone in her jaw depicted determination and strength, in a kind of masculine way that $he loved to see in a woman.

Strong, beautiful. Hot.

What she takes for granted.

Then came the immediate sadness.

What I do too.

What we all do.

Breath entered again making its sweet presence know in Mali’s lungs.

Under it all the familiar feeling of both wanting to be with and wanting to be at the same time.

I hope this is what’s coming back to me tonight.

The almost gone feeling of hope was still an ember. But $he checked the thought as the first vestige of tension and disharmony returned to $er body. As $he had become used to in life, letting go of what $he hoped for and creating a more compelling plan in place of the originally desired tended to work magic.

Not Cat then.

Instead, me!

Thai Reality

Outside the steel fence, the tranquil greenery abruptly ended and the concrete jungle began. The park was bordered on three sides by the gigantic ‘tanons’ - boulevards - the same of which could be found all over the city. Cars - many cars - densely populated the road, coming into existence just as the light of day too had come to pass.

_Rot tit. _

Mali smiled at the Thai words for traffic jam.

Synonym: Bangkok.

When: Always.

Where: Every major street that leads anywhere directly.

The taxi drivers were always amused when $he’d spout the word. It was one of the ways $he knew to create good feeling and commonality which was highly valued in the Thai culture.

Where there was not ‘traffic jam’ were mazes of side streets and alleys which only the most experienced taxi drivers could use effectively as many of the little portals ended abruptly. But some didn’t and the navigation by some of these drivers to Mali bordered on genius. These side streets or “soi’s” were finishing touches on a city and country which Mali had in earnest started to believe that many things had been arranged by some Machiavellian mastermind to keep foreigners in an at-best confused twilight. Busses with one name but variable routes. Words that $he could pronounce but no one could understand. Transliterated signs with letters that did not come close to the actual sound of the word - not in the Thai alphabet, not in the phonetic alphabet and certainly not in English!

All part of the fun and mystery.

Not to mention the juxtaposition of the apparent respectful status toward foreigners and at the same time the sense of them being the primary joke of the natives. Of the kindness in one minute and then virtually being laughed at to $er face, with Thai words $he was assumed not to know.

As always, walking in these post-standing moments, $er body felt at its best, strong, aligned, cohesive, even graceful as $he began the twenty-something minute trek.

$he passed the bus stop and the lines that had formed to board ever crowded and rather old busses with destinations to the nether-regions the giant unknowable city. Whereas in Mexico or other countries $he could find $erself intrigued by the busses, their numbers and the names of destinations, these days and here, they held very little interest. If nothing else it was simply too hot to make geographic exploration much fun.

Some eyes of those in line rested on $er as $he passed but it was okay.

It meant $he looked good, tall, graceful, maybe even strong. When they were just eyes, not words, they were like a Rorachach to $er inner state.

Eyes are okay when you feel good, have poise and grace.

Soon $he was back to the preferred solitude as $he upped the steps of the first of two expansive pedestrian skyways which criss-crossed above the tanons and would deliver $er to Tanon Latprao, which would lead back to the hotel.

Making $er way up the second skyway, the panorama was simply city, morning sunlight came from somewhere beyond in the forgotten sky. Two large shopping malls, several skyscrapers with the rest being two or three story serial buildings, the kind and style that seem to populate many large cities, roll up door bodega shops on the first floor with a few floors of apartments above.

A woman passed by on her way across the bridge and stared. The long held stare. An enabled stare. The one that says you may as well be an inanimate fucking object. Mali was often conscious of the fact that in a split second when receiving such a look if $he added a smile it could turn into a heart-filling moment of connection. Unfortunately even now $er defenses did not permit such.

And why the fuck does it always have to be me who smiles first???

In $er mind they were different, but for $er sensibilities now over half a year into $er Thailand journey, it was a tie between the inanimate object stare and being laughed at and talked about just feet away. They both in the end led $er to the same place.

$he felt the minute anxiety and accompanying tension of defense raise. It always was disheartening.

And the story of my life.

This was not just Thailand.

In the US and other western countries, people would tend to look away sooner. Here not so much, added to the mix that people would often laugh or even say words to their companions in plain ear sight. $he did not know all the details but enough times the words farang, katoey and laughter paired made a plausible story. It hurt here as with everywhere. The difference was that here it didn’t feel dangerous as it did in the USA, although for some reason it hurt more.

I know they’re calling me a transgender foreigner. Thats okay in theory, aside from the inanimate object stares.

But fuck the laughter.

It was like people there often seemed to feel they had the right to stare, do double and triple takes with $er.

Gets fucking old…

And although $he was no stranger to relative isolation in $er life, isolation of course made it worse here. So over time, in the day to day, with the culture here $he could only characterize it for $erself as polarized love-hate. Or love-anxiety relationship, punctuated with uneasiness and feeling ashamed when $he seemingly overreacted from what $he held in.

$he remembered the day in this general area $he’d walked with a friend from Thai class, a tall and quite attractive woman. $er friend had also been stared at and on an occasion called katoey. Mali smiled at the memory. On one hand it helped to know… that it happened to genetically female foreigners too here. On the other…

They’re still gender categorization obsessed assholes.

In Thailand $he appreciated the crazy amalgamation of new and old, modern and traditional. The deep history and Buddhism, the dark unknowable alleys of the city as the Thai psyche itself paired with the most modern, over the top malls, technology centers and innovation. Superior street food outside of five-star glitzy restaurants. Not to mention their polarized femininity and masculinity coupled with what seemed like everything in between. Tom’s and Dee’s, gays and katoeys.

And to this mess, add a heaping measure of self-consciousness. Image.

The selfie-culture.

Insecurity, especially in the heteronormative young, female world which $he had grown to dislike, the ultra-feminine, temperamental and at least superficially vapid young females who did nothing apparently than shop and text. All this made $er feel less feminine than $he felt in the US due to the divide.

But then there were others, the LGBT types $he’d come across in the 7-11’s, cafes. And so many good natured people in their forties and above. So in short whatever anger or frustration would boil over in Mali would be checked regularly with shame when $he met with kindness and what seemed to be a genuine smile and connection.

Just like my own volatility and insecurity.

This place is a perfect reflection.

Don’t even think of leaving here until you’ve worked yourself out.

Mali warned $erself about this regularly. It was the intuitive and unwritten deal $he had with $erself that $he was going to resolve $erself here and soon. And not leave until then. $he had a habit of moving and was starting to wonder if it too wasn’t an escape.

Running away.

This place is the best chance I have.

Like it or not.

Mali was no stranger to surreal living and the sometimes floating feeling about $er life, in Thailand exacerbated by low cost of living relative to almost any major city in the world. Mali, then Mark, had left the normal ‘job’ life in 2009 and began freelance programming to support $erself. Self-trained, $he had wondered if $he had what it took. But $he got one client that lasted a couple years, then another, then another. All of which enabled first a new life in NYC, then as if to push the boundaries, $he went to live in $er old love, Guadalajara, Mexico.

The problem was… it worked. $he didn’t miss a beat with $er client. This fueled the fire of pushing boundaries virtually at-whim, city and country hopping for the last five years. And in the meanwhile finding the freedom to explore $er identity more. At least in appearance. It was amazing what you could do to be free if you had money and could be virtually anywhere.

In $er words it was ‘simple living’ but $he generally went where $he wanted, when $he wanted, saving a good amount of money on the way due to making $er US contracting rate. In a way $he started to understand how it might feel to be wealthy or a celebrity and have so much freedom of time and location.

But the flipside was - just as with the celebrities - that sanity could also at times seem like a relative thing.

Like tonight may be.

It was virtually guaranteed to be.

But the unknown was in which direction.

The Pink Button-Down Shirt

What was I thinking?

Cat was staring at her date again.

Friend? Date.

No. Nooooooo!

Friend.

Date. I was the one who asked…

Her deep brown eyes and impeccable Japanese poise veiled the internal conversation expertly, adding to the already unknowable mastery of her Thai birth culture.

But that night…

What is anything?

It’s frying my brain.

This and everything surrounding the situation. She had missed Mali enough to call, in the hopes to see. If the friend, the time together, the before could be…

But now?

I wanted that Mali to show up. I miss - uh…

Him.

The hope HE represented.

Future boyfriend. A ‘yes’, at least a ‘maybe’ instead of a…

No way.

Regardless of how easy and perfect they were together, there was something more than that. Something that had been on her mind ever since the night the dam broke.

With HIM I could make sense…

Of me. Of how I am.

Having a man with her. Not any man, but a man like that made her feel like she was okay inside too. Secure and safe.

A chance. And the connection…

It reminded her so much of how it had felt with her best friend, like it had been with Koona, transparent, natural.

I want more. More connection, fun, and of course love.

And a man.

And what happened in the bedroom?

Cats breath caught at the thought as it always did since that night a few weeks back.

Well, at least up to that point.

She had still not come to grips with who she’d become there either.

But that’s beside the point. It’s fine if it’s just in the bedroom.

But it wasn’t just the act and she knew it. It was what inspired it, triggered a desire and abandon she’d never known. She had hoped Mali would come back as the rock-star she’d projected on ‘him’ when they had met and first gotten to know each other. A guy who could be that and love with her the way they had been that night.

That’s the point! But this is not who $he is.

The person sitting in front of her confirmed it.

Heck, I even encouraged this!

Although she wanted to kick herself even for perhaps inspiring Mali to go further in embracing $er femininity, she knew how selfish that was and recoiled inside against her own thought.

She took a deep breath as the realization settled.

I can’t do this.

There’s a reason I stayed away and felt so confused.

I should have listened to that.

When Mali had walked in a few minutes late Cat had watched $er approach from afar. At first her eyes caught at Mali’s hips in $er fitted blue jeans. Then $er lower back, smaller, gracefully muscled and more slender than many women… that perfect ass. $he reminded her of the dancer woman in the movie The Black Swan. She had admitted to herself that although Mali’s face was masculine, $er body, especially that ass, exuded an energy that felt female.

Mali’s long legs one in front of the other, perfectly aligned feet-knees-hips-ribs, graceful and not even trying. It wasn’t a show, it was what $he was. Not to mention the energy and feeling that came from $er…

And what was between those legs…

Being with Mali had been nothing like being with a man. But it was the same that had put her over the edge that night… that feeling… that tight body. Female energy against her. It was intoxicating. And really all about why she, after everything, had suggested Mali come tonight.

In rapid succession Koona came to mind. She’d never thought about it but Koona was tall too…

I don’t understand it but I want more.

Of something.

I thought it was this. But that shirt…

The pink button-down shirt was tied at Mali’s thin waist. Tight blue jeans and combat boots. Five centimeter silver sliver pendant earrings, add to that makeup that was… over the top just enough to be questionably theatrical and not flattering.

From the neck down perhaps… a country type.

From the neck up… uh… flamboyant? Is that the word?

The combination of the two being fine aside that they created the illusion of what…

Neither wanted.

She did not know how Mali could have made it all the way from Chatuchak on the MRT without being stared at constantly by the not to mention hovering gay men.

It’s not that $he looked bad.

But toggle a tight black tank top and pull the faders down on the makeup and voila…

You have rock-star Mali!

She made her way to Mali’s face and lost the illusion.

What we’re you expecting here Cat?

The girl she saw in the body she did not see above $er shoulders. The intensity of the night they’d shared mostly in the shadows clearly had created some projection and transference. She’d begun to desire something more…

But this isn’t it. I know now.

With the initial ‘hi’ from Mali, she realized, in the way Mali smiled and how $he talked that Mali had a way to go even to accept $erself.

$he’s not all female. Not yet at least. I don’t see it in $er eyes.

Cat caught herself in the thought.

As if you’re looking for a woman, Cat?!

The problem was, the extra feminization Mali attempted out of anxious anticipation of this evening did nothing in the service of the felt inner being $he was so desperately trying to exude.

Mali couldn’t see it right now but one day would recoil. Given $he had been on the way to see Cat, it was true, $he conveniently deleted the looks of every-gay-man in the MRT on the way here. Otherwise it would have been the case in point why $he dressed rather androgynously usually. Albeit assuredly in all female clothes.

But Cat’s sudden communication and request which brought $er back to Bangkok today had electrified like a zap of lightning on a complex of wires every conflict and insecurity within $erself. That night… the last time they’d seen each other… it was all fem. And initially everything that went beyond the friendship between them had happened and ended so fast that there was no time for insecurity.

But no longer…

$he’d had to decide if this was this a date. Cat had disappeared for three weeks, not to mention their awkwardly painful goodbye. So in the end the result was a combination of “I don’t give a fuck” and “what the hell, let me go all out”.

So the image of who and what $he felt to be tonight won out over hard reality. As every female knows, dressing is for your body type, situation and the social context. Things Mali was not yet to the point of comprehending. And no true fault to $erself, in that, appearing female is a total sum of many things. But when you have only a few of the ingredients, the tendency is to overemphasize the ones you do have - both in accentuation and attempted masking. Only natural.

It was true that $er face could never right now pass as female or close to it. What didn’t help was its muscle tone, the tightly wound tension was just in such contrast to the the effortless surrender that female faces seemed to have naturally, even in the toughest situations.

That and too, if it weren’t for $er rather forward, what $he judged as ‘turkey neck’, and the tension in $er chest and shoulders, $he might actually look elegant…

‘Body of woman, face of man’

It was a phrase $he’d heard repeatedly over the years on the street, usually after the person had turned around to check. It never ceased to ricochet in $er brain amid the rest of $er confusion. It always was at least two or more people and the comment in ear sight, for whatever insensitive reason. The feeling of something being wrong with $er eclipsed the true hurt and sadness that the remarks left behind.

$er neck was one of those things $he knew $he could have control over. $er shoulders a bit wide and athletic for a woman and showed the struggle between them, $er neck and head for poise, the muscles and tendons of $er neck showing the fight against the exposure of $er Adams apple. $er standing practice helped this control, day by day.

$er facial features were pronounced from $er Jewish heritage - the way $er bone structure was and proportions. $er head and face were oval and compact more like a woman’s. But the features were male.

And as slender as $he was…

Hence the gay look.

The mirror was always a schizophrenic place for Mali, not to mention how to process the man-woman comments. As half of it was affirming, then the other a painful dysphoria.

A socially constructed shit sandwich.

The most painful part aside from constant self-evaluation and judgment was the feeling that how $he appeared to the world was so far from the nature of who $he felt to be inside.

It was not that $he was adamant that $he was a woman. But that $he was at heart gentle and not an angry person, and that $he did not feel like a man. And the world seemed to see a rather serious man.

Albeit a rock-star.

At least according to Cat.

So in the end, $er face was the biggest barrier. To be that soft and gentle but with this face, it was unthinkable.

It felt so wrong. $he felt like $he always came off as…

Very very gay.

So $he’d created a kind of wall. In androgyny. Flirting on the edge of what felt right while using the roughness in $er tank top, jeans and combat boots to make sure anyone $he came across would get the message that $he meant business. Not a good target for ridicule.

Faux butch.

Bull-dyke.

Although $he wanted to see this in $erself, there was not a bone in $er body with this kind of poker face.

And did it work?

Not really.

Fuck. Fuck? Fuck!

“I think we made a mistake,” the words escaped Cat’s lips as if they had a life of their own.

A mistake.

“I feel responsible. I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have…”

These were her first words and she’d had no idea she’d say this. They were rude and insensitive.

Not of your class, Cat.

Because I didn’t plan them.

Maybe this is why Thai women get the reputation for being self-entitled bitches.

Hmmm…

And now that’s me.

Only in close relationship does one have the chance to see the jagged edges in oneself. Cat was not used to seeing such in herself as she was basically aloof in dating, so it was a blow to her otherwise polished and ultra-polite Japanese educated Thai self-image.

Without volition, Cat flashed again to Mali’s waist and lower back… Followed in the next in rapid succession… of that last moment with Koona… when the seemingly inevitable kiss that Koona had been moving towards…

Cat… what are you thinking???

She would have liked for what happened with Koona to have been different and this now to be different but it couldn’t be.

Because how could it be?

I’m not gay.

And I want a man.

With those two checkboxes marked, she knew she was writing off the two people she’d been closest to in perhaps her whole life, the best friends ever.

Done and done.

I’m a superficial and self-centered bitch and I know it now.

It was about appearance. But so much more. Mali as female simply felt out in the cold and dangerous although she could not completely put her finger on as to why she felt that way.

There are reasons. Very good ones though.

“I just wanted to see and talk to you in person.”

Because I still had hope for something else.

Jesus Cat.

Despite her usual composure, a telltale tear fell from her right meticulously painted eye belying the mechanical precision of the rest of her demeanor. Which ignited just a little spark of hope in Mali’s heart.

At least she feels something.

Because in the end, even in the embers of who and what ‘he’ was in the past, this fire would never extinguish, $he knew. This longing. The original dream. If someone asked what $he had always wanted in life…

It was this, right in front of $er.

That night… it seemed to resolve everything. Who $he was. Who SHE was. At least with Cat and in her…

What is that even called, an embrace???

Mali felt the memory of that moment when Cat took $er to the limit of the world. HER and Cat. A crystallization. In presence of Cat’s feminine, and dominant loving essence. There were no promises. And something in $er still didn’t want to accept this.

You just don’t have nights like that without it meaning something.

Over $er gender exploration years, in time $he became closer to who $he was while seemingly making more improbable ever fulfilling the longings of $er heart.

You don’t increase your already sucky relationship odds by looking more gay and feminine than you already are…

The usual maybe once or twice a year of meeting a potential girlfriend had fallen to zero. Whether it was $er own complex that did it or $er appearance. But somehow on that night, Cat singlehandedly leapfrogged that bridge. For a moment in time $he saw the future $he longed for as a possibility. Having both.

But then nothing…

The weeks of ensuing silence between them, the experience instead was on its way to being another case in point.

Of going to hell.

Killing half of $erself for the dream, or the dream for $erself. Neither of which had the will to die a natural death on their own.

Cat looked intently at Mali and raised her brows at Mali’s silence. $he had just then begun to have a ‘what the fuck’ moment inside which went something like…

I just flew in to Bangkok for this?!

Did I somehow become Cat’s bitch?

In the most wrong way?

“Its just not what I want. You’re amazing, its just that I really want to be with a man, and that’s not who you are.

Mali’s ears selectively shut off for a moment out of self-protection and heard just sound. Cat continued what might have been for a minute or two.

“…So it seems…” The last phrase turned up just enough to be hinting at question as she added, “… who you want to be… right?”

Mali snapped out of $er confused upset. It was true. That night was an experiment and they had entered it with the agreement to let it be. No promises, no knots.

“Who I want to be?” Mali raised $er eyebrows.

When people talked like that it was the biggest fuck you of all.

Who in their right mind would do what I’m doing if it was truly a choice? What person in their right mind would cross the gender line to live without something very powerful driving it? I know I wouldn’t.

The world seemed to think this was a choice. A Thai acquaintance had also made it clear that in her culture, one choses their appearance based on who they wished to attract and be with, not upon internal authenticity, in the case of any conflict with the culture, “A ladyboy with a woman? Unheard of. How would the woman respect herself?”

Mali too treated it that way. As a possible aberration. Even up to now, except for the fact that no matter what $he did neither dream nor impulse would change or go away. It had been years.

And then Cat entered the picture.

Conflicts with no resolution always made Mali’s body tense and angry, as if both sides were tensing opposing muscles, embodying the stuckness. It was really the main thing that would anger $er in life - feeling this way. It’s what made $er heart turn colder.

And truthfully this feeling is what $he knew about being a man. Because being a man had always had this quality of frustration for $er.

And not much else.

And as such, in contrast to the joy $he found in $erself more and more, being a man became increasingly repulsive to $er. Like stagnant water, a smelly swamp. Truthfully, that’s how ‘man’ felt. How $he felt about men. And foreign. Like it was a game $he had to put a lot of focus on to pull off.

“So the connection we felt was not real?”

“No, it was real. And nice. But it was alone, behind doors. I’m talking about all of life, everything. I just can’t handle it,” her hand fanned out and across the table as if to emphasize Mali’s appearance,

“Being with a katoey. Even a woman… imagine, not a Tom but a Dee! I don’t know, I just can’t do it, I’m sorry. Now I realize when I started falling for you, I saw you as a rockstar, sweet and gentle and so many things. I still see those! But on that night…”

Cat slowed and unusually fumbled for words, “It’s just, it would be unfair to expect you to be that. To be what you’re not. Things just went too far too fast that night.”

Mali nodded. And that was true. All of it. $he’d had the thoughts too, those of changing $erself to meet Cat’s likely expectations in a partner.

Fuck me even for still doubting myself.

It was beyond $er how many trans-women $he knew could make a decision and transition within a year. And $he’d been sitting on the pot over twelve yet.

“But what does it matter? I mean, were not talking about us not getting along, agreeing on things and no doubt the bedroom. How often do you meet someone that feels simply transparent? Easy? Fun?!”

“It just does. You don’t understand my position here, I mean my family aside, who is very open, I have other associations and I don’t know, it wouldn’t feel right. Its just not what I can face now in my life. Its too much for me.”

“But how do you feel now? With me?”

“Wonderful,” her eyes upturned in a gentle smile and contact, just like in the earlier days of their friendship, sending that old familiar warmth into Mali’s heart.

“Me as a woman?”

“Well of course. But I just can’t do it, in life. It doesn’t feel right.”

“But we’re here, out in public now?”

“But Mali, that’s just it, you and me. I mean in the end what does it matter, some clothes and makeup? You could just dress as you were before, heck even a little makeup. You looked like a rockstar. Rockstar can be that way in the bedroom. They’re different. But katoey, now, well…”

“And what’s inside? Everyone who stares and laughs at me? About my body and face not matching? Even as a ‘rockstar’!”

“That’s just on the outside. I know who you are. That’s what matters.”

“Then why make the outside matter anyway?”

“Because it does to me still.”

Because if I could accept being with a woman I’d be with Koona.

The unexpected words in her mind hit Cat like a freight train. Her eyes furrowed at a realization never considered in light of Mali, who for all intensive purposes had filled the void in her life left by the absence of her now ex-best friend.

“That’s insane, Cat. Because from my side, everything else here seems perfect and how many times does life offer us that? You’d give it all up for this?”

“Aren’t you?”

Mali played with the candle burning in the middle of the table. $he was not surprised. It was how things, love - with someone $he really wanted - always ended up. $er heart was breaking, as it was accustomed. $he had learned time and again to detach from the longing for the outcome. For the return call, the second date, the goodnight kiss. Always ready and not surprised to receive the friend zone instead — or just nothing at all.

A ghost.

And now detached once more, $he did not care to have tact and not to spill some of the worst words a true American can speak:

“So you’re giving me a choice? To be myself or to be with you?”

Cat let her head angle downward to her lap as if in passive affirmative, where she kept it. Then with her head still down, she dealt the final blow.

Quietly and in almost a whisper as if she knew how hard it would hit with all Japanese sternness, “You have to be who you are. And too, you know my sister, hormones change many things and you’ve barely touched them. How can I really know? How can you really know what you truly want right now? Even romantically. You’re just starting the change. If you are even.”

To Cat it helped simply the way Mali presented tonight. There’s no way she could handle… a rockstar, yes… but a flaming transitional katoey?

Mali would have kicked $erself to have known this. But in the end, it was the same kick $he’d been dealing $erself on a daily, often minute by minute basis for years.

Being something… else… for someone else… for fucking hope’s sake.

$he knew it was over, the familiar black hole was there in the pit of $er stomach. $he knew that $he could not argue Cat’s last point in any convincing way. Cat was right. Hormones were a notorious unknown. She was in fact just starting.

I’m not even sure if I’m really a woman. Fuck me for not knowing. Not even proven myself… to ME!

No worse nightmare existed. $he had failed to know or accept $erself enough to have a solid identity. And now that $he’d met the perfect women and everything was…

Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.

FUBAR.

Check.

Each side with barbs that dig in. Pain and bleeding in either direction. Hurts going in and just as bad coming out. Or to just leave it, not move and not to breathe. Which would lead to absolutely nothing and safety but not actually living.

Oh yeah, that’s exactly the life I have right now.

Frustrated Shaman

Mali promptly excused $erself from the restaurant. $he felt pinned down and backed in a corner, not in a good way. Setting out $he just walked. $he could have taken a cab or the Skytrain but walking was $er medicine. The conversation with Cat only brought to a fever pitch $er own inner dilemma.

Maybe I am like the Native American shaman who is not one sex or the other. Could it be that simple? Not have to do anything else?

Be with Cat wholeheartedly? Not have to be either?

If I had to choose would I be a man for Cat?

Mali knew even exactly how many cars, including the colors and how many windows and seats there were on this train of thought as $he began riding once again.

The front engine car always felt like hope. But by the caboose it was always a sucky and heartbreaking shit-show.

I’ve lived it…

Through $er last two actual relationships.

$he was faster now running the scenario.

I know myself. It always starts in sexuality and ends in being feminine.

There was no role, no bonding or fucking that ended in a happy ending as a man.

Or in being anything than seen as female.

Maybe in Thailand than anywhere else, the man’s societal role could be worked around. Men could be softer here if they felt that way.

It was in the bedroom.

It had been exactly how that whole night happened. As $er armor fell, there was only what was left. $he knew Cat had truly seen who $he was.

And that’s why she disappeared.

And why she doesn’t want me.

It was undeniable and $he wouldn’t even try the mental gymnastics of earlier years around this one.

Cat doesn’t want what I am.

Who would want that?

A woman that could have any man… heck, any woman she wanted?

Who am I deceiving?

$he took a deep breath.

Every day, sometimes by the hour Mali felt the need to board this fucking train and ride it again, explaining once again everything to $erself. The WHY. It was essential and was required at a moments notice $he be able to do so.

Life is calling my fucking hand.

Mali kicked the pole as $he walked by the now familiar park gate. The late evening was cooling ever so slightly to a pleasant eighty-ish degrees.

“Just bend me over and fuck me. Just fucking do it,” $he was speaking angrily under $er breath,

“Fuck you!!!” $he raised $er eyebrows, looking toward the sky and made a bit of the finger gesture, just from the hips in taut but controlled aggression.

Then realizing to who $he was addressing and the role $he attributed to them, it inspired $er anger to rise the necessary magnitude to confront the heavens.

“Universe, god, whatever the fuck you are why do you keep me here? Fuck me! Why don’t you just put me out of my goddam misery once and for all? I can’t fucking win. You bitch slap me whichever direction I turn.”

“Fuck you. Goddamn you!!! Just fucking do it. Put me the fuck out of my misery.”

$he was screaming at the top of $er lungs before $he realized it.

Straggling late-night passerbys turned. In Thailand, anger was pretty much the last resort to anything, something the culture avoided except at the extremes. Expressed anger to another person could turn out to be very dangerous.

But given that the strange farang was yelling to no one in particular, those around with an almost imperceptible tic of the head simply turned on their mental erase and continued on with life deleting the episode.

She walked on into the late evening reminding herself again,

I know she feels for me, feels deeply for me. And I do for her.

The mantra which made the tears and uncontrollable sobbing break through the cloak of rage and run its course.

The one redeeming thing was the warm light she felt inside, the warm light that Cat herself had brought her closer to…

Myself.

That in here somewhere is someone to be treasured.

Who could make things better, all around, unconditionally, always, up to the very last moment.

Oh, how good that sounds.

Mali finally made her way to the skytrain station and her lips turned up in her first smile in hours, never one to not delight in the irony of life however painful.

Yes, the perfect woman.

But who was the perfect woman?

She heard immediately in her head the name Ana.

Ana?

Who is ‘Ana’?!

Home

Suddenly I see what I want to be. Suddenly I see, why the hell it means so much to me._ — KT Turnstall

Propelled by the still running energy of frustration and anger and the fucked-up situation, Mali had entered $er hotel room, packed quickly and made $er way to the airport on the MRT, having briefly logged in online and booked a seat on the last flight home. It was one of those nights $he knew that $he didn’t care if $he slept. Because honestly, $he still didn’t care if $he died either.

The walk had helped but…

I’m still me.

$he now sat in an alone corner at the relatively uncrowded gate awaiting the plane. A tear fell as $he felt $er breath and the life in $er.

I’m still here.

Fuck me.

Why did I do this again? Get involved with someone?

$he shook $er head and chastised $erself lightly for even going this far with anyone, when $he was not even okay with $erself.

Unresolvable. And it’s about me.

My own internal fuck-up. I can’t blame Cat.

I’m sorry world and universe.

I’m just really angry.

Through $er life $he’d always relied on external circumstances, like this with Cat to help $er make up $er mind what was right, who $he was. But Cat was like water to either polarity and everything in-between. Different than the resulting train wrecks of $er last two relationships which embarked with $er willing and ably defined as a ‘male’, onward to their inevitable destructions. $he could never sustain it.

Maybe that’s why I tried here. I thought it could be different.

Now I know.

Life is calling my hand.

The rural tranquility hit Mali as $he exited the cab just after 3am and made $er way across the gravel parking lot to the security door of $er building. $he could feel a light breeze. The familiar chorus of cicadas soothed as $he made it up the stairs and down the open-aired hall to $er end unit apartment.

Opening the door, $he gently raised the dimmered lights just to the point of being able to see and not much more. The subdued light was comforting and relaxing. Even cozy.

Home.

Liberating $erself from $er clothes, $er arms brushed lightly over developing breasts and $he noticed a soreness in them for the first time.

Feels nice.

Looking in the mirror, by habit or compulsion, $er heart sank as usual.

Fuck if I’m going to be a man with breasts.

I still have to live with myself, so I might as well keep fighting.

It felt like everyone $he knew would say that the stuckness and straight-jacket $he was in was $er own doing. By going against…

Accepting what I am without changing anything.

‘Being a man’…

But does accepting what I ‘am’ come along with the feminine clothes and looking like a gay man? Or meaning I have to look around and dress… and act like men do?

Is the highest there is for me to non-conform?

Because in reality this is how others seemed - even Cat - to see $er. But inside $he was no activist or even trying to make a statement despite what people read into $er person or intentions.

I just am what I am.

And this ‘what I am’ year by year was showing colors that conflicted ever so greatly with the exterior and how $he was perceived.

Up to this point most of this had been like play. The clothes, makeup, even the hair transplant which broke open the door of hope that before had been pretty much plastered shut. All these things didn’t mean what this did.

All of this.

$he looked around, at the long counter, $er makeup, hair products. The clothes $he wore. Then down at $er far too thin body.

What is this?

It was one thing to have moments of doubt while all alone in the world, but having just faced Cat, someone who possibly might have been… could have been… much more, the one for $er.

I’m just flushing this… this life… this amazing precious gift… down the toilet…

Destroying a man.

Going to hell.

$he knew $he was pushing the red line with $er body. The strange thing being that there was no turn-around moment like in the past where there was enough desire and a moment of full belief to put an end to the insanity and return to male mode. Or accepting $he was fem or a woman but allowing a more full and male developed body to be, which $he could never get $er head around regardless of all the fifty-minute hours $he had done over the years.

A magazine was laying on the desk turned to an image of a slender model with a sports bra and perfectly toned belly. Along with a beautiful face.

She was hot and a turn on.

I want her.

I want to be her.

Mali felt like crying as both felt equally far from possibility.

Images like that had always tugged at $er in the two directions. Only lately was the duality becoming clear. Since a child it had been a single unified feeling: Complete bonding. As a child gender distinctions, ridicule and hiding didn’t exist. But life and experiences like tonight had functioned over time to beat the simplicity of ‘of course I can also wear my girlfriends clothes’ out of her.

$he stared at the beautiful woman.

That’s my body.

I already am.

Breasts aside but who cares about breasts.

Mali was a face and ass girl, in $erself and the other. Slight breasts were more attractive than any other alternative.

I have the body. But not the face, not by a long shot.

It had been a long roller coaster over the months visiting surgeons here in Thailand and getting their opinions on $er face. Never finding the one that felt right.

It’s all vanity.

How will I feel at the end of my life?

Will I care?

Will the cost of this make me cry while I’m dying?

And too, with all the surgeons opinions, it would be still be a great compromise - still a masculine-ish face at best for $er. $he was told $he was too thin. Did not have enough fat for feminine cheeks. ‘Very difficult’. Even with significant procedures. No one seemed confident.

What was the point of spending so much money and all that risk for such a result with a doctor that isn’t even sure?

Mali looked around $er apartment.

I know this is home.

I’ve felt safe and homey here before.

But it didn’t feel like it right now.

Everywhere $he looked there was something that reminded $er of $er inner conflict and indecision. Or decision to stay in the middle which was not any better than indecision.

Especially those.

$er eyes had caught the ‘over the counter’ Estrofem and Aldactone tablets $he was taking which were in many ways the tipping point. Estrogen and an anti-androgen.

Feeling listless, $he flipped on $er Mac to check email… just because. Even, although $he wouldn’t admit it to $erself, $he had a glimmer of hope that Cat might have written… that maybe… she had… rethought things. A persistent pull $he knew even now would just take time to wane.

But instead a subject caught $er eyes:

Virtual FFS photo results

It had been a few weeks since the order and despite the fact that the desire to see the result was floating around $er consciousness, $he had assumed it would have been a few more weeks to get the response and was not expecting it.

Funny timing.

It was from the woman in the UK who had a business of taking actual photos of a persons face, front, side and other angles, and simulating what different combinations of surgical procedures could achieve in terms of feminization. Mali had had pictures taken and sent in with the $200 cost out of despair with all these surgeons.

All these Thai surgeons who only wanted to know ‘what do you want’ and seemed to see $er face as parts, not as a whole. So far there was no true artist here. No confident man or woman who ‘got’ $er and would say… this is what I recommend…

The image attachments were there on the email and soon they were open.

Mali stared at the pictures, toggling between before and after, different angles and different levels of surgical intervention. With the expected cost being in the $10-30k range based on surgeons in Spain and Argentina among others, they did not seem to be earth-shattering. But they were way more feminine looking than $he had imagined could be done for $er.

But for the cost and the risk, is the result worth it?

After a quarter of an hour or so, noticing $er head nodding off, $he put things aside to get ready for bed. It had been the longest day $he could remember, in time and emotion.

As $he was coming to bed her eyes paused again on the open magazine. Something clicked. $he grabbed it and looked close. One of the Virtual FFS pictures came to $er. That look - smile and the eyes in the model.

I look like that in that picture.

$he quickly sat down again and brought the Mac back to life and pulled up the Photoshopped picture of $erself with the full shebang, including a lip lift.

It is.

I am.

With that a hope dawned on Mali. Maybe called obsessive, as it attached to the past. Cleaving to the despair, the aloneness, the ridicule. The lost hope. A possibility that $he had never fully embraced before. Ever since standing there in $er mothers form fitting black dress, alone in the bathroom mirror of $er childhood home… $er face forever the dealbreaker to any further contemplation.

I might… can be…

And another that $he’d still barely ever let $erself have…

Be attractive to another woman…

As a woman.

Photoshop was one thing. Reality another. There was still the question of surgeons, costs and risk.

And what this could all mean.

Have I stayed in the middle and not move to the female side because I’m not?

Or because I think I can’t?

Or because I’m afraid?

These were new questions that were never possible because this never felt possible before.

Because I can’t handle it being any worse than it already is.

Because I won’t be a man with breasts.

Regardless of the questions, once $he saw it, the connection could never be erased.

Angel or demon.

Re-Koona

First Koona, now Mali.

It must be me.

Once, sure, a fluke. Twice? I know three times is a pattern.

Oh, may I please be wise and avoid a third!

Cat upon awaking sat in a daze on the couch of her 44th floor condo, looking out over Bangkok’s skyline. The condo with the plush mostly white decor, the fruit of her hard work but at this moment such achievement was lost on her in terms of meaning anything. After the tears, Mali’s definitive exit, then more tears, she needed to say something. To someone. To talk this out. She needed a friend. A deep friend. A friend she didn’t have.

Anymore.

In a city full of millions, busy sidewalks, subways and life, coupled with communication with her family, work, taking care of the business and clients, it seemed she could go for long periods without something deeper.

Aside from Koona, she loved her group of friends but they all fit more in the catty-ultra fem set and all very Thai. No one she could have an out of the box conversation with.

Certainly not this kind of one.

In fact it had been a year now since Koona disappeared on their vacation. And aside from the fact that she had a couple thousand Fecebook friends, the only one she felt possibly that close to was Koona. Only Koona.

Not one to sustain known lies to herself for long, it was now clear what she must do.

She had no idea how this was going to go but had to try. Like life itself was calling her bluff at the end of a year of less than conscious avoidance. She hadn’t intended to disappear and not try to reconnect with Koona. Just something in her…

Did nothing.

Paralyzed.

But how can I call her now? And even if she doesn’t hate me, am I ready to tell her everything?

Will Koona understand?

After what seemed like hours, in a dazed stupor she began moving toward the inevitable action she must take. She fumbled for her unusually neglected iPhone, found Koona’s contact and, with a deep breath and holding it in, pressed the green button. It rang a few times.

“Sawadee ka?” intoned the sultry-breathy voice at the other end of the line.

Cat felt weak in her stomach. “Koona ka? Is that you?” as tears migrated to her eyes.

“Ka.”

“Hiiiiiiy,” she let out softly, melodically as if encoding everything of the past year and what was now going on, in that one syllable. There was a silence on the other end that seemed to go on forever.

“Cat ka?” the voice sounded hopeful yet wounded.

“Koona ka, can I see you na ka? Karuna ka? I need to see you… please?!”

The Night Market

Just be calm, slow down, take a breath. Try to smile.

Mali heard echoed back from $erself the inner advice and wisdom $he was coming into especially from observing $er day to day vicissitudes with $erself in the little north Thailand city.

When $he was calm, stood tall and was happy, things went well. Smooth. Almost very good. And $he wanted more of this.

But when I’m not… it’s shocking…

$he smiled and laughed to $erself. It was true. Heavenly or simply shocking. It was absolutely true.

And getting overheated, carrying too many things, does not help. Slow down Mali. Take a break when you need one.

That was the advice from inside.

The heat of the day still hung and radiated from the ground as Mali made $er way on the short walk to the Chiang Rai Night Market - the place to see and be seen on a Saturday night. $he’d made several deals with $erself, one of which was not to carry more than a few light bags at most if $he bought anything. Second, to stop places and take breaks before getting overheated. There was an inverse connection between being able to stay poised and ‘$er own person’ with getting physically fatigued or overwhelmed. This had become absolutely and replicably clear.

The third which $he’d done since arriving in Chaing Rai was to fully rest every Saturday. As $he was accustomed each Saturday, $he reflected on the week past, a morph of the Jewish idea of a sabbath.

A week ago tonight I was sitting at dinner with Cat.

$he felt like a different person now. But not in such a good way. $he had grown listless, and day by day over the week, more. Feeling less okay out in the world, more untouchable, and inside seemed to mirror the outside. Today’s rest hadn’t helped like it usually did. It was the kind of feeling of not being at ease or comfortable anywhere in $er own skin, even at home in the most chill and relaxed situation of the day.

$he turned into the busier area at the corner with crowded mom and pop restaurants and of course $er favorite refuge, Wawee Coffee on the other side of the street. $he could feel the tension in $er body, especially neck increase and willed to have control over $er poise but it was a struggle.

$er body knew $he was going to be in contact with people.

Many people. Thai people. Often nice, but not infrequently, irreverent.

Passers by. The Night Market crowds.

Regardless of the Photoshop epiphany the week before, $he was still going back and forth on it.

And I know although I see it, to have that face requires surgery. Why can’t I just accept myself and my amazing body as in between? Love myself and get on with it?

It wasn’t like $he was unattractive.

And really, if I smiled more and calmed down, that goes a long way to being more of who I am.

There are people… women out there… who would get me. Look at all the new age or surfer people… the guys are often so pretty if not feminine…

It was true. But so was Mali’s journey and the paradox of how the physical, appearance, hormones coupled with the spiritual, the emotional and life outlook — intimately tied.

More important than any surgery was the let down of $er defensiveness. In times when $he was able to ‘just be’ and connect with others, $he felt amazing. It was a nice idea but $he could not implement it. As the defensiveness seemed tied to how $he looked, how others seemed to respond to $er.

How can I possibly let my guard down… when I’m already stared at, laughed and and ridiculed all over the place?

So it was this catch 22 where maybe looking better might fix things. But it seemed the wrong way to do things. The easy way.

Then of course, was the almost irresistible allure of the potential change.

But then the cost.

The risk.

And no strong match on a surgeon.

It was true, being a man and $erself now more than ever felt like oil and water.

But is it just because of where the world is? Because I can be this way? Choose it? Because that doesn’t make it the right path…

Would I have chosen this if I lived in the past? When things were harder?

I doubt I’d had the balls.

Mali laughed at $er own inside joke, having realized over the years that the more feminine $he became, the more $he’d ‘grown a pair’.

Maybe I can just let this all go and just be happy, meet the right woman who gets me and loves me and everything will be alright.

Of course also tugging at $er was the ongoing time on hormones. Soon certain things would be irreversible - like sterility and not to mention the manboob problem.

Surfers and new-age guys aren’t taking hormones and getting facial femeninization surgery.

No comfort there.

Home did not feel comfortable or like home anymore.

The apartment felt like it had bad energy.

$he had a Skype consultation scheduled with a recommended surgeon in South America, but that was not for a few weeks.

It was all up in the air.

Looking out the window earlier that day, at what was in weeks past such a tranquil world now for some reason seemed dark, something subdued, hidden, even malevolent. Even the rooftops with their Thai ornaments and the darkened windows felt like eyes of a world of which Mali was outside. In every possible respect.

$he couldn’t concentrate.

$he knew from the past that such a state was due to not being able to be present in the moment and feel $er feelings. But nonetheless it was like the whole environment had conspired. Construction had begun on a new building next door. Noise sometimes going into the night. Losing sleep didn’t help. It felt like $he did not own $erself or $er mind anymore.

$he had tried to get away, to the park, the mall, the little coffee shop by the Clock Tower at the center of town. And now she approached the Night Market, although in $er state it was more with anxiety than true interest.

So in jeans, combat boots and tank top Mali reached the street lined with makeshift booths and ad hoc lights. $he wandered in the flow of the substantial crowd, many young-ish Thai people as well as adults, punctuated by occasional tourists. Flat chested, androgenously dressed, with $er neck, $he wandered in the flow, checking out all the bright, colored or simply beautiful merchandise being sold.

$he still grinned and chuckled at the more strange offerings.

Jesus… putting snails of my face as a beauty treatment…

Not gonna happen!

$he walked slowly, reminding $erself to stay in $er body and not rush, the only possible chance $he had at enjoying the evening at all.

“Look at the foreigner…”

Of course this was said in Thai and not meant for Mali’s ears.

Here goes…

“Looks good” another young male voice responded behind $er, “thin, pretty.”

“You think the foreigner is a Tom or Dee?”

“Hmmm… dresses like a Tom but you know, Dee I think.”

“Yes Dee.” They agreed.

Mali could not help it and turned to the source of the words, a couple cute young Thai — pretty clearly gay — boys quickly turned their heads away and together, Mali catching the embarrassed upturn of their ‘no crying over spilled milk’ smiles. There were twelve or thirteen distinct smiles that a Thai person can identify distinctly without any difficulty, and Mali was starting to be able to see them.

That was the thing with Thailand and it still screwed with $er mind that even if people seemed to be laughing at you it was maybe not really necessarily that, not the same as being laughed at in the USA.

But Mali couldn’t completely tell. They weren’t necessarily being mean spirited. They were just being themselves, in the present, being Thai. There were so many levels of smile and laugher there and they could be as much about the emotions of the person themselves than a criticism of the apparent object.

Nevertheless, such attention activated $er American sensibilities, which was generally the path of a downward spiral towards frustration, anger and feeling ridiculed.

This time, though, $he actually smiled.

Hey, at least they get me.

Does that mean they saw me as female?

Is there Tom and Dee for gay men here?

Are they seeing me as female, katoey or gay man???

$he would have done anything in that moment to be fluent in Thai and have Thai friends $he could actually find out the truth from, it would be truly eye opening. But the language aside, the culture tended to put what seemed like a hard barrier between foreigner and Thai.

At least in my case.

Tom and Dee were descriptive terms of lesbian women, the closest thing in English being butch or fem, but here they were much more than that.

Regardless, barring further understanding, Mali took it as a compliment.

After another twenty minutes or so, $he was getting hungry and started edging against the general flow of Night Market people over to the street that was all about food. Which of course did not help $er sense of wellbeing, both being hungry and having to try hard to get to where the fulfillment would be.

Feeling $er blood sugar - which was ever volatile as $he was late on a meal due to $er minimalist diet, $he compromised on some fried noodles and sushi. With a plate of food in hand $he spotted a dry fountain area atop some steps where many, especially younger people, were sitting.

Finding a solitary step area, $he sat down but not without noticing the following eyes of a few groups of youngsters. Not unusual, except one boy kept staring. Mali had no mechanism to interpret such attention positively - be it the attention of ridicule or of perhaps gay attraction. $he ignored it and sat down.

It would be nice to connect with someone though.

But $he had no sense or concept of how to do that short of someone approaching $er. As was $er default passive strategy in life to date. Intelligent and even aggressive, in everything but in connecting and meeting others. Not to mention $er seeming inability to prioritize social time if there were opportunities against the somatic excavation project $er body demanded for hours a day.

$he kept noticing glances over at $er. Also totally normal in Thailand and in fact anywhere at this point. They exaggerated the pain of loneliness, the form of which was tension in $er body $he felt impotent to handle at the moment. Every time $he heard laughter $he willed $er eyes not to look to make sure it was not about $er. But $he succumbed to the compulsion to check out the situation more often than not.

Another foreigner, an attractive and confident looking black woman sat near $er, a combination which Mali had always found very attractive. Black skin was unusual in Thailand. And too the culture was all about being white. The whiter the better. Evidenced by all the whitening cosmetics and skin bleaches available at every pharmacy.

I wonder how it is for her here.

Mali willed to talk to her. $er mind coming up with creative remarks, but then sitting on their execution until they became stale. After a few minutes, as the woman came, $he went.

As things were, Mali being who $he felt $he was perceived as, hardly had the spark to even try anymore.

What was the point to even try now?

A breeze had been coming up a bit but it was the first drop of rain that made it conscious. And then a big gust of wind, as if from nowhere. People looked around and many rose immediately. A trickle started but from the strong gusts of wind and the rather quick up and go of most people, what was coming was pretty clear. Mali gathered up $er bags and followed in suit.

Home was ten minutes walk, close, but that could be ten minutes of being soaked with what seemed to be inevitable.

The heavy rain started just as $he was turning off the night market street. Just a patter at first but then another wind came. It was dark, with occasional dim rural street lights illuminating the dampening pavement. A street later, crossing the two-lane bridge into the more residential area, full downpour.

Instead of fighting the rain $he smiled and let $erself feel it.

$he was walking all of the sudden care-free in the warm rain down a dimly lit rural street of a remote town in northern Thailand. The confluence of surreal and real hit $er. A remote nowhere, was a remote somewhere. Who would have imagined $er here? As $he was? $he couldn’t have even comprehended this a year ago.

This is my home.

In a split second was a traversal of the artificial division between outsider and insider, not okay and okay, man and woman, katoey and cis.

I might be nothing to anyone. But I’m someone to me.

I chose to feel the rain because I like it.

It felt powerful. To choose to like something because you do. To own your choice.

I like this.

I love these roads. The traditional colorful houses.

This rain.

The peace and tranquility here.

The chill people who I know are all around.

I like what I like.

I like what’s inside of me.

From nowhere the apex of tension in $er throat broke, just like the storm clouds spilling rain and $he began to cry. No one was around and if they were, they could not hear it.

Being alive was beautiful. This simplicity, the joy of feeling the rain was so wholesome.

$he did not know where the tears were really coming from, but $er body was triggered by the contrast of surrender to everything $he had and was going to put $erself through.

It was as if nature had sent some help.

Like the black woman at the market. I like her because I do. I don’t care that she’s different.

In fact… I’d prefer her to be that way.

If I like being a girl then… why should I make that not okay either?

I’d be doubting it just as if that beautiful black woman doubted if she was beautiful… just because of the Thai white obsession!

So why not me?

$he got home and felt a bit better about things. All alone and unsure of what she was doing, riding the waves tonight.

Almost literally.

Riding the waves. Finally feeling the vortex of forces $he was enmeshed in.

Recollections

Leaning against the windowed wall of the quirofano, Terrasanto took a deep breath and watched his two protegees, Salvatorre and Rivera as they completed the stitching and de-prepped the nose and completed forehead. But his attention turned to Ana which brought an inner chuckle and smile. At that moment his phone rang - it was his wife - and as so, gave the signal to the team as he stepped out of the room.

Not unusual for her to call and check in especially on the days of major surgeries, he answered.

“Hola” he vocalized with a tone of caring and familiarity that belied their relationship.

“Como va?” - how are things going?

“Well, we got through the worst of it. Complicated nose - the worst we’ve seen this year. Horrible! But the result, well, you’ll see.”

“I know I will. It’s to keep you on your toes!” replied Castaña.

Terrasanto chucked, “compared to you I do the work of a nurses assistant!”, referring to the fact that Castaña was a top cardiologist in Uruguay and known in most of Latin America. Not that one would ever realize that in the down to earth and warm way she carried herself.

“I’m not so sure about that! This is Ana, today, right?”

“Yeah, can you believe we made it?”

“You said always she was different. I’m still not sure, the way you tested her, was it right?”

“I wanted to be sure. She was a different one. I could just sense it. You know, everyone evolves of course. But the person who first contacted me and the actual woman who walked into my office last week, casi no lo creo. I’ll never know for sure but I believe she grew like crazy in the interim. And I’d like to think I had a part in that.”

“And apparently if the reports from Claudia are accurate, she took a deep sigh of relief too when she met you in person, huh? That was a bad scene for awhile. She really did know she wanted you to be her surgeon. Hmmm. I mean, you didn’t even send a car for her at the airport! Hmph!”

“It was worth it. I lose some by testing them. But that’s not what its about. In all the striving for perfection and vanity in this world, who would I be if there wasn’t something special about the connection to and what I am doing for each person I operate on. I mean, look at who I have to compete with!” the smile pervading his voice as he referred to his wife, “no, I could not wake up with you in my arms and look you in the eyes.”

“Ah que galan!”, but Castaña’s heart still melted, “Think of me as an accomplice then. I wrote most of those emails to her, remember??” as she arched her tone to emphasize.

“Pure artistry. You know how to read people. And this one, even more, and how you figured out her level of Spanish and pressed her buttons not even in her own language,” he was now laughing, “But seriously, I read a concern, an unsureness, trepidation even in her - well actually then it felt a bit more like a ‘him’, with all respect…”

He was referring to the period where from the first consultation and subsequent delay before she made the booking, then for him to delay the final surgery date confirmation for a few months. Part by necessity as he was changing hospitals in the new year, which facilitated the process to make sure that Ana really wanted this, knowing the depth of what the complete rework of a male face to appearing as female - not only that, of an attractive female - meant in life. Sure, the general *gender community and WPATH did not advise or require letters for facial surgery, only gender reassignment. But he had his own standards.

Ana and his team had gone back and forth, escalating at one point to a name-calling email orchestrated in Spanish by Castaña alledging that Ana was being “incredula y loca”, crazy and incredulous, and that she should “tener un actitud mas positiva”, a brilliant double-bind.

Which Castaña knew Ana would take as feeling completely misread, as Ana’s emails had simply been attempting to be warm, perhaps overly cautious but also anxious to know her surgery date. Ana had canceled and then with Terrasanto playing the good cop and making the emails appear to have been from his assistant without his direct knowledge, allowed them to mutually reconcile. A rollercoaster for Ana, and little did she know, one architected to perfection.

“Well, all in a days work, huh?”

“Mi amor, what a life. What do we do? Is it right? We can only answer to ourselves and god.”

“Well, its time you get back to Ana, no? And let that blessing spill over. She deserves it, dios!”

“Si mi querida, bye!”

Terrasanto hung up.

The Chinese Tune

The next morning Mali awoke to a tune from the building under construction next door. It was like $he had heard it before but couldn’t name it. Melancholic and droning, pulsing with a light tingle of bells and the melody of a flute, Asian - sounded Chinese - but with a western scale.

So beautiful it felt ominous.

It was harmonious, shimmering and completely frightening.

Behind such beauty its effect made something hurt inside and hinted at something dark. Funeral beautiful but not death beautiful. It was overwhelming.

It made $er feel things…

Like I’m in a movie. I’m that person you’re so glad you’re not...

… because they’ve made choices… it’s dark… they’re dying…

$er next thought was that the movie is not even real.

$he slapped $er cheek lightly as if to test for this.

Ok okay… not a dream, not a movie.

Ow.

But it was a song that could not be ignored without digging into what this feeling was exactly. For some reason it hit $er that maybe this melody was from the other side, the place where the psyche connects with everything beyond this life. And some in-between entity had written it down and performed it.

The place where consciousness meets…

Not.

The things that can be done to us… drugs, surgeries… w_hat you feel in moments before and after anesthesia._

Life bleeding away… close to the road. Approaching last moments. And at that point there's nothing you can do about it.

Every choice you’ve made leading up to this is in front of you.

Maybe this song is a warning?

Because I’m was still alive, right now, hearing it.

I can change things. Take a different route.

The one of light.

Not this one.

Maybe I’ve mistaken its light for darkness?

Images of hospital rooms, needles, anesthetic masks and the dark sleep of the beyond during surgery came over $er.

A needle boring into $er forehead. In fact in the proposed surgery it was likely that $er forehead bone would be removed so it could be shaped and replaced.

It all felt malevolent.

And now with $er body so slender, could $he even survive such a procedure?

Because that’s what was on the table should $he go this way.

I’m playing with my life.

I’m betting with my life.

Jesus.

Most of the time none of us feel how just close to the road things are for us. Just some blocked air or a puncture to an artery in a moment brings us close to the meeting of consciousness…

With not.

Our biology, our life support. We take it for granted until…

It all goes wrong.

$he turned over in bed, it seemed that sleep was likely over for the night.

Where am I? What am I doing?!

Was this the wrong way? The wrong choice?

Of course, deep inside, there was all the experience, knowledge and drive that had brought $er here. The same which was in set opposition to the mainstream world. The world of people who had told $er almost categorically that being gay is a lonely path and that being transgender is not real, just an element of play.

That being a man or woman - being true to your birth biology is ‘where its at’ for happiness. That one’s stress response is innately built-in, either masculine or feminine.

And these things… I’m doing, contemplating…

Are permanent.

$he remembered $er last breakup before heading down this path of attempted self-knowledge and acceptance. It all felt like an alternative path then, to break up, a choice. Even as it was happening, it felt like a major switch in the code of $er life. An alternative to something more wholesome and right.

But completely and unacceptably boring.

Staying as it was.

Itself its own death.

Yet life and $er own body had brought $er to that breakup. And as with the relationship, the same here.

Looking around, the room which before had been dark, subdued but relaxing and cooling $he could now see - imagine - as the place of a cold, dark, lonely departure from this world.

Even the building itself could have been a hospital before. Who might have passed through this room?

Is this what $he would come to? Would $he remember this moment when the end was imminent and realize it was in fact folly, and feel the pain of knowing $he had known?

Wrong choice? A fatal one?

All the heart, the dreams, the love, desire, the tears, $er body, its cells, organs and magic, all reduced to nothing by the outcome of this choice?

Tears welled up and started to fall.

$he pulled up the eye scarf $he slept with around $er head. It would be so perfectly fitting. So fitting $he became afraid of it. Not conscious but deep inside $he knew of a vision, path and inertia that $he’d never had a whole lot of control over. The same which brought $er here.

Its what $he had always run from since childhood. Running from the darkness. From that fucking goddam San Francisco fog. As if it was one and the same as the darkness $he saw there as a child in the 80’s at the height of the AIDS epidemic. The alternative lifestyles. It seemed all dark to $er. B&D, S&M, gay, transsexuals.

All that, dark dark dark.

As an innocent child the feeling was sadness, darkness and isolation. Desolation.

I know my heart.

My heart is not an alternative heart.

My longings and dreams are not the ‘B’ side.

A thirsting heart. A searching heart.

The same heart in $er as a child holding a pillow in embrace feeling a beautiful girl with $er.

The same heart that longs for…

The primary dream.

A heart that could love, connect, merge, some way, some how.

What the fuck am I doing?

But $he was doing and $er own heart was doing it.

As $he walked out from the apartment building to the road, the fact was Mali must have looked strange. Coupling how $he already presented normally, with the fact that $he was more out of sorts than in a long time.

Weird energy.

$he had dressed as $he meditated on the Chinese Tune that still droned on like a malevolent zombie that would just not die.

In the mirror the body of a runway model. A female runway model. Thats how more than one past girlfriend described ‘his’ potential. At least from the chest down.

Jesus… neck down is just fine. Fuck breasts. Don’t care.

$he liked $er body, slender as it was. Actually loved it. Despite all this fear instilled by the Chinese Tune, images of that woman in the magazine with a slender waist and toned belly like $ers and the likeness of faces.

With surgery.

Like that. Just like that.

AND so fucking vein.

So much money.

All the risks.

But congruent.

For once…

…in my life.

It was compelling. Even in spite of the death-wish wakeup call…

Putting on makeup did not make $er sad today like it had the past few. It had then felt like a burden. A reminder of how self absorbed $he had become. But today, makeup at least brought $er intermediate being into closer harmony. $he felt better with it. At least reducing being misread.

$he evaluated that today $he was pretty. $he knew $he had a lot of masculine still on many fronts but this inner person was more and more real despite the warnings of a possibly crumbling facade from that fucking song.

Moisturizer, sunblock, some soft and nice smelling foundation, powder, bronzer, eyes…

Many times $he asked $erself how in the world it got to this point from ‘his’ past ability to wake, be in and out of the bathroom and outside in five minutes. It was not a lie that $he missed such simplicity. But then again, $er entire life had acutely diverged from such over the last few years and more even in the last six months.

And here we have… Mali in… the new normal…

Dressed in sleek yoga pants, a tank top, brown Converses accessorized by sparkling earrings, a rose quartz bead bracelet, $er favorite aqua colored onyx studded Japanese ring, plus computer backpack, $he made it out, and sooner than usual was able to hail a tuk-tuk.

And requested a ride to the Central Chiang Rai mall, pronouncing it ‘Centroo Chiang Rai’ to make sure $he was understood by the driver.

Staring out at the passing scenery from the back of the vehicle, Mali mentally prepared $erself for the mall. $he had often left that place in an agitated and angry state and willed today to be different, remembering the visit from a couple days ago…

Maybe half or more of everyone who walked by was looking at $er it seemed. Every lingering look. It was always like this. $he’d often start out in good spirits and resilient, smiling. And then it would just go to hell over time.

Feeling at the whim of the world.

Hearing over and over the words ‘farang’ and ‘katoey’.

And then often the fucking laughter.

Even seeing the people as they made these comments.

The passers-by who were not already satisfied would continue to look back once or twice, maybe three times after they passed.

As if I don’t exist.

As if I don’t have feelings.

As if I’m an inanimate object to those fuckers.

Or they know I have feelings and want a reaction.

Over $er lifetime $he’d learned to avoid showing $er feelings and reactions in public just for that reason.

The mall. Like being in second grade. Insecure and picked on.

To not let them see me cry.

Yet here…

I live in a foreign country on my own volition.

I came here and I can leave when I like and go more or less wherever else I like in the world.

I make more money in a day than perhaps many of these people do in weeks or a month.

There might be no one I’ve ever come in contact with in all of Thailand that can match me at coding and analytical abilities.

And what the hell, I’ve been in the arms of one of the most beautiful women in Thailand.

So, Mali, what are you concerned about?

It wasn’t even $er style to look down on people. It was only especially in the recent years when $he realized how much others would capitalize on $er being different that $he started to adjust $er openness and caring for people.

When $he was calm and really in $erself, how $he loved life and to see people. Feel them really. Associate to them. Almost like $he was them. Their beings, feelings, aliveness. Each one’s joy, dreams, longings and good intentions.

But when it got to the point of feeling constantly poked at, she simply felt angry, even violent. Hated them. Frustrated. Feeling tense and resultantly kludgey, ungraceful and frankly, ugly. And since starting the overt gender exploration years, the hurtful experiences unfortunately eclipsed the positive ones, at least in $er primal brain which was wired for just such protection.

So eventually with enough instances $he shut down in large part to anyone $he did not know. To smile at a woman and be open, only to be stared back, even sometimes with that look of fear in their eyes. Or an initial smile quickly becoming a frown. Which $he assumed meant $he had been ‘read’ and rejected.

No more. The door is shut.

Or the dealbreaker being men. Especially if they were a group where any eye contact or even a nod would in a moment prompt audible comments if not all out laughter. It was only in the last few months that $he’d allowed $erself the luxury of ignoring men completely in passing.

No more fucking men.

Thank god I’m not attracted to them.

But $he still had to deal with the atmosphere around $er, like it or not.

Thailand had at first held a lot of promise, and even now was still a much softer place than many. But it had it’s own way of dealing with foreigners, much less katoey ones. And where $he had hoped that $he would have been able to become part of the Thai-katoey friendship culture, one of the hardest hit realities was that no matter who you were, foreigners always seemed on the outside here.

Unless you want to be a walking ATM machine.

The one notable exception having been Cat.

Although $he was sure there were worse things to be, katoey farang seemed pretty low in the pecking order in terms of how a good portion of the public felt entitled to treating you. Well, unless of course you were in their store spending money.

This of course did nothing to help with the wound inside that $he, for $er lifetime had been desperate to sooth. And the old patterns of rigidity, anxiety, coalescing into what could appear as conceit, aloofness or simply shyness held.

The result was frustration and anger that always seemed just under the surface in $er. And it was one and the same which diminished the joy and feminine feeling in $erself. So it was a vicious circle - $er defense to ‘hurt back’ itself made $er less $erself.

‘Sabai sabai’ was what the Thai used to describe a happy no-worries lifestyle. One of the reasons so many foreigners flocked there - the weather was warm, the people were overall chill and you could live on a fraction of what it cost to live anywhere else. It was attractive…

If you’re a cisgender heterosexual man… or maybe a gay man.

But on the other side of things, $he was constantly stared at. Things were said $he sometimes understood but often was unsure of. So there was all that, and too, the chasm between Thai and foreigner - as they called them, ‘farang’ - became clearer. ‘Farang’ originally had meant ‘barbarian’ although the term was used colloquially now. And under all the smiles there seemed to be unknowability.

Almost dehumanization… at least of others… my emotions.

But all in all, even if $he was in fact laughed at here, $he felt safe. Unlike in $er own country. At the end of the day, $he felt both from contact and intuition, that the Thai people were generally sensitive and kind at heart although in moments they could at least in appearance be the biggest assholes.

And it’s hard to put on a real smile when you don’t feel good about even the smile itself and the face that depicts it. It’s hard to be with others… or even be yourself to yourself… when you don’t really know who you are.

And it’s hard when the overall feedback projected back seems to be that something is wrong with you.

But nevertheless, as $he entered Central Chiang Rai today, $he put on the smile $he had. Because if nothing else it was an emollient to $er own edgy nervous system… as long as $he could make it last.

Reunion

The roofbar was crowded as always and full of life. A veritable fixture at the top of one of the most salient skyscrapers in the Silom area of Bangkok, touted as one of the best rooftop bars in the world. Where wealth flowed, a respectful demeanor and anonymity held. A guilty pleasure of the friends even back in university days when they could scarcely make ends meet, it was their place to come and dream. Even then they dressed and looked the part, and now, upon reflection, they both had made it real.

Cat sat at a corner table, just a bit early. A few minutes passed and as if by instinct she looked up immediately as the door produced the figure of Koona.

Well, a new version of Koona.

Which she swore at this moment had become just a little larger than life. She exuded a confidence and poise Cat had never seen before in her and was looking simply…

Gorgeous.

Cat nodded internally… yes, that was the word…

This was not the basically pretty but serious and kind of invisible girl she knew. This was a woman, a woman with…

Something special.

Like an added dimension to her person had sprouted.

Koona wore slender black pleated slacks and a form fitting blue button down dress shirt, sleeves folded up at the cuffs, showcasing a silver link bracelet and a matching chain hanging from her neck. Enough glimmer to catch attention and yet calling out that the best is…

Uh… under those clothes.

WTF Cat.

Koona’s waist was Thai-tiny as ever and although her torso was still long and slender as ever, her breasts had filled out even a bit more. Or maybe it was how she walked. This was a woman who owned herself, all confidence and self assurance. And not a facade, Cat could feel this was real.

She had clearly grown the last year into her own. That needed not be spoken. The natural oscillating opposition of her hips, ribs and shoulders along with her perfectly poised neck commanded attention. Her head straight and chin slightly angled down, her gaze powerful through the upper half of her eyes. Her straight subtly highlighted dark brown hair, long before, was now cut angled straight and hanging just an inch or two above her shoulder and swayed along with her.

Catching Cat’s eye, which she held through her trademark furrowed sockets, a slight smile came over her upper lip, showing her upper teeth. By the time reaching the table, a full warm toothy brilliant smile she had rarely ever shown in the past bathed Cat. A smile that said too much. Of course which made Cat take a breath of relief, but also uncomfortable just a bit without knowing why.

“Hello ka!” they smiled in unison, as Cat rose and they embraced almost a little too long. Cat knew because she was looking up into those perfectly painted eyes and saw a glint too much. Knowing better than to repeat the past, Koona let go and made back for her chair.

From nowhere a pang of envy - or was it jealousy? - hit Cat, with the realization that the woman in front of her had clearly lived this past year. Even that she herself had been the one to push her away, it still held. What had Koona done and seen? Because whatever it was, it liked her, and people didn’t flower this way in a vacuum.

“Sooooo…” smiled Koona, raising a brow slightly, prompting Cat.

Cat smiled and laughed nervously as she looked back at the best friend she had ever had. This was not going to be a game. Cards would be on the table this evening.

“I missed you so much Koona. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been so alone in my heart. You are my best friend and always will be even if you tell me you never want to see me again.”

“Why didn’t you call ka? It’s like you just let things go and gave up na ka,” she intoned, adding the polite particles at the end, there was some magic of a close friend giving respect and distance in such intimacy. Something only Thai speakers and similar languages would ever know the melting heart of such a feeling inside.

Cat had no answer of reason she could consciously give, “I’m sorry ka.”

“Well, I guess its true, maybe I sprung that moment on you? But you were there too. I thought you felt it. If I was wrong and scared you, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Okay, I mean, I felt it but you know what I mean. I guess… I… I just hoped.”

“So you liked me that way?”

“I’m sorry Cat, it's more than like,” then correcting herself, “was more than like.”

Something in Cat wilted at Koona’s correction like the same stupid envy-like emotion that she couldn’t understand.

“I like women,” Koona intoned with the ‘come on’ childlike whine, “That night, well, after you pushed away, I gave up the charade and just accepted it completely. Cried a fuckload. I guess… I mean I was not thinking… with you… it could have…” she cleared her throat and smiled the ‘I said too much’ smile,

“Anyhow, this past year, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I know. Its just who I am, it’s not just you,” she paused contemplating her water glass, tipping it a bit on the side with her perfect short clipped unpainted finger nail, “But really, I am first a woman, a friend, with a good heart, only after that a lover or mate. So don’t worry if you don’t feel the same. It’s okay. That’s how life is. It’s okay. I get it. I felt bad after that day. After I got over the sadness it’s true, I could have called you just as well. But I got busy.”

Koona got busy.

How busy?

Cat!

Something in Cat would have done anything to turn back time to have kept that heartbreak from Koona. Was she just empathetic? Was that it? She couldn’t imagine ever intentionally hurting this being in front of her. But not only that. Was it really heartbreak she wanted to take back?

Koona 2.0 was in front of her. Her heart felt jeopardy knowing that to become this… she had done things, who she was, and what those things must have been…

The women…

Who had Koona been with?

Cat caught herself as Koona interrupted her brief daydream,

“But anyway, we can talk forever about this, what made you call me?”

“I created a disaster and broke another heart.”

“Not that you missed and wanted to see me?”

Oh fuck.

“I caused a hurt and somehow it woke me up to how much I miss having my best friend.”

“So a guy?” Koona let Cat off the hook, but it made her sad that maybe this was a mistake, to see each other again, “Er, because Cat, that would not be news of any sort”, she smiled her “I’ll humor you” smile broadly breaking herself from her rumination.

Who cares Koona, I’m me and I’m seeing an old friend.

“Shit, it was almost a game for us back then! Damn marks on our bedposts, even if we never brought them there,” she laughed and then playfully added, “at least as far as I know about you!” she flitted her eyebrows suggestively.

Cat blushed but the train was already in motion so she put some momentum to it, “Well, I met this amazing farang man. Well I don’t know if I can say man. He looked like a rockstar, you know, combat boots, tight clothes, makeup. His name is - was - Mali.”

“Wow, okay, this is new,” Koona savored the information, “Mali, like meaning the flower bush in Thai, no?”

“Yes,” Cat chuckled realizing she had never really made the connection for some reason, and so fitting that Mali’s name referred to the flower plant, not the flower itself as if it was itself it’s own hint about $er identity,

“We got close - first as friends, emotionally. Then there was one night,” Cat paused wondering how to simply summarize everything, “Koona, he - she - is not a rockstar, thinks he - she - is katoey.” Cat looked down, still ashamed about how the whole thing went down with Mali.

“He - she - told you?”

“In bits. Then the night we were together. I can’t tell you. It was like magic. He didn’t tell me. I saw her. I think. When we were together.”

“Oh my god!” Koona exclaimed smiling with a little bounce in her seat. Cat made an immediate mental note that this was in fact Koona 2.0 because in the past the ‘wow’ would probably have been an ‘eeeewww’ accompanied by a concerned frown.

“So then what? Did you, you know?” Koona winked all too seductively.

Cat nodded unable to speak the words to Koona’s dropped jaw.

God, when did she learn that look?!

Had she always been this way but I’d not noticed?

Is this how female friends look at each other?

Cat had never wondered about such things before.

Shit I’m self-conscious right now.

Why?

Cat was getting rocked. She was the master of poise and since Koona walked in she could not even orient herself.

“So come on, then what?” Koona cooed as Cat started to doubt her own unquestioned grip on reality.

“I ended it. Well I told him - her - that I wanted a man only.”

“And you do? Because last time I checked you were not exactly hot for them. Or for anyone,” swallowing the last phrase that was still begging for release…

And certainly not for me… I may know how to be a real friend…

But I’m still a hot blooded woman damn it…

Cat met her friends eyes while hers filled with tears. Koona reached across the table and took her hand in her two palms and squeezed gently, “Cat, it’s okay, I’m still me, you can still tell me everything. I won’t judge you. Much less now than ever.”

Cat shook her head,

“Its just that I feel I can’t see straight anymore. I used to be so clear, now I am so confused. And unhappy.”

“Cat can’t see straight.” Koona stated matter-of-fact and smiled deviously with the words holding gaze as Cat crescendoed into a full blush. Koona felt just a bit mean but it was so worth it, and Cat deserved it.

After enjoying the moment of her impeccably poised friends embarrassment, Koona interjected, “So, you don’t have to tell me but when you made love with Mali, you saw her as a woman?”

Cat took a breath to survey the elephant she’d been boarding in her room up to now.

“Uhm, I can’t lie, yes,” she squinted her brows and eyes moving down beginning in vein to work on a subsequent thought that would save her as Koona waited patiently. She wasn’t going to mention the images of Koona which kept hitting her starting that night. Nor the role she herself had found come so natural there.

“You know, I’ve never felt that way before. With a man. It wasn’t aggressive, contrived or difficult, there wasn’t even a goal, it was just softness, so incredibly soft and easy. I mean, once I helped Mali let go of… I guess of what the world programs males to think they’re supposed to be.”

“Do you love her?”

“Apparently not, since yesterday I told HER she had to be a man to have me,” Cat furrowed her brows again, “But Koona, even so, even if so… I don’t think she is far enough along. I mean, she’s barely come to terms with who she is. Barely even on hormones. Hormones change people. You know my sister!”

Koona paused thoughtfully for a moment taking it in,

“Well, some of that may be valid. But acceptance of what one truly is can come in a moment,” Koona winked.

Cat’s heart fell. Once again, that unexpected feeling. How long could she ignore this and not probe deeper?

“Koona, honestly, I clung - wanted to cling to him - because I thought he was the one amazing perfect man in existence. I didn’t consider further. He - she - had this feminine aspect. I mean, the way it felt to spend time together, walk in the park, the way he played the piano, could talk and join with my family. It was just easy. But still a man. It made everyone happy. Including me, for once…”

Cat paused not knowing if she should say what was next on her tongue.

What the fuck then…

“Spending time with Mali reminded me of how it feels to be with you. But he is a man… I thought…”

She stared out over the balcony and out to the sky. Because there was something else she knew but yet didn’t understand. De-focused and dazing out, it felt like she was on the edge of something but could not say what in particular.

She had thought seeing Koona would clear things up but just in minutes everything just seemed much worse and even more blurred. She was expecting the old Koona who would get her back… box her up.

Koona broke the expanding chasm, “It’s getting late, you want to see my new digs?”

“Diiiiiggggs?” Cat questioned. Definitely Koona 2.0.

Open Soul

How long does a dark night of the soul last? Can it last a lifetime? Cause this one’s dragging…

Mali had held the rather dark contemplation on the ride to the mall alongside the rehashing of $er visit earlier this week.

But since arriving everything was just about perfection. $he had settled $erself at $er favorite table at Doi Chiang Cafe, an open cafe in the free space in the middle of the top level of the mall. It was a modern mall with lots of glass and white. Buffered light filtered through from the opaque glass on the ceiling high above.

The mall was bustling - it was the weekend and rather a miracle to get this table. At $er side was a plate of vegetables and rice $he picked up from the vegetarian stall a couple levels below, to Mali the best meal in the world for about $1.25. To the other side was $er green tea latte. Doi Chiang made the best ones, beating out Starbucks easily. The ‘cute as a button’ baristas were exceptionally kind and friendly here too, greeting Mali as a regular with warm smiles.

With $er Mac booted, opening Gmail in a Chrome tab, a spammy subject caught Mali’s attention.

xxxxxxxxxx
Hey you… from the past

Mali laughed at the fact that $he was still going to open it and mentally prepared…

I’m going to feel cheap, gullible and used in about a second.

But at least $he had called it.

$he read the opening line.

xxxxxxxxxx
Wow, you’re hard to track down.

Good one, Mali thought, as $he knew $he was going to keep reading falling further for the trap…

xxxxxxxxxx
This is K, remember me? San Diego. Data Incorporated. Who saved your ass over and over until you disappeared???
That one.

At that moment Mali realized this wasn’t spam at all but from the past that now seemed like another lifetime. $he kept reading, intrigued,

​x
Look this is going to sound too weird and… believe me its weird for me that I am even being driven to write this.

I had this dream - no it was almost too vivid for a dream - two nights ago and its staying with me for whatever reason and that’s not normal for me. Like burning a hole in my pocket so to speak, so I need to hand this over to you and be done with it, hopefully --

In it I saw you as a child - you know how in dreams you just know who people are even if maybe they look different or you didn’t know them then??, maybe around 8 years old? You were standing with your arms open as if flying and arched toward the sky. I heard the words ‘open soul’.

That’s it.

Weird, huh? Does that make any sense to you? Does it help in some way?

I know…

I feel like a stalker, I mean how hard was it for me to find you? You changed from Mark to the nickname MK and then to Mali. How I found you, the only constant thread: you’re continued posting on blogs and message boards re elementary ROR!

Duh, dude, if you’re trying to change your identity :(

Its a good thing you suck enough to need that OL chatty shit otherwise harder to find you LOL. I knew you too because of your way of writing, you’re style stayed consistent. You write like a writer and not a programmer. Easy to spot. Good for you :)

Your friend,

K

Mali exhaled realizing $he’d been holding breath. Absorbing the punch in a way. But that was K’s way and sense of humor. Not that it didn’t mean gritting $er teeth. But having learned the hard way, $he knew it was a good thing when K taunted you because it meant she actually cared for and respected you.

It did not make sense to Mali nor could $he even imagine ever being able to be that way to someone else just for the possibility that they might take it the wrong way and feel hurt. $he smiled, but so was K. It had been years.

Right then the words entered $er mind like a cutting of clouds, open soul… maybe around eight years old… does that make any sense?

It was weird. The timing. Why today?

The Chinese Tune, dark night of the soul. Now this.

Too serendipitous to ignore?

Mali did not make any connections though. $he thought of $erself eight years old. Seeing $erself as a boy with open arms, standing and receiving some sort of bliss? No. That wasn’t the quiet, timid, creative and sensitive child $he knew from then. Expressing or showing outward jubilation would have been simply uncomfortable and out of character then. Possibly dangerous. Ridicule and bullying wasn’t an uncommon occurrence back then for the boy. This was not a posture $erself as child self had ever entered, $he was pretty sure.

$he had not had a bad childhood by any means. But at age eight, open soul, well, $he was not living the dream, if K was seeing the past, it was not this child’s past. Now, if $he was seeing a potential, that could be.

Because $he knew $he was still fighting the battle to be that. Exactly that.

Open like that.

Just like that.

$he remembered $er last day in San Diego, walking away from $er last girlfriend, the stable well paid job and the apartment overlooking the ocean, surfing in the early mornings before work. Stability. What felt like safety. It felt like another life. And that last day before departure to a new life in NYC, $he stood arms open on the bluff overlooking the beach, a feeling that could only be described as feminine. Feeling the delicious and what seemed to be natural feminine arch of $er lower back, chest opening, neck releasing and lengthening, poised. Self-conscious but doing it anyway. As little bolts of electricity oscillated entering $er spine from the ether.

That’s what came to mind from K’s dream.

$he was more than a little intrigued. Not just open soul, but that K had clearly taken effort to find $er. K… the last person on earth who would be so woo-woo about a dream, if it were. K was part of that San Diego life. Like the past calling the future back to it.

Hmmmm.

What did it mean?

All the listlessness of the past week returned en-force bringing with it that shit Chinese Tune song. What did this mean?

Another mixed signal.

A clue?

$he had to… to get space… time… perspective and it was not happening here. Chiang Rai and everything surrounding $er life now loomed claustrophobic. $he felt desperate.

Away.

It was a good as a time as any to take care of business in Bangkok…

Get my visa fixed for the next few months…

And…

The Creepy Sperm Bank

The wall of 3pm humidity hit $er as $he exited the bronzed glass doors. She hoped $er ‘sample’, was enough as $he had no desire to return there. Ever. After all, $he was doing the responsible thing but truly, $er heart was hardly in it.

Was it $er or the clinic that was creepy?, $he wondered, opening $er umbrella to shade $erself from the intense sun on the busy Tanon.

Maybe its both of us put together.

Mali smiled lopsided about the weirdness.

It had hit $er the moment $he entered the office. Too many rooms, glass offices with white slatted louvers. Unlit portions of hallways. Tinted glass.

As much as there was a shimmery surface on Thailand - both the traditional and the modern, every time $he delved in to learning more about the country where $he lived, especially in the day to day, there was so much under the surface and some of it felt kind of dark… of which $he wanted no part.

Like the massage salons. Infamous. ‘Oil massage’ meant ‘happy ending massage’, or so $he’d learned from second-hand knowledge.

$he wondered when $he entered the place, just because of the apparent moral gray area in Thailand if in this clinic females would be made ‘available’ to the male clients to ‘help out’. There were definitely stranger things being done in the country. Why was it that this should come to mind here?

If it did it raised a dilemma. Not that $he would have accepted the help. Just as the feeling $he got when walking by the occasional attractive women in front of the massage parlors. $he’d still fixate involuntarily… on the less girly one, the tomboy, the girl with jeans an a tight t-shirt. $er heart still wandered there. But it would derail quickly… it wasn’t about sex. It was knowing this was all about money. But moreso, knowing that no matter what $he would pay, $he could never ever get what $he wanted there.

Even in the peak of $er testosterone days in $er 20’s, it was still more about the longing to bond. Even for a few minutes. Be close. Feel. Be felt. It had been five and counting years since even touching someone…

And then Cat came, throwing kerosene on the fire… that night.

To feel and be held.

Would I pay for it?

Stupid.

Such could never be bought.

As it would mean nothing to the girl but money. There was no ‘happy ending’ that money could buy that would satisfy $er heart.

Not even in Thailand. And $he knew that without having to stupidly try.

So was this why it was creepy maybe?

Or maybe all sperm banks are creepy?

Whatever it was, it was pinging $er creep-dar red-line and $he didn’t like it. It was actually in good part a fertility clinic.

What is creepy about that?

But it was.

Nevertheless, it was the only sperm bank $he could find in Thailand.

In the end the clinic was professional. No optional ‘help’. At least to $er. Not to the ‘farang katoey’.

“Mr. Mali,” the reception woman called $er.

Fuck English.

Fuck this fucking fuck.

Mr. Mali dressed in womens jeans, a tight tank and in makeup, using the ka… going to a fucking sperm bank…

Now that was creepy.

Mister fucking goddam Mali.

Fuck me.

Mali shook $er head and shrugged ‘oh well’ as $he walked away down the street back to the skytrain, glad just to be away from the awkward situation. $he had seen the Thai movies, even the most passable Thai katoey was called ‘he’ by others, ‘Mr’.

But nevertheless.

What came the next morning was not a surprise.

The woman on the line spoke in clipped but clear English, “We need you to come back to clinic, need about ten more times you gave to have complete sample that be preserved.”

And so went the ultimatum.

Surely in the past, $er sample would have been normal. Not on hormones, and especially not the slenderizing of $er body, probably borderline anorexia.

A sad tone set in, just slightly conscious. Confirmation and bringing up to front of consciousness that $he was doing things that seemed against $er body. The kind of thing you don’t face until confronted with a medical exam or a blood test.

And $he knew, because when $he did ejaculate in that cup, imagining being in the arms of the Cat-surrogate $he’d created in $er mind, not much came out. And that was about a months worth! $he had created the Cat-surrogate fantasy because it also felt creepy to imagine being with Cat.

But someone like Cat was okay apparently.

“Can’t you just preserve what I gave?”

“No, ka. There is minimum limit. Not viable,” then a pause, “You come back few times, give more?”

The truth was too it cost $100 every time $he had to ‘give a sample’.

$he viscerally could not imagine, visiting that creepy place ten more times nor ejaculating ten more times…

Ever.

“I don’t think I can. It exhausts me,” Mali spoke the truth, “Ejaculation, more than once a month drains me.”

The language was probably lost on the Thai nurse. But the nurse spoke again,

“But maybe you not need do this?”

Mali would never know if this woman really knew what $he was saying.

But to $erself, $he knew in that moment the truth of those words.

This was not in the cards.

$er own biological child.

If the truth be told it wasn’t so much true as the fact that $er life situation was just coupled with not liking who and what $he was. $he was in no place with the desire to reproduce in love. There was no desire to reproduce the train-wreck of $er own self and life.

Worse, the concept of $er being a father was abhorrent. To be called ‘dad’.

And everything else was very much in the frontier of possibility.

Too, if anything was in Mali’s sensibilities, they were towards orphanages, foster children, adoption. $he felt for these beings, not just empathy, $he could see potential in people.

My genes are pretty much fucked anyway.

It was in honesty the furthest thing from $er mind to bring another into this world where $he hardly had dominion over $er own existence after forty-something years.

It made $er sad. Below conscious level, but the fact was, $he had an amazing body, allergies and special diet aside, was very resilient, full of energy and strong. In contrast to so many who had issue after issue but were integrated into life and society in a way that Mali had never known.

And actually got laid more than once every five years.

It was all quite sad. Incomprehensible given what $he dreamed of. $he felt like crying when $he ended the call but did not really know why.

Sitting in a mall cafe to refresh, $he took the last sip of $er hot chocolate and saw the bottom of the cup, trying to get one more drop of the delicious mixture, even with $er tongue on the side of the cup, in vein as it was truly the bottom. As if this was the last of sweetness, ever.

$he felt lost. Having made the decision of no more trips to the creepy clinic, $he could return to Chiang Rai. But $he was having a visceral aversion to returning.

Everything felt off. The goddam Chinese Tune was still resonating in $er mind, not so much the actual tune but the image-print it had left. An inescapable haunting.

And open-fucking soul.

$he could go somewhere else. To get perspective. That was an idea. And however ungrounded it was to run away from your relatively new home in an already foreign land, $he was game at this point. $he felt cornered by life.

All Living Things

All living things fear being beaten with clubs. All living things fear being put to death. Putting oneself in the place of the other, let no one kill nor cause another to kill. — Buddhist saying

“500 baht” the driver was adamant.

“Peng mai?” Mali arched brows and intoned.

“No expensive, it far! 10 keelomiter…”

Finally agreeing to the fare, now in the cab, Mali shuddered. Another mistake? $he was generally good at intuitively making decisions, in quick time and good results. But, $he sighed, here it could make sense. Under such felt pressure and duress to stay away from Chiang Rai at all costs, it would be easy to have followed a suboptimal path.

Running from was different than running to.

Which one was this?

Whichever one it was, this one was not fully baked. But that could be said about the depressed rock-bottom $he felt in regards to $er life in general lately. $er rock bottom, not unlike walking in a creek bed of sharp rocks, you don’t want to move too much and certainly not too fast.

Arriving after thirty minutes, the fare clearly earned, the resort looked nice but lifeless. The taxi pulled up on a gravel parking area in the arriving twilight. To the left the road and the ocean, and to the right, what looked like a pristine - but completely vacant, sparsely lighted resort. $he assumed in the city of Hua Hin there would be movement and many tourists and the whole Thai-massage-expat-geezer scene there $he wanted no part of. $he wanted quiet and tranquility.

This was that and some. $he walked up the path to a pool area, actually beginning to wonder if the place was not actually shutdown. It was not run down, just completely devoid of life.

$he finally saw a solitary employee at the bar.

“I have reservation” Mali spoke slowly in tourist English but without meaning it, let the tone be tainted by $er anxiety, as was not uncommon, causing an even more male voice, leading on one more level to being misunderstood for the person $he felt $he was and wanted the world to see.

The man seemed confused as if to say ‘we’re not expecting anyone’.

A chord played in Mali’s body. Alone, deserted.

Not wanted.

But $he did not know $he felt these emotions, all $he felt was annoyance coupled with self-consciousness.

There’s something wrong with me. And everyone sees it.

Just for being alive.

Here

At all. Just by nature.

Perfect.

Mali considered the possibility that $he really was not expected, but insisted again as $he really had nowhere else to go easily. Finally the bartender pointed and motioned by hand ‘that way’.

As $he walked, it became clear that the entire resort was barren of people, not just the pool, but everywhere. $he might be literally the only one there. Aside from the scare of such desolation, there was a quiet tranquility to the place.

$he walked, following the ‘directions’, over a wooden boardwalk, through the tropical garden which encompassed all the property and hotel buildings. The place was composed of many individual buildings, most of them roundish or octagonal, two stories, white with wooden trim and roofs. They were all dark in the windows.

Aside from the conspicuous absence of clientele, it seemed to be an ‘A’ resort. Everything was clean, well maintained and basically pristine.

$he heard a murmur of water as $he noticed that alongside the path was a man-made brook, running the length of the property too, winding under the boardwalk path as it needed in order to stay unbroken by buildings and other obstacles.

All of the sudden, what $he saw paralyzed $er heart and made $er stop in $er tracks. Unable to move a step further $he sat down right there, in place where $he was.

The Klong House

“Seriously Koona?” exclaimed a wide-eyed Cat, as the cab stopped in a very working class neighborhood, almost ghetto. It was a long way from Koona’s previous plush condo towering Ploen Chit.

“Well I like it”, Koona vocalized sassily, “Just check it out,” she smirked as she handed the driver full fare and a nice tip, a habit she’d picked up from the farang.

They walked on the dimly lit path alongside the flat one story building which housed several in-line apartments.

“Wow,” Cat murmured looking to the right upon hearing the soft murmur of free water, realizing that they were at the edge of a klong.

“Hold on, you’ll see.”

Koona softly put her arm around Cat to stop and guide her to the front door. She paused for a second and looked over at Cat, their eyes meeting softly, questioning eyes on both sides. Koona smiled shyly. She was having trouble making sure this was really happening.

Or what was happening.

She’d be damned if there were not at least mixed signals. Or she herself was going mad.

Equally possible.

She opened the door and ushered Cat in with her hand falling down her arm with a gentle tug on a soft receptive hand when reached. Koona switched on some very subtle track lighting which exposed a mostly rustic style studio. Immaculately clean and simply furnished, different shades of wood were the overall visual. A well equipped kitchen at the far back, a bed with all white linen on top of a wood box frame mostly behind a Japanese panel, a beautiful white plush couch just to the right and in front of them facing the front window, which she imagined if was not covered with a closed slatted wooden shade that it would look right out on the klong given that this was the last unit in the row. All darks, wood and mahogany color accented with plush whites and some black surfaces like the kitchen counter and the dining table.

It was perfect. Cat felt it. Even the smell had a slight musky smell of cedar.

“Woooowwwwww” Cat intoned, “I love this, I really do!”

“I told you! Really, I needed a change, I had this vision and I found it,” Koona waited as Cat seemed to finish her admiring, “Do you want to sit down?” she motioned to the couch, “Something to drink?”

Cat smiled, “Yes. And water. Definitely water. I’m so thirsty,” but her eyes, the way she was looking at her, Koona’s heart filled with warmth and involuntarily connected to the ever longing sensation in her core.

Thirsty for what really are you?

Jesus Koona.

100 Years

Mali sat alongside the gentle brook. Glimmering fish, white, yellow and brilliant orange sparking a contrast against the black rocks in the twilight. Playing and flowing through the evening, alive and oblivious of the pain and despair looming nearby.

Swimming and swishing through their evening. Beautiful and alive, thriving, slithering. To Mali what looked like playing.

Just being themselves, in all they are.

Vibrant, alone and en masse. $he couldn’t help but feel a natural connection to them.

Isn’t this all that any of us really want? To let life run through us, to be embodied and express what we are fully? To be, to flow? Be around others doing the same thing and in communion? Without having to worry?

It was a moment that reminded $er of the mystery, similar to looking out on the stars on a clear night. Reminding $er $he knew nothing about how this was all put together, the fabric of life… and everything that exists.

The only reliable barometer $he seemed to have was expression, feeling and being after joy and the enigmatic longing to bond - yet always on its skirt tails. Which came out when $he hoop-danced, when $he practiced $er standing. The same river of impetus that had brought $er exactly here - who $he was, to Thailand, the clothes, makeup, surgeries…

And how it would feel to truly embrace and be embraced in someone.

If I ever get to again.

This was exactly what these fish spoke to $er.

Vanity.

That was the deal-stopping thought time and again. That made $er run back to ‘being a man’ over the years. Not just changing clothes and getting back to ‘man’ ways, but actually purging the female from $er life, throwing clothes and everything else away as if this time it would be different.

Letting go of myself.

Just living. Being.

Isn’t all the rest of this fem stuff simply self-indulgent?

Selfish?

Alienating myself from others?

And from my deepest longing for love?

Seriously, as a dude I’d do well in Thailand, being younger and more attractive alternative to the geezers. With Cat!

Then $he remembered, $he wouldn’t have ever come to Thailand if it weren’t for the katoey, the fem in $er.

I’d have stayed forever in Mexico probably.

But at the end of life, even in later years when the body becomes less ‘perfect’, would it matter?

And the cost?

This life is ONCE.

What am I doing??!

Am I killing me?

Causing suffering, to my own flesh?

How was it, this unknowable intelligence and gift, within $erself be the same that was seemingly guiding $er to turn a knife against $er own organism?

The fish as if their oscillation in the water ran through Mali’s gut reminding $er of the sperm in $er that were, probably, even at this moment, dying off from the hormones $he was taking.

And eventually would no longer exist either.

As much as $he hated being a man, that was reality.

What was $he doing to parts of $er physical self? Was there a being who was supposed to come from $er?

The livelihood of what $er body was as-is would be able to continue to live and possibly thrive if $he got off this train and damn soon.

The sperm and cells in $er were just like those fish.

Unknowable.

The nature of life itself. A nature $he didn’t and would never completely understand. The mystery from which sperm emerge from nothing it seems, not to mention how they can combine with an egg and create life.

Me.

Like stars that are being born.

How the fuck can I take that into my own hands?!

Only as much as $he could imagine - and $he couldn’t - jumping into the brook and with a knife taking life away from even one of these fish, could $he imagine doing that to $er own body.

Yet $he was now, had been and was contemplating doing more. The woman in the magazine…

The face that launched a thousand ships…

In this moment sitting here with these fish $he knew time was up.

Up to this point it had all been play - dressing, makeup, slenderizing… with who knows what kind of impact.

And the fish below had just presented $er the balance sheet.

A drive toward death?

Destruction?

Is this the death instinct in me?

Going to hell?

The game was over. These fish. $er body, it was of course $er body still no matter how $he looked at it. A body born and grown, as if magically, as if any of us really know the ultimate mystery. Inside a womb for nine months. The same womb $er brother inhabited a couple years after. From a woman and man who despite their flaws gave this being love and cared for $er and wanted $er to exist and to continue existing and to be happy…

Who was $he to take the knife against all this? All these gifts? Taking the knife to what was to date virtually perfect health.

Against all the love in the universe?

And the facial feminization surgery - the FFS. Just as with the fish and the sperm, every cell in $er body was alive. Each one would feel at the level of their nature every incision and scratch, anesthesia or not. There was no doubt in $er mind.

But maybe $he too was like those fish - striving for life and to thrive, to be true. Misguided or not, her days, even the sacrifice of income and stability were all about this. Counterintuitive to most of the world, even stupid. Seeking $erself, then in step turning the knife against $er own body by its own instructions.

Barbaric ordination it seemed. Even tainted with evil.

A system consciously transforming itself.

But Cat.

Cat was the dream. Not an exaggeration, the original dream. The fem in $er already existed then and $he knew how it felt. But back thin it was before it was a contradiction to love. A condition against it. A ‘no’ rather than a ‘yes’ from Cat.

The grace and beauty of the living being whose arms $he’d been in only a short few weeks before. Wasn’t that with her worth more than any of this?

How it felt with her… I’ve never felt with anyone else. Same as embracing the pillow feeling first as a child…

As if throwing it in $er face, Cat had laid it out.

“I want a man.”

No more makeup and… being… becoming prettier. Having to be and call $erself a man.

Being fucking called ‘sir’ and shit…

Although $he was more able to say no to this now, it didn’t remove the pull and sting of wanting to run back to safety.

Was $he entering the dark world? Is the Chinese Tune right?

All of the sudden $he was viscerally aware of the feeling of multiple barbed knives sunk into $er in opposing directions. Each one with any movement would cut further - whether moving from or toward.

Hormones. Surgery. Cat.

Integrity. Expression. Love.

$he sat still. Almost not breathing because any more than the minimum was unbearable should it cause the knives to dig deeper.

Life had paralyzed $er.

$he had been paralyzed for years. Each day requiring a smaller and smaller world which permitted $er to maintain the brittle illusion of who $he was, if only to $erself as $er inner self-knowledge grew. And the world saw seemingly no more or less of something $he was not. $he knew there were all kinds of people, transgender, queer, every possible sexual orientation and so much diversity. But $er foot wasn’t in the pool. $he hardly knew where the pool was. Or even if so, how to do it.

And certainly not swim.

To be myself, through apparent violence and have integrity but the loss of all hope of my core dream.

It wasn’t about accepting femininity or trans-ness. It was about an irreconcilabe duality in $erself between $er gender expression and romantic identity. And without the knife could there ever be a chance at reconciliation.

Or to stop the train and get off, all the dreams intact. Under the condition of being a man. With the intent cutting off of something in $er that that seemed not willing to be dominated ever.

Not to date.

Not without someone to help figure $er out. $he knew well too, that’s where ten years and probably $100k had gone. The house most people would have purchased in their thirties sat with $er and these fish in the form of barely remembered fifty-minute sessions, completely impotent.

As $er ass with little padding tired of sitting on the boards, the hope of another way, one $he had never considered or believed in sprouted in $er heart like an angel of light. $he had no idea what that was, but maybe there was.

Maybe I’ll be able to find it… decide it here.

Once and for all.

But surrendering to the feeling of being pinned down, feeling it to the core, admitting to it here in front of this little brook, it seemed to have loosened the anxiety and terror of $er situation and of the Chinese Tune.

After who knows how long, $he raised herself and made $er way on. A few minutes later $he reached the actual front of the resort, where $he was in fact greeted by a standing, smiling professional and welcoming Thai staff woman.

Mali had a bit of an ironic smirk on $er face, as was $er playful character with $erself, even in adversity. Not to mention whatever the tears with the fish had made of $er face, expression and eyes.

Which of the smiles is that??!

_T_he hostess could not figure out this strange farang. Maybe he??? was not American.

“Some ‘open soul’”, Mali thought as if in unison with the clerk.

On the wall there was a gold monogrammed saying:

Cut yourself some slack.

Remember, one hundred years from now,

All new people.

The pretty and polite Thai woman smiled and offered Mali the key to $er room.

‘What kind of foreigner?’ the woman wondered.

‘Just what kind of hotel is this?’ Mali wondered back.

Mali walked away in a kind of sad stupor.

This is what I’m doing with my hundred years.

This.

Not to love someone but…

This?

Fuck!

Mali broke to the real tears again as $he made $er way down the solitary path to find $er abode, knowing $he was truly alone.

With this precious and fragile gift that I’ve been handed.

This never-to-repeat precious day, these heartbeats, this breath.

This force of life in me that makes me alive and here.

These feelings that never get touched or felt with someone else.

All this fucking vanity.

What was any of it but a fucking self-indulgent turmoil-quest?

As $he climbed to her top level, second floor suite, all the holding of who knows how long crescendoed and tears turned to sobs and full catharsis toward what in feeling seemed to be the bottom.

It was perfect.

There was no one around to hear.

Much less care.

Japanese

As Koona went to the kitchen and was filling the glass Cat felt a shadow. Something eerie. This place felt almost Japanese. Substitute the bed with a futon and you had…

“Cat?” Koona returned with her hand out offering Cat a full glass of water, “Cat ka?”

Koona furrowed her brows, “Cat are you okay?”

Cat was immobile, staring directly ahead, what would be out the window if the shade were open. Koona set the water down on the coffee table and softly put her hand on Cats as she kneeled. Cats’ body literally jumped tense and then softened as she woke from wherever it was.

Koona saw fear and tears in her eyes.

Cat stared at her as if she did not know her. Or was afraid. It was as if her two worst nightmares, the things she’d simply not faced in life in a moment were coalesced by Koona.

“Cat, it’s okay,” Koona stayed with her, removing her offending hand and keeping eye contact. She’d never seen her friend like this.

“Its okay, please, talk to me, whatever it is, it’s okay.”

Cat’s eyes softened a bit as she looked at Koona and took an audible breath. A tear fell, “Koona…”

“It’s okay, do you want to hold my hand?”

Cat reached with both hands and pulled Koona’s to her as she searched her eyes.

Still with fear but ready to talk, Cat spoke, “Koona, I’m so afraid,” her hands responding with a tremor as if by command, as Koona held back gently but firmly. Cat knew what the things were. But the shaking in her body, that was the scary part. She couldn’t understand it. Nor control it, like a visceral anxiety reaction.

“What happened just now? Where were you? What were you thinking of?”

“I was looking at your place. It reminded me of Japan,” she paused as if wondering if to say what was next, “It was a place… not unlike this…” Cat trailed, “it’s so weird…”

Kali

Dawn had broken and the early morning sunlight streamed gently in. Mali woke upon the round bed in the round building. Wrapped in a light white comforter, head on the plush pillow, legs wrapped around a body-length one, comfort $he was not used to. The air-conditioning was on and the cool un-humid air created a coziness of not wanting to leave bed, a feeling $he was unaccustomed to in Thailand. It was a sweet surrender $he had not felt in some time.

But then $he remembered who $he was.

And where $he really was.

And why.

There were bruises left on $er psyche from last night.

As $he turned over, $he felt the hangover of the catharsis.

Good fucking start.

Ahead laid four days of what seemed like would be virtually complete solitude to some sort of hopeful resolution…

Something.

Because this can’t keep on.

It seems so often in the first moments out of bed $he would get the actual 'vibe' of the day. Today $he stumbled and almost fell, having gotten strangely twisted in the blanket, hence frustration was the tone. Then anger at the fucking blanket holding $er to this clumsy fate. The same anger and frustration which throughout life had so often threatened to overwhelm $er slight figure and underdeveloped musculature.

$he paused in the bathroom after brushing $er teeth.

More of the ‘decisions’ that $he’d made in the twilight yesterday came back.

Should I moisturize my face if I’m being a guy now?

Unsure, $he just splashed water carelessly on $er face and then made back to the big room.

$he had packed clothes only for two days, and for Bangkok - for subways and air-conditioned malls. $he’d either had to buy some clothes or improvise.

$he eyed $er jeans, not the favorite pair but they fit nicely enough.

Sacrifice?

It was either do this or go buy clothes somewhere. The trip to the resort for all $he was aware placed $er in the boonies. And the last thing $he wanted to do was go anywhere. Hard enough trying to be fem. Now…

I can’t go anywhere.

Nothing is solid in me.

I’ll get eaten alive.

Inevitably someone would stare, perhaps worse because of not wearing female clothes or makeup, but having the slight figure $he did, slender face, and what over time so many people called ‘feminine energy’.

And witness my fucking transition from katoey to gay in public before my own eyes.

I think I’ll pass.

It was different flipping back to guy mode. It had been over a year since $er last attempt. Instead of a flow and moving toward things like smoothness and certain clothes and way of being, ‘guy mode’ was more of a rule-based mostly restrictive journey as if $he was in the military or something. The only freedom is eating as much and whatever $he wanted, as long as it didn't make $er sick, which eating more often did.

In guy mode when they laughed or said something, it was worse. Because at least if you are clear who you are inside, it’s an insult but in the name of identity. When you’re not even being what you are to your best, all you are is a shell, a feather in the wind, you’re buffeted randomly by the negative you come in contact with.

And being a guy you can’t take that kind of shit from people.

Of course Mali was forgetting the possible good that could come from being out and about. We all want pleasure but it seems that we’ll do more to avoid pain. And $he was far into triage mode.

Even to be a ‘he’ today. It was not convincing - to $er and probably anyone else in turn.

So walking over to the kitchenette, ‘he’ found a knife.

Maybe I don’t have to do all this fem shit anymore anyway.

$he was angry at everything and it showed.

The problem was, on the path toward femininity, whenever something new and more feminine became habit you reached a new level. A new normal. In moments of trying to return to manhood, $he’d forget the stepping path of ‘new normals’ that had gotten $er to the current. So given the heights $he was at, $he’d forgotten about the terrain $he’d already climbed. And how far the fall would be.

But that was beside the point right now.

$he stood with the jeans.

$he had the impulse inside to cut the legs high.

Sexy.

Because… they’d feel good.

Jesus Mali.

Gay gay gay.

In that moment Mali self-acknowledged the man thing was off to a bad start.__

The warring factions compromised, cutting midway, mid-thigh.

They still fit $er ass nicely.

Uh… I’m not supposed to care about that.

$he figured $he’d look like a European male.

Which would be called gay in the USA.

$he walked to the bathroom to take a gander. With $er slender build and non-existent but tight ass, the outcome was just as queer as if $he’d cut them to the bikini line. The body reflected in the mirror was still of a runway model, not anything like male from the neck down.

Okay, maybe not the chest. Everything but the chest. But I don’t give a fuck about having breasts…

Mali stop!

Seeing $er feminine-like body in the mirror a rush of warmth and hardness came between $er legs. It had always been like that…

Longing to be with and to be…

Being and being attracted by the same…

Being one with myself and how I feel...

Even from childhood, $he’d found $erself turned on often with sight of $er own body. As it was… on what $he focused and fixated, analogous to the bodies of the beautiful girls and women $he found so breathtaking. It was so fantastic $he even looked and felt like them, felt them, connected, related to them.

And since $he was in male mode $he indulged a quick and completely draining release.

Post climax $he stood with $er hand on the bathroom counter. The tiny dribble of cum was barely anything to clean up.

Just eight more fucking samples now you goddam creepy clinic!

She smiled half-heartedly.

I hate how I look as a smiling man.

It felt bad. $er male orgasm. Depleted. Sad. Unhappy. Alone. The same feeling as $he’s ever known as a man. Unless the orgasm came from the feminine part in $er. But this was not that. All $he knew of male was 30 seconds of excitement and then misery.

$he sighed and knew - the years, how $he thought and how $he lived, by now, queerness - at best queerness - was inescapable. It would take probably a couple years to cover over this again, back to a ‘male’. And that path was full of conflicts and land mines if possible at all given $er - if $he’d admit it - almost anorexic-like tendency to not show anything that looks like a male belly.

It was instructive but the irony didn’t occur to $er that in hours, a day, certainly less than a week, $he had in fact gone on several occasions from being the most masculine $he ever was and get back to enough female to feel comfortable that $he was home in $er heart and sensuality. But that it would take a disproportionate amount of time to get back to appearing as a man…

A straight man… because that’s the only acceptable thing I could be…

To the world.

Would take time. A long time. Well… we can see…

Mali had no real faith in any of this too familiar ‘fresh beginning’ shit, having been here and done that before then and again, but what else was $he to do now?

At best at the resort $he’d have to face some employees here but aside… $he had a few days. Between the resort and what the little restaurant a few hotels down could provide, $he did not have to go anywhere else until $he left.

How small my world has become.

Remembering the words of warning from one of $er psychologists, that $he’d do exactly this, become a less expansive being. Not a gender exploration affirming psychologist, that’s for sure…

But were any of them?

Where most people on vacation would go and have fun and explore, do things, this was $er circle of safety. The goal right now was to stay close to the deserted resort and avoid people.

Especially today.

For Mali it wasn’t fun meeting people anymore if it ever really was. It was just plain uncomfortable.

Or heartbreaking if they were attractive women. In that case it hurt so much $he just ignored them and didn’t look, averting $er eyes.

It wasn’t that people were generally bad.

But it hurt feeling always misread.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Trying to be a man again. Hmmm…

After cleaning up the remains of the jeans and the sad situation in the bathroom, ‘he’ went out on to the balcony and found a very comfortable wooden reclining rocker - much more comfortable than it had first looked. $he took a breath and looked out on the greenery and jungle-like aspect of the resort, with the pool and then the ocean off in the distance.

It was lost on $er that for so many people simply being in a place like this, under the freedom $he enjoyed would mean they had made it in life.

Ironically that was the furthest thing from the truth about how $he felt about $erself and $er life. But $he tried…

As a man this would mean having made it.

Cat would be here… maybe.

There would be a ‘we’ of some sort, regardless. Maybe a family too… Heck… I was twelve years old by the time my parents were my age.

But no. It’s just me here and my small, ever-contracting world.

Sadness crept up. $he was remembering Cat in those early moments before barely even friendship had sprung up between them. That moment - it was just a second - but it was a look, a feeling, the held gaze of knowing the connection. $he knew Cat was in that moment too. In fact she’d been the one to hold the gaze.

One of those infrequent moments where life actually rewarded $er heart.

I’m so selfish.

That’s too what one of the psychologists had told $er - $he was supposed to focus on the woman and her emotions and wants, not ‘himself’… ‘You’ll only be fulfilled as a man by being that for a woman.’

Cat turned out to be amazing beyond what Mali had even imagined based on $er initial attraction. A woman with seemingly endless depth, the ability to talk, a true companion.

Albeit for measured time.

Mali’s face squinted as if to squeeze the tears out, like juice from a dry orange. $he felt for a second almost like $he was hyperventilating or suffocating.

It was the feeling of loss, but pre-loss where you feel like you have a choice still to not lose it.

Fight.

I can still…

$he wanted Cat back. $he wanted what they had had. It was not so much something between a man and a woman, but what they had, whatever it was.

Could I make this man thing work? To have her? If that is what it takes?

It was tempting. $he was getting used to the idea of shedding the clothes, the makeup. But then came the realization of how far $he’d come as a feminine creature…

The waxing? No.

$he hated being hairy.

The hormones and anti-androgens?

$he couldn’t bear to keep pattern balding and the rough skin that would come back.

My unacceptably male face? Being called a handsome man? Called ‘mister’, ‘sir’… ‘dad’?

Fuck that.

But regardless, in $er was this irrepressible pull to bond. It’d always been there. It wouldn’t go away just as much as…

I wish I just didn’t have to do anything. Just be. And be myself. With no conflict… Like a yoga woman who is simply female. She doesn’t even have to put on makeup, just splash some water on her face. She is still seen as female. And a beautiful one.

So maybe I could - should - just accept myself as am and get on with life.

The problem was Mali could not, as hard as $he tried sitting here, come up with a comparable image of $erself as a man that could be both analogous and pleasing to $erself as being that prototype yoga woman. Much less something $he knew would please Cat and be sustainable.

Each morning, day and month in and out, now for three years, $he’d made the choice who $he was and wanted to be. Consciously. Because $he had to.

You put on makeup… or you don’t.

You choose these clothes… or those other ones…

Being female was somehow irresistible. In the high ninety percentile of days… it was the girl who called to $er. The other days it was no man that called, only the mandate of ‘not man’ to be enforced.

Eventually she threw out the last of the guy clothes of the latest round - the three-button polo shirts and Dockers… clothes $he could no longer tolerate to even look at.

So following that logic… shouldn’t this mean…

No man. No man for Cat?

If it means not choosing my inner woman?

Hasn’t my own life action decided that empirically?

Aside from missing the fact that as a man $he could be out of bed and out the door in five minutes, could be more low maintenance and agile in lifestyle, there was not much else. The only other thing to ‘look forward’ to was the residual gridlock, frustration and anger… the only things $he actually knew about being a man and felt while $he was that.

This morning, visiting ‘he-ness’ felt good. For a moment.

As a false hope. A false relief from all this psychological pressure. $he realized at best that moment ended with that fucking unhappy ending in the bathroom.

It was a place to visit but not stay.

And only for perspective.

$er heart sunk. The ‘new beginning’ was only another false start, a road already travelled a hundred times. The fact was, there was no ‘back’ to being a man. There was no one home there. No one was at the wheel. Only the female inside was something tangible $he could run to… even embrace… and be embraced back by.

Shit, the only thing in me that seems to have conviction and balls is…

Everything that’s not a man.

For so much time $he had conflated being male to eating more and not ‘dressing’. Either of which did not make $er a man. It was nothing like the longing for $er female wardrobe, form fitting clothes and sensuality, the freedom of play and expression… the only things in life that seemed real to $er…

As $he sat there on the deck overlooking life and nature around, $er mind felt dirty, like it was full of constipated shit.

Mental turds can certainly ruin one’s view.

Mali smirked then actually laughed at the image. Pretty funny.

Cat's Heartbreak

“Koona,” Cat looked searchingly at her friend. The memory had returned and it was like a knife in her side. It would hurt to pull out, but now discovered, it would have to be exorcised.

This would perhaps be the most vulnerable thing she’d ever have to tell someone.

Koona came over and hugged her.

“It’s okay Cat, you can tell me anything. You know that.”

Cat nodded sadly, “I guess since we’re on a roll today, huh?” The level of disclosure between two already close friends had already reached new heights in just a few hours reacquainted and it was just getting started.

Koona nodded, “I’ve not held anything back from you today, have I?”

Spill it.

“Your place reminded me of something I forgot. That I just remembered…”

Koona was silent.

“I’m remembering… I don’t know why I forgot. Completely forgot. My tutor…”

“Mr. Takeda?”

“No, no, tutor actually, to help me after school…”

“I didn’t know you had had one…. you know, there’s a lot I don’t know about that period of time with you. You never talk about it much.”

Cat smirked what looked like almost in pain, then spoke slowly “... maybe this is why…”

Koona raised her eyebrows.

“Koona… fuck,” the tears started coming, “fuck.”

Koona put her hand on Cat’s own softly with a firm warmth, “Cat, it’s okay, whatever it is, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here, don’t worry.”

She held her crying friend again as the minutes ticked by, soothing her with slight movement in her embrace, like a mother helping to rub a wound to make it better.

Cat raised her eyes to Koona, searching.

“Her name was Noriko…” Cat smiled off into the distant past before the injurious moment.

“I got hurt. Actually it was double hurt…” it was all coming back now. The feelings, the innocent impulse inside her young self… and then…

Koona was trying to piece things together. “You were how old when you were there, nine?”

“Ten. Because I remember that horrible birthday the week after when my parents came to visit,” Cat inhaled deeply as if preparing.

“Koona, she was young too but older. To me, big. Like fifteen. We spent every afternoon together, you know, because I was new in Japan and there was so much, just the language alone…”

Koona nodded waiting for Cat to continue.

“Koona we were playing. We would play…” Cat looked far off for a moment again, “She was… she was cute. Confusing… Cute…”

“Tell me about her… Noriko.”

“I didn’t know anything then. She was cute like a boy but she was a girl. I didn’t know what a tomboy was then. Barely knew the difference between boy and girl anyway,” Cat smiled ironically, “she was just… she was just who she was, okay?” Cat adding the question to see if Koona understood.

Koona nodded. She did. All too well.

“We’d play… ah… in between… uh… we we’re supposed to be studying, you know, right? With our time. In the afternoons.”

Koona had never heard Cat have so much difficulty speaking, for a woman so eloquent in just about everything. She gently placed her hand back on top of Cat’s, and moved gently back and forth in comforting.

Cat looked directly at Koona, yet not being able to control the tears that would afflict her next words.

“So we’d… you know when I’d say something dumb or she’d make me laugh, I’d push her or she’d shove me or something… you know, kind of roughhouse, right?”

Koona nodded.

“So one day… we we’re there, alone. Sitting on the bench in the kitchen… working, playing, you know… and… I remember she totally cracked me up about something… who the fuck knows now… but I just shoved her over and… you know, I was a lot smaller. Well…”

Cat started crying fully again as the feelings she’d buried for so long in shame returned.

“I never knew what it was how I felt about her. You know… when you’re young… you just… you just feel, right? There’s nothing wrong about anything, you know?”

Koona nodded again.

Oh do I know Cat, you have no idea…

“So I succeeded pushing her over and I’m there on top of her… uh kind of… uh… I actually pinned her down you know? And…”

Koona smiled broadly in empathetic joy while Cat gave her a sideways quizzical look.

“Okay, so you pinned her down and???”

Cat shook her head, “Jesus Koona… I kissed her.”

Koona willed to stifle her surprise and kept quiet.

“And then it all happened so fast…” Cat was shaking her head, “It hurt so much. She pushed me away. Hard. Like she hated me… and then…”

Koona interlocked fingers with Cat’s hand, “Then we weren’t alone. Mr. Takeda had arrived. He saw the whole thing… you know, like from the start…”

Cat shook her head almost in unison with Koona’s empathetic disbelief. She started sobbing again…

“Koona, I never knew what shame was. You know, in Thailand we have our stuff. But there… in Japan… Kyoto… I’m alone, away from home, my parents… cared for by Mr. Takeda and his family as if he was my own father…”

Koona continued shaking her head. This all was just a lot. If this was how Cat was inside, and this happened the first time she tried… She herself knew firsthand, and even as an adult, how she felt at the pool with her own first ‘slip’ and Cat’s ‘push away’… And here, both rejection and witnessed by the man Cat had always regarded to this date as her Japanese father.

“So what happened?”

“I buried everything Koona… I became Japanese. Everything I’ve created in my life… is around…”

“Not being yourself.”

“No fucking shit, of course not. Nothing was okay about me after that moment. I was repulsive… to Noriko and jesus who knows with Mr. Takeda. We never spoke of it. It was always in the air. He saw me… he saw me kiss a girl. And be rejected for it.”

Cat paused then continued, “No fucking wonder he said nothing. He knew he didn’t have to. To this date I don’t know what he thought really. I never saw Noriko again. I was afraid to even ask less the subject be brought up.”

Cat shook her head, affirming her own realization, “So look at me now. It’s like after that day I stopped remembering this. Or having feelings. Until now.”

“Because of my place?”

Cat nodded.

Strangely, though, Koona felt this might actually be a good thing and even a pang of hope.

“No… well I guess it did bring it back. But…” Cat returned her eyes to rest on Koona’s.

“Yeah,” Koona nodded sadly.

Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm hmmm. Hmmm.

Dangerous. Tread carefully Koona.

“So you never remembered or felt that way again about someone?”

Jesus Koona.

“You know me… everything was just playing from then on. And being Japanese as I can be. It’s a great culture to repress as you’re served with all the rules of etiquette. Mr. Takeda was so proud of me,” Cat smiled. No matter what she loved that man, so quiet, stern in his way but always with this unspoken gentle lovingness.

Aside that he didn’t console me. The most confusing of it all.

But Cat’s mind and heart was not done processing and quickly interjected with tearful emotion, as if remembering something very important, “I felt good with her. She was a tomboy. But still pretty, just athletic, strong. That’s why I liked her,” she looked away wistfully and smirked, “why it felt good to pin her down... I felt… maybe like her a bit.. strong… I’m just realizing, I was so naive,” she shook her head, “I didn’t distinguish. I thought that’s how boy’s were too. Supposed to be. I’ve been waiting and waiting… for a boy like her. I realize I’ve never found a boy - a man - anything like that, the way it felt.”

“Koona,” Cat widened her now drying eyes, “and now I’m afraid.”

“Why sweetheart?”

“Because…” Cat looked down and uncharacteristically slumped, playing with her hands. After a minute she timidly raised her eyes and turned her head just a little to the side to look at her friend.

Fuck.

It was like a second wave of crystallization of what had happened with Mali on that night. She thought Mali was that man. The tomboy man. He got under her skin, under the radar… But is not a man, Cat scrunched her brows, feeling overwhelmed.

Koona nodded a soft smile, “Because?”

Cat noticed that same hopeful yet wounded tone she had first heard when she reconnected with Koona. Maybe she was imagining it. It was exactly as she herself would sound if she’d ever been herself all these years.

“Because…”

I feel like I’ve fucked up my life.

I want to pull you close and never let you go.

I’ve never been myself.

Because I need you.

That’s why.

Cat felt a kind of tunnel-vision dizziness come, like disorientation that had often come and gone over the years and lately more frequently since that night with Mali.

“I’m so obsessed with Japan…”

Koona waited in silence, intending to give her friend space, and after a minute, shook her head and smiled. Cat had fallen asleep mid-sentence, sitting up straight.

So typical. The perfect Japanese woman. Wouldn’t know she’s asleep aside from that she has just stopped responding.

Koona went to the bedroom area and her eyes quickly fell on her soft body-length pillow. With a glint in her eyes she grabbed it along with a light comforter.

The Blackest Sheep

The forth day of solitude finally came…

Mali had climbed over the balcony outside $er room to a ledge $he’d found large enough to sit on. It was actually a fence, some artificial division of the property for whatever reason but had a ledge and a back as if it was a bench. It was surprisingly comfortable $he had discovered in past days, aided by a pillow and a couple towels $he had brought over.

It was $er last day of the lonely and unproductive retreat.

Where in the past solitude had allowed $er to work things out, the current was unworkable no matter what $he tried. $he’d escaped Chiang Rai and then Bangkok to this god-forsaken place carrying high hopes.

Going to hell

$he had written it and now etched it indelibly by going over and over it again and again by pen in $er journal.

"Going to hell," $he said absent and dreamily, half aloud, and then angrily…

"This right here is fucking hell… there’s nowhere else to go!"

Which is how in recent years, mostly unconsciously, $he had felt about $er life… into the gutter… the sewer. Not in small part by being affected by those around $er who had no way of really seeing what was inside and who saw a man still. All the gay-friend-zoning of woman. The not infrequent noise and pokes on the street. Being called or assumed gay, even by the well-meaning. People on the outside did not seem to get $er, or see where $he was going.

Trying to go.

Could go…

For a moment $he contemplated the magazine model who for all Mali had presumed, caused that fucking Chinese Tune to start playing.__

The ‘going to hell’ period started in earnest after things broke open a few years back. $he dropped the external ‘help’ - therapists, bodyworkers, psychic chiropractors, teachers and whoever.

All this stuff that years had shown impotent against the fem in $er. $he’d finally grown wary and smarter. The new age way of thinking that all you have to do is flip some switches in your mind and everything will resolve and you get your hearts desire - to be whole, enlightened, your soulmate, yada yada.

The (fucking) Secret.

Nope.

More like Victoria’s Secret.

Mali smiled.

Not only did the shit not work, $he hated feeling so dependent on others. Not trusting yourself has a deep price and $he’d begun to feel it as too painful to continue. Too $he was sick of having to pay all this - money and time just to be ‘okay’. Moreover, $er deep conviction of self-determination was always undermined by being geographically not to mention financially tied to whatever practitioner $he was currently seeing.

Ironically, ‘going to hell’ started at the same time $he started trusting $erself.

And although $he did not realize it at the time, within months of taking responsibility for $erself and $er power back, $he quickly gravitated more decisively than ever to the fem and more than not stayed there because there was no one to pull $er back with their voodoo-new-age-psycho promises of something better. No breadcrumbs of hope sprinkled anymore by the bygone weekly therapy sessions. $he did just what $he felt like doing bit by bit more over time, and which brought $er to… here.

Female clothes, then makeup, waxing and laser… hair-loss meds, the hair transplant…

$he vividly remembered the moment, years back now, on a walk to downtown Guadalajara en route to the used bookstore street when $he apologized to $erself for what was coming,

‘Sorry but I’ve got to do this even if its against you, life and even this dream - the most important dream - in my heart. Wherever it leads me.’

It wasn’t a religious thing. It was about himself - herself - dreams and longings.

Going against the core dream.

Her.

The longing for a romantic love with a beautiful and special, warm woman. True connection and deep intimacy. Of a simple life. Maybe a family. In Guadlajara.

This all contrasted with who ‘he’ was if he accepted he was not a cisgender or perhaps straight man. ‘He’ still felt more real back then. It was all a conjecture - $erself against the world basically. This inexplicable pull toward this…

Definitely felt like going out on a limb.

So it wasn’t so crazy $he’d attached the term ‘going to hell’ to the journey. Because it was a scary thing. To do on $er own.

$he knew even then that ‘sin’ meant only to go against self. So $he did not need dogma, or any other human being…

Just integrity and an ear open always to what’s going on inside.

And trying to ignore the noise from the outside…

To date $he knew deep inside that in all this over the years $he was being true…

I have not sinned on this journey… mostly at least.

But I’m so afraid of making a bad and permanent decision.

Thats what it was. Albeit against the mainstream world, everything came naturally, on $er own with barely any input from others. Being a tech nomad already for some time by the ‘going to hell’ point, $he did not belong or visit virtually any LGBT or transgender community or events. There was virtually no direct external influence or pressure.

Heck, I’ve never even been to Pride yet.

Pride in fact scared $er for the most part and the idea of going made $er even more self-conscious of being presumed male-gay.

So it really only left one very important question now…

Was there an alternative to ending up here? To going further on this road… where things will permanently change, like it or not.

Mali by this point was pretty sure there were no mistakes in the universe. Who and how we are born. Born gay. Born straight. Lesbian. Bi…

But transgender?

Transgender was the bastard stepchild, the blackest of black sheep. The one with an additional layer of existential problems.

If it was even real.

The last time $he’d checked it was still a disorder in the DSM.

But if one was basically born transgender and it’s a real thing, where is the natural remedy?

If you’re gay or lesbian, even bi, you just go about doing you. Yeah, there are physical things you might change. Things that may draw attention to you for good or bad for sure. Certainly could bring ostracism and discrimination, even horribly.

But trans, do you suck it up and accept the original equipment? What about the original biology? Hormones? Do you let yourself be and become what nature will or has turned you into if you don’t intervene?

And what do you do if you do go forward and intervene… and none of it is enough to heal the wound?

Is being me more important than having the chance to love and be loved? To love and be loved by the person, the gender I adore?

Everything had been right in $er before the puberty changes. $he remembered $erself in sixth grade photos, around twelve years old, a cute tom-boy… who could be mistaken for a girl. And then $he had to witness progressively becoming what $he wasn’t, didn’t feel to be, even despised.

Before all this I’d been pretty.

It wasn’t about being a boy or a girl per-se. As a child Mali felt so much more solid than now. $he assumed the sexually submissive feelings, even the girls clothes $he’d enjoy dressing in… were things everyone, boy or girl felt and did. $he’d even imagine having a girlfriend and being together with her exchanging clothes. It was all possible and all fine.

$he still carried that sixth grade picture of $erself in that navy and aqua colored pullover and $er OP shorts. $he’d do anything to have the face $he did back then. Even $er neck was smooth and soft.

So if you believe biology should not be messed with and then you yourself watch before your own eyes as you become abhorrent to yourself…

You have a real conflict to face.

All the new age and psychologist bullshit she’d bought into could not reconcile that one. There seemed to be barely a surgeon who now would take on bringing $er back to the ‘before’ condition.

$he’d been so insecure. Even spent two years paying some dousche who'd been to Tony Robbins and studied applied kinesiology to ‘figure $er out’.

Fuck if I want to look like a guy! Much less a gay one.

Mali, just accept yourself as you are.

Fuck that.

I’m not a gay dude nor do I want to be seen as one.

No girl wants a gay guy… other than for a friend-zone or a haircut!

Jesus fucking christ!

It was already a pain point, all the friend-zoning…

The assumed gay friend… The assumed ‘likes men’ transgender friend…

Fuck that and now!!!

In more recent years, before ‘going to hell’, conveniently coinciding with making good money, $he did find more women interested in $er.

Women who wanted to be taken care of.

I didn’t fucking sign up for that shit-show either.

Mali’s programming, $he’d realized over time, had never been toward the dynamic $he finally saw between men and women when $he did get into more serious relationships.

$he felt angry and wanted to lash out and hit something.

Feeling so misunderstood and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

I’m not who I appear like in life nor how I am treated.

And the last bullshit psychologist in Brazil $he’d contacted, $he’d actually had the good sense to tell off.

‘Just do hormones. No surgery. Be as you are.’

A man with breasts?

As in the words on Stuart Copeland’s drum heads…

“Fuck Off You Cunt”

$he’d actually grown balls apparently since arriving in Thailand.

$he smiled…

I am growing.

Fuck that I even need to talk to someone or present my case to know what I am.

But nevertheless, $he was the one who’d sought out the others. Blindly following.

Then came the last and latest possibility $he’d found on the web which still haunted $er: Attachment theory.

Is all this just some unfinished or unfulfilled issue from childhood? Needing mommy or a woman so much that I need to become the woman I am thirsting for? Because she doesn’t exist or can’t exist?

Could I be that wounded?

And Mali how much more money, do tell, would it take to figure out this is also not the answer?

Truth was, if this were true, Cat should have solved most of that problem. And to date Mali was no less who $he was, if not more complexed.

Although $he could still access the dream, the hope for ever having that normal life $he dreamed of was in shambles.

Too many things had been done. Too much water under the bridge in the ‘alternative’ journey.

What if I got ‘cured’?

In a relationship, with a new woman, ‘he’ would have to tell her about all this. Not doing so would be a major withhold and against the intimacy and transparency $he’d always dreamt of.

Even $er own bullshit indicator red-lined now even to the passing thought that $he could ever pass $erself off to a woman as a straight man.

$he would not give up hormones nor medicine to prevent hair loss nor body waxing. $he wanted to be penetrated. And to be a woman while being penetrated!

And be so with a woman.

Sarai

Over these days at the resort, one of the visits to the past $he made was to Sarai, the first transgender woman the 'he' of back then was with, one of the handful of events that started making ‘being a man’, in romance and sexuality, something that could not be returned to...

They stood in front of each other, the two virtually equal in height. No heels involved.

She was everything Mark imagined from the pictures she’d sent. A complete woman. Beyond even. And in their short coffee date, he already knew she was a woman he’d want to get to know and spend a lot of time with if she felt the same. Columbian with dark eyes and a face which was a mix of feminine beauty, and a masculine streak here and there, especially that angular jawline. She was striking. Perfect.

He had had few real interactions with transgender women and there were still a lot of questions floating around inside, not helped by the web and media, questions like 'are male-to-female transgender women were really women?'. And if they were real, 'is being transgender a real phenomena or a pathology?'. Not to mention the body question, 'what is real, and what is just porn and photoshop?' It was already a mess in his head.

But it took Mark less than a second in front of Sarai to know one absolute answer.

If Sarai was not a woman, then you’d have to dismiss most of the genetically female world as ‘not women’ also.

It was this combination… this mix of feminine energy wrapped and laced with just some masculine, in the physical and all the way to how she spoke and emoted. Her husky voice could have been tell for ‘gay’ on a man, but was extremely sexy in a female. He’d never met anyone remotely like Sarai and never imagined how he could feel in such a presence.

But the tone changed.

The innocent coffee date had turned into a make-out session right there at the table, led by Sarai to where they were now. It wasn’t perhaps what Mark would have initially chosen - to date, get to know each other and maybe become a couple - but there were some things he needed perhaps before and couldn't resist the flow.

The two were already undressed virtually before getting through the door of Sarai’s apartment. Mark had been stumbling around to explain his own years of confusion, the ‘why’ of seeking out to date transgender women, per Sarai's request, as things were becoming increasingly sexual.

“Well, I…” he stumbled, himself at the time at the peak of whatever masculine he was capable, “I guess I feel feminine inside and I just want to…”

Sarai interrupted, “I know what you want,” she cooed sensually, reaching down to pull aside the front of her thong to reveal a beautiful penis, worthy of being called female. It was exactly what he wanted. She was completely smooth and smelled amazing. It was perhaps even not so much the object, but the energy behind it, her strong hardness the figure and symbol of explicit feminine desire.

How I want a woman to want me.
To want to take me.
To be powerful and strong enough to take me.
To be able to surrender in her arms.

Yet in her kiss and her heart, all the softness, warmth and beauty of female.

Things I have never felt for a man, no matter how I've tried.

Most of all and unconsciously to Mark she was the closest mirror he had to his own inner being. How he felt inside and the fact of of the existence of his own penis. Although of course there were many differences between them, but regardless this felt...

Like home.

Mark kissed her softly and then slowly made his way down her smooth and very firm body, another major turn on. Under her bra were slight breasts. To him she was perfect, like an athlete, the exact kind of figure that felt so right. He kissed her nipple on each side and continued to make his way down her toned abdomen.

Mark had tried on a couple occasions in past years to be with men, both of which were complete disasters on all levels - romantic, sexual and aesthetic. There was no real turn on, nothing and no one to get lost in. No one he wanted to come back to and hold after making love. But making his way to Sarai’s penis, everything was completely different.

He wanted her. Not just her sex, he wanted her. It was the first time in his life the sexual and romantic seemed to fit.

And it felt so good to have her in his mouth. Amazing. Natural. Totally natural. Totally free, uninhibited. As good as he imagined it would be. He sucked on her but in not long, Sarai took control and holding his head, thrust herself into his mouth and down his throat. There was something primal in the almost gagging sensation of encompassing this beautiful being, taking her in fully. He would never forget the hard softness and kind of smoky taste that came along with her penis.

There was nothing emasculating about serving this woman.

There was no one there to emasculate.

But nevertheless, this was him. If anything this was the truest part of his nature he’d ever experienced.

This act he’d imagined and run from for so many years, so confused, thinking to feel this way meant he was gay. More confusing was the affinity he felt for beautiful transgender women. But there was always a stop right there. There was no way he could ever become close to what one of these women were. And the almost seemingly impossible task of finding someone in person who was like this. Until now.

But in the moment this was not a thought as he’d checked his mind at the door. He came up to embrace and kiss Sarai, still feeling her steel-like hardness against him still.

Being here was the most life - and self - affirming thing he had ever done.

In just a few moments, Sarai with her gorgeous feminine beauty, warmth and hard penis undid the houses of cards been built by $er therapeutic ‘support’ over the years. All the warnings and cautions, injunctions and tacit shaming for this being his own nature.

As Sarai guided him to the bed for what was next, he breathlessly whispered to her, tears in his eyes, “I don’t know why I have waited so long!”.

“Why did you?” she breathed, raising an eyebrow, but it was rhetorical.

Now on the bed, she raised his legs, and slipping on a condom, forcing herself into him. It hurt a bit. Too much, too fast. For a second he let it happen and then complained “Ow, it hurts!” His own true fantasies as always in lovemaking were way more gentle, sensual and soft between partners. But nevertheless, he was still riding the moment.

“Take it like a man,” Sarai laughed.

Mali winked and gasped, “if you even knew.”

But Sarai didn’t really.

But he loved how she felt, and how he himself felt. Especially pulling her to him in a kiss as she penetrated, as he embraced her with his legs. He was breathless. He'd never been breathless with anyone.

Something in life for once felt right.

Afterwards, he found a new comfortability and peace with men.

The next day while sitting with his roommates in their shared Upper West Side apartment, the change was apparent. Living there was by convenience more than anything really in common with the frat-types his roommates were. But sitting there shooting the shit in front of the TV with them, he was a different person.

He didn’t tell them what he’d been up to the night before or anything. He didn’t have to, there was no need. No apologies or neurotic thoughts either. Where always in the past he felt rather uneasy around them - and men in general, the 'am I hiding being gay' question and all that shit, tonight he felt confident and self assured. Even if they came to know, he wasn’t embarrassed, in fact was proud of the last twenty-four hours. Something in his pelvis was solid, grounded. Having been used the way it would seem was intended.

He’d be absolutely honored to have Sarai as his girlfriend. Publicly, everywhere with him. And he hoped for that. He was hoping to hear back from her at the moment even.

He’d always been confused with the feminine aspect of himself, especially the desire to be taken or penetrated. He knew now without a shadow of a doubt he wasn’t nor would likely ever be attracted to these men, or any man. Only that before this time these strange feelings made him wonder if he was really a repressed gay man.

There was something to knowing and embracing what he was, what had been driving him and once expressed, a certain security had come over him.

Even if it isn’t the whole picture…

This was still not who he was - he was not a guy who likes getting fucked.

A girl?

If he could have flipped a switch in that moment and become a woman for the rest of his - her - life, he would have right then. It was that clear.

Being a woman. Loving Sarai.

Of course what would come in the next days was to wax his body, get more smooth and more slender, more female. Sarai was a woman, there was no conflict in his mind about this. It wasn’t about Sarai’s penis as much as the fact that she could, and did take him.

And because I don’t have to use mine, I can just be myself. Use it or not use it, it doesn't matter, not like with being a 'ma_n' _for a woman.

Express.

And be taken.

Feel her power.

Surrender to her.

Feel alive.

Feel soft.

Any woman with that energy going forward in life, that was the kind of woman he wanted. Be they transgender or genetic females, it didn’t matter.

He even revised his concept of who could be ‘the one’.

But only… they have to see me as a woman.

I don’t want to be humored.

A past girlfriend had been game for the role reversal. And she was awesome for it, but Mark knew that was not what really did it for her. And for him it was critical to…

Be wanted. Desired.

Taken.

That way.

As a woman… by a woman…

Sarai lost interest as soon as he started his own way toward the feminine.

Sarai wanted a guy. That became clear. It didn't matter what other things 'he' was.

It was Mark that turned her on, just as it was with every other straight woman over his life. The story held…

The more I express as I am, the more I will distance myself from who I truly want - a woman, be they transgender or genetic.

And I’m not going to be humored by a woman who can pretend I’m a woman.

I’m not going to be with Cat who will see me as a male rockstar.

I’m not going to be with a Sarai, me being outwardly a guy but not inside…

It’s just not acceptable.

So of course the problem was then as was now…

Where does that leave me other than with a knife in my hand and a seemingly impossible task ahead?

~ CAT ~

Un-American

Months before...

Perched as always at the reception desk, Cat smiled as Mali came through the glass door.

Cat’s smile, that smile. The one that made $er feel like the only one.

The feeling in Mali was a stark contrast to the almost less-than-nobody who $he felt $he was the minute before.

Even on the way there, the stares. Just a bit too much laughter apexing as $he passed. $he could never prove it was about $er but assumed it was. $he swore $he heard the word katoey. $he wasn’t sure if it was $er mind playing a game, but $he heard it everywhere. Even in people’s sneezes in passing.

The stares meant that $he wasn’t okay.

$he’d never really delved into the root feeling.

But to $er it meant $he didn’t look good. Looked funny. Weird.

Like a man.

Something is wrong with me.

Certainly not beautiful or attractive.

As a female.

Double takes by passers by. They could only mean one thing.

Cat spoke softly as if to ease Mali out of the barbs $he felt embedded in $er.

“Please have a seat, they’re running a few minutes late but will be with you very soon.”

She made full eye contact with a smile that made Mali shy and avert $er eyes. Cat made it feel as if the world $he just came from did not exist. And if that world did not exist, then Mali felt ashamed for the thoughts $he’d been holding about people and the emotions $he’d been having. The frustration and resentment from all the social noise $he read and judged in $erself as being hatred for others.

Here $he was faced with the root dream, the thing $he had always been after, before $he knew anything else. That woman, friend, communion that just made the harshness of the world irrelevant. The one that mattered.

The only one.

The one.

Cat rose from her seat at the counter, disappearing through the door to the back for a moment and returning with a pot of green tea and two cups, pouring one for each of them, before returning with hers to her position at the counter. It felt amazing to be around someone whose gentleness and social polish was so impeccable.

A feeling Mali would do anything to hold on to. And to have in every moment in every day with $er future love. Something that seemed to be less and less likely by the day, month and year.

This all was very un-American. Cat’s gift was that she was - well, seemed - authentic. Unused to such treatment, Mali knew too well that $he could easily read something more into it. Friendliness mistaken as friendship. Intimacy meaning attraction. Politeness and grace meaning interest.

Like the Japanese geisha.

Not to mention all the times in life $he was naive and simply proved wrong, left feeling the mud on $er face. But it still did not change the feeling because the longing could not be erased. The thirst was too great.

“Thank you for always being so kind to me here,” Mali smiled at Cat as $he returned to the white waiting room couch following $er treatment. There was a new cup of tea waiting for $er.

She wants me to stay longer?

Otherwise why should she bring me a second cup today?

Of course.

“I know this is your job but you are just amazing at it. I think you should run for Miss Thailand, you embody for me what is the best of the Thai culture.”

Yes, let me reinforce a bit more and pathetically of how I feel about you.

Stupid.

$he felt uncomfortable in $er own skin in the moment. Everything felt confused… how $he looked, what $he was doing - trying to show $er interest in a woman. The mixed signals felt like they were like a bunch of disparate radio waves in the air.

However being attracted to anyone lately was usual for $er. It was maybe once a year now. Part was loss of hope, another part confusion, and part homage to all the reasons $he imagined why no one would be into $er. And so it had been.

Cat smiled back with a slight blush and turning down her head, shaking it ‘no’ but yet clearly with a further building smile but hidden similarly as to one who is trying to hold back laughter or tears but only making it worse.

Shyly looking back up just with her eyes, she said,

“I got your Facebook friend request and said yes.”

Mali smiled inside poking fun at $erself.

Oh really shameless stalker... jesus.

Sipping slowly in silence, in a moment Cat asked “did everything go well?”.

“Yeah, in spite of the pain I actually got a little nap”.

Mali smiled to $erself at the joke. It was kind of nice barely being able to communicate with the laser operator. As with so much else in Thailand, a kind of permitted ignorance. Except for…

“Thats good. So what are you doing now, are you still getting ready to go to Chiang Rai?”.

At that moment the doctor and the other remaining staff member at the clinic hustled by apologizing with a quick good-bye and that she was late for an appointment. Leaving Cat and Mali for the first time apparently alone.

“Well, I’m kind of ready. I really don’t have too many things and I have moved so so many times over the last few years that I can pack in my sleep,” pausing to try what $he hoped would work,

“How about you, big plans for this evening?”

So fucking transparent.

$er feeling of scarcity and desperation not even registering behind $er generally prevalent mask of tension, especially while interacting with others.

“No, well not really, I was going to take the MRT up to Chatuchak Park and take a stroll, maybe sit a bit and relax. That’s one place in the city that helps me refresh.”

“I’m surprised, I would have thought you would be out on the town having dinner with your friends, or dessert,” once again remembering the photos $he stalked on Cat's Instagram. Half of them were of what appeared like good times with friends, other half, food. Quarter of those, beautiful desserts.

It was a conscious decision of Cat to open a door for Mali. It was because for some reason she felt more out of sorts whenever Mali came in. Add to that Mali seemed to want to be friends. For some reason this foreigner made so much of her life and home in Thailand seem unreal and lonely, regardless of how generally gregarious and abundant her social life was. Mali was different and for some reason she wanted to know more.

“You would think?” Cat looked down dwelling a moment on all this, “Well you have a lot to know about me yet! I’m actually boring, so I am told,” she raised her eyes and smiled genuinely in her masterful reversal of what might have been construed as immodesty.

“Well, for what its worth you wear that persona well - if it’s true which I truly doubt,” Mali smiled, “I just am what I am and its hard for me to put on a persona, so I envy you. I feel like I'm an open book, it just takes someone to ask me something and I spill it! I would be a disaster at your job!” shaking $er head, “Oh, and for the record, I am a horrible horrible liar. My body does not cooperate!”

Cat smiled, shaking her head, “Well maybe I have a lot to know about you too. And at least now I know you can’t lie to me, huh?” she paused a beat, “I also expected you to be a bit wild and out on the town, I don’t know, with your friends? Or with a boyfriend?”

Mali felt a slight recoil inside, the ‘bf’ word. An immediate impulse hit to clarify being misread.

I’m not gay.

Not a gay man.

Damn it, not a man.

I don’t want you to see a man. But I want you to like me.

Mali’s true gayness was not even on the radar yet.

Fuck.

“Well thats one more thing for you to know. I don’t like men.”

Cat looked down appearing a little puzzled, perhaps slightly embarrassed yet thoughtful.

“Sorry, maybe too much information,” Mali added.

But how the fuck could I not say it?

“Hmmmm, yes thats also interesting and I bet a story behind that too.”

“Yeah. I need a lot of quiet and solitude too, I bet more than you. So I don’t forget who I am. That’s also why I feel I need to go live up north.”

Mali paused for a moment appearing nonchalant and thoughtful but in reality anything but that.

“I don’t know, would you perhaps like company at the park? I can be quiet if you just want to relax and contemplate, I promise.”, $he said with a smile and a little of the trademark Cat ‘wink’. For some reason $he was always a sponge for mannerisms $he found in women $he found special.

“You know, I would enjoy that.”

Mali felt an edge for a second, worried for a minute Cat was saying this just to be polite.

“I really mean it,” Cat added, as if reading Mali’s mind, “it will be fun!”

I need someone from the outside of everything to talk to. Maybe you’re that person.

There are things on my mind, maybe you can help.

Maybe you can.

It was pretty anathema in her culture to even have this thought not to mention act on it. But it was what she felt in the moment, the seed starting with Mali's friend request.

Mali felt at ease again and smiled, “Great!”.

Chatuchak Park

The two emerged from the Chatuchak Park subway station and were hit by the usual wall of muggy warmth of the early evening. Thailand heat could be a menace during the day but one of the prizes for holding out were the evenings. The big red sun was setting to the west, its rays masked and scattered by the proliferation of trees, spreading its tinge through spiky shadows over the oblong lake around which the park of many acres was situated. Green grass, Asian styled bridges over small waterways. A refuge from an urban jungle which at times reminded Mali of New York City, at others, Latin America.

But this park, only could be in Thailand. Not to mention this moment.

Cat smiled at Mali with a little shiver, overcoming the air conditioning freeze of the subway. It felt good to be here and with Mali. There was something natural and transparent about... actually kind of Asian about him…

Unusual.

Although she loved her culture, revered her parents and had a close group of friends, it all sometimes felt like a cage with eggshells on the floor, having to be careful where she stepped. And the thing she couldn’t fully understand was that her culture was quite permissive of individual liberty, in its own way. So she was aware on some sort of twilight level of something being off. But she could never say exactly where or what. She was in theory free to be whatever and whoever she wanted. More or less. Just something missing. But something important too. Something juicy.

“So you like to come here often?” she asked.

“Yeah, in fact I live not far, and I walk here in the morning, very early for my practice.”

“Practice?”

Mali explained $er ‘standing still’ practice to Cat.

“That’s a long time. I like that. I bet it’s wonderful, the stillness…” Cat looked over at Mali, processing what it must be like to be still for almost an hour each day, and what would motivate someone to do that. With her head tilted she prompted for more.

Cat is truly unbelievable.

“It just comes from inside, it helps me connect to and remember who I am. Somehow it seems when I do this I feel much more alive, passionate — juicy.”

The word juicy not being lost on Cat, “You are different,” she exclaimed, making Mali’s heart miss a beat, of course still reading too deeply as always into everything.

“So tell me more about you?” Mali was finally learning to not talk about $erself all the time. It felt good actually.

“Like what?”

“Anything. Whats on your mind?”

Cat knew this was her cue. She barely knew Mali but she trusted him…

“Okay, well you know I did think maybe you could help me with something. It’s sometimes hard to talk to anyone here. I mean, if I talk within whats accepted it’s fine, but to talk outside of it, you get blank stares and deer in headlights look.”

Mali smiled widely as if to laugh, recognizing how ridiculous and unusual was Cat’s mastery of English, the beauty that it came through a still moderate Thai-asian accent. Especially in Thailand where at best foreign languages tended to be spoken on Thai-language terms generally.

“Must be something big, huh? Well spill it!”, Mali raised $er chin and brows. $he was starting to feel just a bit more comfortable here with her.

“Okay, well lets see where I start. I am - have always been - a very independent person. I do what I want. Like returning to Japan and living there recently, aside from the other countries I have visited and languages I know. That’s almost unheard of here,” Cat rolled her head up with her eyes for emphasis, “I mean, doing so on my own, my own money and means, not my family’s or a husbands,” Cat arched her brows as if to send a question mark to make sure Mali understood what she was saying, “So I guess I have a certain ability to be outside the box… or to want to be.”

“That’s cool… I like that. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

“The thing. I have had a boyfriend. Thai boyfriend but we’re separated. Everyone, including him, wants us to be married. On paper it is perfect too. He does well in his business - well it’s a family business and he inherited it - but he’s a smart person but is definitely Thai and not a hybrid like I tend to think of myself.”

“Are you truly a hybrid? Are you parents both Thai?”

Mali couldn’t either imagine Cat being fully Thai nor not being so.

“It’s a funny thing, yes. But somehow, I’ve always felt different. Especially since I lived in Japan when I was young. My parents sent me the first time, my once poor family had come into some money and they thought it would be good for me to go to school there. And it was.”

“I can see that, you remind me of Japanese style and culture. You also seem very awake and aware. I guess in Buddhism, you’ve been around the block a few times,” Mali chuckled, “Well, at least you put on a good show of it.”

Cat joined in the smile. “Yeah, I feel that way. I feel like I see beyond many things and can’t let go of being that way. But then too there are many things traditional that I do like. Beyond love, I fear nothing. I just fear when I’m confused.”

Cat looked out over the lake at the apex of the ornamented white bridge they were crossing, then walking to the rail, stopped.

“About love. You’re confused?”

Cat was not exactly a person $he’d imagine being confused about anything. That way she held herself. Mali as well could hardly come to grips that $he was here having a pretty deep conversation with the same spokesmodel-like Cat from the clinic. She was the best of all worlds - so cultured yet at the same time showing to be a person who could open up.

To me no less.

Mali decided in that moment Cat was simply not of a single nation or culture. She was the future.

“Yeah,” Cat inhaled deeply as if preparing, “So, basically, I didn’t want to marry so I made that clear. I am not going to be some man’s possession. Not even for a good man,” she turned to wink at Mali, “That’s exactly what I would be walking into here.”

“Why?”

“The culture here makes us property and men can do as they wish more or less, have mistresses, be unfaithful, and the worst, simply not be my best friend.”

Cat tugged lightly on Mali’s arm to prompt them on their way to the other side of the bridge.

“What I’ve always wanted is something much more than what I see. I’ve never had it. The only reason I believe in it is because I feel it. Once in a while I know of someone or hear stories of such loves. But its really just in here,” Cat tapped gently on her heart and upper breast.

“I know what you mean.” Mali knew exactly. As if Cat was a mirror image. And it made $er feel conflicted and sad.

Because she could be the perfect other half.

“You do?” Cat broke Mali from the rumination that was beginning.

“Actually yeah. A few years ago my heart broke when I started seeing the real dynamic between men and women. I was like ‘What the fuck! I didn’t sign up for this!’” Mali recoiled a bit at $er own swearing. But Cat seemed non-plussed.

So $he continued “I always wanted intimacy, to be equals. Also, it’s kind of like… I didn’t realize it for so long, that it was unnatural to be in the man’s role for me,” and now was the time to disclose that sadness, “But then I still long for a partner, a woman. And I wonder if I’m all screwed up. I’m not what they want,” $he paused, deciding not to go on, “That’s what hurts.”

“Yeah,” Cat looked off into the distance and spoke dreamily, “that’s funny you say it that way.”

They edged off the main pavement onto a winding and rustic path laid with stone that cut through a more secluded grassy area.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, I had never really put it in those words. But I prefer just to be with my friends, I don’t really feel like I’m missing anything,” once again her vision drifting and her mind apparently far away and then stopping,

“That of course sat really well with my boyfriend when I told him!” Cat laughed a bit huskily, “But it’s true. I feel free with my friends. With a boyfriend I feel in a kind of role.”

She turned things back to Mali, “So then what did you do when you realized how you felt about the reality of men and women?”

“In time I made it here,” Mali smiled.

As if on cue there were a few tones that came from the park loudspeakers that had been playing soft music for a bit. Most parks and public places in Thailand had them. On cue, everyone from strollers like Cat and Mali, the jogging and exercise crowd as well as couples and groups sprawled on mats on the abundant grass, came to a stop and stood in place while the Thai national anthem played.

It was a peaceful moment of stillness and unity with all others that Mali had come to love. It was not like the in your face heart and bible beating national anthem of the USA. If anything, it was quiet, peaceful and polite. The best of Thailand.

They had now made it over to the far north side of the park, now in the dusk shade, they sat on a bench near the lake, not far from where Mali would come to stand in the mornings.

“Why Thailand?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah!”

“It was to see the katoey. Both in my attraction to them and about my own confusion with myself.”

“And?”

“Well, when I first came here I tried once more to 'be a guy'. Like this twisted thing in my head that made me think I had to present as a guy here. And that lasted about two weeks during which I even started falling for the woman who rented me my apartment,” Mali laughed, “But day after day I felt like I ran into so many gay and katoey - like everywhere - and I saw how feminine and sweet they were. And how okay and beautiful they were with themselves.”

$he hadn’t thought of this for some time. But it had been kind of the last turning point for $er.

“So I put my makeup and clothes back on and never looked back really.”

“And the woman?”

“I let her be.”

$he couldn’t contemplate pursuing her. As who - what $he was then. Now. So $he continued at the time to simply live as $he had the previous years - to long and hope for but not really believe, certainly not try. Yet, here was the sadness again. And Cat had already stepped miles ahead of that woman. $he tried not to have the thought but it already had come:

If I could be with Cat - forever - would I give all this up and be a man?

Cat nodded. She understood yet… it was a lot for her. So she stepped back to her side of the story,

“So I don’t know what to do now. I mean, he’s still seeking me out. My family is in love with him, gosh, for sure more than I have ever have been,” she reflected.

“So just let him go, right?”

“But it’s made me confused too. It’s that I too expected different with men. Kind of what you said. Closer. Transparent. I want this with him but whatever I do doesn’t work. I like the feeling of his strength but it feels not close, intimate as you say. But maybe I should try and work at it, it could become that?”

“I’m not sure I’m anyone to consult on matters of successful relationships!” Mali thought of $er own track record throughout $er life.

“I cant believe I am telling you all this - do you know what its like in my culture to talk like this, especially to a farang, and someone you just met?”

“Don’t call me that I hate it! I hate that word!”, Mali said chuckling, “and yeah, I do have an idea and I’m honored. I promise what you tell me is between us and only us.”

The combination of this nice tranquil moment in the park, Cat’s beauty, polish, intelligence. And the intimacy of all this self-disclosure. It was the best of everything. $he’d take it over sex or anything else any day. $he really could get used to this.

“Like Las Vegas, no? I know of that media campaign!”, broke in Cat, interrupting Mali’s distraction.

“If only you knew,”, $he smiled back.

“Its funny, you talk a lot like a woman I dated when living in Mexico some years ago. About men. I was trying to be a man, more masculine, at the time, doing my best, none of these tight jeans, makeup, all that. On the second date we were sitting there having dinner and she mentioned she liked how feminine and soft I was. Horrible! I was at my peak trying to be a guy!”, Mali moved to falsetto and hiding $er face in $er hands in mock shame, “She was like ‘even the most liberal guys here… in the end the machismo just comes out from under the rug’". And then to go on how she had considered being lesbian but in the end could not face the social stigma.”

“They are not tolerant there?”

“There is more now than ever. Heck, her city, Guadalajara is the ‘gay’ city of Mexico. Anything goes at least in certain areas and circles. So, no, it became clear to me that this was an internal game for her, just as my own is very much about that.”

“Like here,” Cat murmured, not even knowing what she was saying.

“In Thailand it’s even more tolerant, right? I mean, are you attracted to men? Here its no big deal to be into women, right? Here everyone does what they want - katoey’s, lesbian and gay couples…”

“I think I’m not into anyone,” Cat cut Mali off, “It’s all too far confusing!” She paused, turning the question on Mali, “So you like women or you were just trying because you thought you had to?”

“Oh no, I love women. More than even men do I think. But not how a man wants a woman, it seems. But lately I am not sure who I like or even if I like anyone.”

Cat nodded, “Sad.”

“Not really, it’s just long and far between to find someone who sparks something in me. You know, I don’t feel attracted often, and really I think hardly anyone finds me attractive anymore either. I feel like I am doing all this, all for myself,” Mali again gesturing to $er appearance, “I often think I’m crazy. But I can’t stop.”

“So when was the last spark?”

Mali at least knew better than to speak that truth and just shrugged $er shoulders with a grimace.

“Years…”

“And what is ‘all this’ that you do?”

“Well, women's clothes, makeup, jewelry… hair transplant, starting hormones, thinking of face surgery.”

“But you don’t wear dresses?”

“No, I guess maybe I don’t want or need to.”

“So maybe that’s just how you are, like the rockstars? That’s kind of how I see you. An artist.”

Such a description didn’t really bother Mali, in fact it was flattering, if only it was the truth. $he’d seen such men. They were cool. But what was going on inside $er belied a difference.

“Yeah. That’s tempting to believe. But I am not sure. I would like to be cuter. I don’t like looking like a man. Those rockstars, eventually they loose hair, go bald, have a belly. But they don’t seem to care.” $he stopped $erself listening to the words that were coming out of $er mouth as they were excruciatingly superficial.

“So, it’s that, inside, like in love, let’s just say, that I feel female. My response is feminine. Rockstars still want to be a dude in bed. I’m not like that,” pausing, and then, “Every time I ‘man up’ in life, my sexuality… it’s the first thing that revolts. Then romantically. Then the rest. It happens over and over.”

It was strange but Mali’s words somehow elicited a certain forbidden feeling in Cat, almost freeing in feeling. One that she could not fully grasp but for some reason made her think of Koona. Maybe that was it -- Koona was the only person she’d ever talked to like this.

“But what if you met someone with the ‘spark’ you say?”

“I know,” Mali looked away as Cat just hit the nail on the head, “Thats the problem and the only one.”

That same sadness as before overcame Mali as $he looked out and a bit away from Cat.

“Complicated, huh?”

Mali nodded. Being in Cat’s presence, this talk, made $er want to cry. And $he was actually aware of it this time, unusually.

“Well then, here we are, it’s you and I here alone. Each alone - because the tradition has failed to inspire us. Is this good? Are we happy?”

Instead of crying, though, Mali channeled it into aggression. The ‘happy’ word didn’t help.

“I get more joy out of hoop dancing than I ever got having to fuck a girlfriend. And sorry for the language but that is what they seemed to want, to ‘be fucked’,” all the hurt and disappointment of the past apparently still simmering in the background,

“Oh and they liked my career and money. And add to it that I can talk like this. Intimacy. I was like everything - they had the best of both worlds, that’s why I was special, different and why they were into me. Even that my body is slender and kind of female by default. They had everything they wanted…” Mali looked off contemplating $er next words,

“But… not for me… In the end there was no upside. Work to support them, then when I come home I’m their girlfriend. And then they expect me to be a guy sexually on top of it all because ‘that’s what I am’!”

Fuck them.

Now the tears broke.

“I am so sorry. I did not mean to upset you. Just know, I can relate a bit,” she smiled and put her hand on Mali’s forearm. Which in that moment, the connection making the confusion and hurt of feeling so alone vanish.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t upset me, this is just me. Upset is when I start breaking things. Like computers. I had this job where I destroyed laptop after laptop and they kept giving me a new one!,” Mali’s lips turned up in a smile at the memory, “It makes me sad to break things that other people worked hard to create.”

The tears fell and a sob arose. $he couldn’t put it in words. But it was $erself. The broken, the being broken. $er body. The love in the universe that, just the mere fact that $he existed, this train-wreck of a miracle in the works, on the path to destroy everything systematically. At least that’s how the world and past made $er feel about what $he had been doing these years.

Everything given up. Lost. I could not sustain or hold onto… because of… what I am, me being me. And I’m supposed to stop this.

Cat reached out and gave Mali a brief and gentle hug with her arm.

“How about we walk and talk about the weather for a bit, shall we?” said Cat tenderly, reaching to dry the tear that was falling. It was strange with Cat, Mali felt okay, really almost disoriented how far $he’d opened. $he hadn't just repeated the words $he'd said over and over to $erself in these years, but $er words were more about how everything felt.

And saying it aloud to someone .

Cat stood and Mali followed the cue.

Mali was concerned that $he’d gone too far. And that maybe Cat needed to get away from $er. But the anxiety was alleviated feeling the gentle pressure Cat was pulsing into $er hand.

As Cat led $er by the hand it made $er remember a dream $he had had many years ago, one of those dreams that for some reason feel most real in comparison to others. Of a beautiful young woman reaching for $er hand and leading $er on a path in the forest. A perfect companion.

The one $he’d trust with $er life. And dedicate $er life to.

The walk and lighter conversation did them both good, which turned into a decision to have dinner nearby at an open restaurant that specialized in delicious seafood and fish. As well as, could be expected, spicy. Which was not lost on them as at one point the whole seating area filled with an almost noxious smoke floating in the air of heated pepper, causing everyone to fan their eyes and many to cough and tear.

They were seated in front of each other, Cat still poised as ever - which Mali had decided by then was simply not even poise but just how she was even at most relaxed, and that it would actually take effort for Cat to be any other way. Tears from the fumes were running down $er cheeks as the coughing started to subside.

Cat rolled her eyes, gently coughing and smiling.

“I know I’m going away tomorrow but isn’t this just a little dramatic?”

Cat smiled fully back sprouting a chuckle, catching the reference,

“I told you honey, its over! Completely over, just walk away and don’t look back!”.

A woman who could not just get a joke but play it. There was nothing better.

“I’ve enjoyed this afternoon. It’s done me good more than you can imagine.”, thinking to $erself that even ignoring the fact that the spark $he had felt before for Cat had now been exponentially multiplied, if $he could have this afternoon and this friendship, just like this, forever, $he’d take it in place of anyone or anything.

“Me too. I’m sad now you’re going away. I know its good for you and given the chance I'd do the same. But selfishly, it would be nice for you to stay here so we can talk more, and gosh, have a little fun.”

Fun?

Maybe I could stay.

Mali wanted to say it. But that was thorny. Cat had all but asked $er to stay but, wouldn’t that make things worse, more confusing?

“I know. It’s crazy to go. But crazy to stay too!”

Cat nodded and they sat in silence for a bit.

“So can we stay in touch? I don’t know, sometime I go to Chiang Mai to be with my family. Maybe we could meet up.”

“I’m the one who Facebook friended you!”

Once again getting the humor, Cat laughed “Yeah, more than the altar for some of us!”

“I have to come here pretty regularly for my visa stuff so maybe too,” Mali wanted to say so much more but was not the kind to be direct, “and yes, I would like to know you better, I don’t have many friends and I guess I sometimes blame myself for being closed but in reality, its just not everyday I meet someone I can have a real conversation with that feels good.”

“As you say, ‘amen to that’”.

What blew Mali’s mind was, if Cat’s English was so amazing - she’d never lived in any English speaking country as far as $he knew, what was her Japanese like? To Mali at the moment Cat was like one of these people who pretty much master everything they touch, with no apparent effort.

“Shall we get going? I don’t want to keep you out past your bedtime!”, Mali laughed.

“In fact, its already past my bedtime,” remarked Cat. Mali noted one more unexpected coincidence between them. It was actually ten o’clock and the evening had flown by.

After splitting the check, they walked to the nearby MRT stop.

“I don’t have words”, Mali looked inquiringly at her, shaking $er head, already feeling the sadness that was to come. But $he was conscious, perhaps from the deepening of $er own feminine sense - or the release of masculine acculturation that $he needed to defer to Cat for all things that would point any further than they had already traveled together. In any case $he needed Cat to take the lead, if this would go in the direction that $he undoubtedly longed for. Anyway.

“Nor do I really. How about ‘see you soon’?”, Cat did her single eye wink, “does that work?”

“For sure”, Mali replied smiling. $he reached out to Cat for a hug. Cat stepped forward into outstretched arms then completely relaxed and embraced into Mali. To Mali it felt so soft like a pillow embrace. Cat too noted how comfortable it felt.

“Goodnight,” Cat replied as she pushed back, turned and began to walk toward the subway stairs.

The tall poised woman, a true real life model, beautiful in all aspects was walking away from $er.

The impulse to yell ‘wait’ and stop her was beaconing. The urge to sit Cat down and make a different plan. To stay here. With her. Forever maybe. The katoey and makeup stuff… didn’t matter.

But it was better to let this - whatever it was - breathe. Heck, let $erself breathe and process this. $he knew better. Anything else would not be authentic no matter how much $he wanted it.

As Cats head disappeared from view down the escalator, Mali turned and began to walk, with a knot in $er stomach. It was a mile or so back to $er apartment and $he needed every step to even get $er head around even the surreal fact that this lovely afternoon and evening had actually happened.

Away

The strong current of A/C felt welcome against Mali’s face as $he settled in the cab and peered out taking in the morning Bangkok street. Although the night had ended up being a late one, $he wasn’t tired at all, nourished it seemed by the essence of Cat. Sleeping in an unusual luxuriousness in the luminance and luster, the hovering of Cat’s presence and touch, actually feeling like Cat.

To be with and to be. It was $er puzzle from ever back in time. Not just imitating mannerisms of women $he’d crush on, but viscerally feeling as it was to be her. Without consciously trying or thinking about it.

This did not happen with men. It’s seemingly impossible to know exactly how someone else really feels being in their own distinct body, but Mali knew somehow that $he did know.

The final packing had been a breeze, less than an hour, again with Cat’s lingering essence and smile all the way along. Cat winked to $er as Mali closed the door to $er Bangkok apartment for the last time.

The cab turned onto Tanon Latprao, the big busy street feeding the soi’s - alleyways - of $er neighborhood. Soon to be old neighborhood. They passed the always boisterous signs in the Thai script, some of which were transliterated to western letters.

This was Cat’s world. The stores, the sidewalk food stands with their tables, fruit vendors, the air and essence of Bangkok, of Thailand. It felt like Cat owned it all, $he was simply an invited or permitted guest. This city, without Cat had no light or meaning. Before, in making the decision, it was easy to leave. Now, not so much.

Because Cat was Bangkok.

Cat was Thailand in fact.

$he felt Cat, wanted her, this, this life.

It would be enough, more than enough. Full.

If only not for…

Me.

But today Mali was nothing but a longing observer of Cat’s magnificence and ownership of herself and her world. $he was leaving Bangkok. Doubly not $er city anymore, owned completely by Cat. Longing to see her again already, yet feeling a grinding tension between the polarities of friendship that seemed more likely from Cat’s perspective and the ache for so much much more from $er own.

But too with $er identity in play and still unresolved as ever… and so many questions…

Would $he just be a man if it meant $he could have Cat?

Like yesterday?

But I was not a man with Cat yesterday. I was myself.

Hmmmm…

It had been several years since $he had liked anyone enough to ask this question in anything but hypothetical reality. The last time $he tried it in reality with a woman, it had been a train wreck.

And so much time and life had passed since then. And so much more femininity had overcome $er.

Chiang Rai

It's a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace, and a wound that will never heal. — Tom Waits

The plane banked and dropped in altitude, in the midst of farmlands and green hills, Chiang Rai came into sight. Mali took a spontaneous deep breath. Somehow, regardless of everything of the last day, this felt good. The plane flight and travel gave perspective, as well as distance not only from Cat but from who $he was in Bangkok. $he had already started to become conscious in the last few geographical moves $he’d made in life, that $he was in some sort of process of integration. Moving to a new place allowed $er to see more fully what was $er, and what was simply an artifact of the place $he had lived previously. By moving rather regularly, patterns could be seen that otherwise $he’d have missed.

After a smooth landing, the exit from the airplane was down a staircase onto the tarmac outside. Which $he loved. There was something comforting and grounding about this. Something more real than the abstraction of climate controlled jetways to airports which isolated one from feeling what was really there in the new destination.

It had been late afternoon when Mali completed $er ‘move in’, laid out $er yoga mat and sprawled on the floor in a starfish position, exhausted. The studio apartment had a high sloped ceiling with high windows on one side, and a larger window on the far side near the bathroom. Allowing light in but also regardless of the time of day, keeping a tranquil darkness and cool over the room.

In many places such an apartment might be too dark or unpleasant but here with the heat it was welcome. Relaxingly quiet and still in stark contrast to the soundtrack of Bangkok.

The neighborhood was mostly Thai, working class, normal people. This building being the exception on the street with a combination of Thai and expat, student and professional tenants.

It was early evening as $he wandered slowly down the rural Thai road on a mission to find the park near the river $he had been told about but never visited. There were older houses, showing their years, with wooden shuttered windows, complimented by the newer ones with pristinely fenced lots, bricks, stucco, electric gates, and tinted windows, staples in Thai modern architecture.

Both old and new yet distinctively Thai, with their fluted roofs and ornaments, which for some reason reminded $er of an elegant woman’s styled hair, with a knob, bun or chopsticks. Or a cat.

Cat.

Mali shook $er head as if to rid the thought for just even a moment.

There was something so poised and feminine to the houses, and to the culture, its love of aesthetics only matched and tempered by its Buddhist heart and amazing smiles. Traditional and modern but all with the Thai mystique. Just like Cat.

Fuck.

$he passed a building with a few shops and restaurants. A group of Thai men stared as $he passed by. $he heard the words farang and katoey. And then laughter. Symptomatic of $er experience in Thailand, kind of a divide in $erself as to how $he felt about the people here. Well, especially working class men but also some women.

On one side, in person $he was always treated quite politely. The polish and the Buddhist kindness that $er heart always wanted to be the real Thailand. But then there were these moments, and what felt like a lot of them, which made $er feel frustrated and angry. Like now. Powerless. Because they were passive, indirect yet at the same time hurt deeply.

The fucking laughter. Jesus.

But $he was in a pretty resilient mood, noted the place and to be wary of anyone there and continued on.

$he wandered, looked and wondered. $he could own one of those modern houses, no problem. All $he had to do was get serious with work, accept to open the offshore software development company $er current client had been asking about. It was a train of thought that was far from home in $er own soul and passions for work but resurrected in connection with the question of Cat.

$he had already walked miles ahead with Cat since last night, not to mention at some point having unconsciously ditched $er identity by the wayside.

These knee-jerk thoughts even in $er own imagination which in theory $he had full control over were a good part of $er felt craziness. Why $he’d need to be a guy, the one to buy a house - or the need to buy a house at all! - and give up what $he was truly passionate about. But $he felt like $he had a choice - be a man and have Cat… or someone like her… or… not.

Such had been $er romantic life to date, whatever there was of it. To live, ruled by whims of feeling, bodily sensation in association with thoughts and senses of things, made $er a very creative person. Which contrasted and conflicted with such mental designs seemingly required to be a man, which always felt like they needed a lot of effort to keep in place. The thing, though, was that such designs seemed prerequisite to the love and bonded connection she ached for with a woman, according to women themselves if they were being honest. The kind of woman $he liked. Love was on top of all and as such, gave power to the fabricated and prescribed man-world construct.

Over the years it was always the same. Periods of being a man in earnest. But inevitably a moment of deep sensation or some serendipitous brush with someone in the world would trigger a flood, like another person, the feminine, coming over $er. It was visceral, physical, sexual but very much more. $he could only describe it as the way a woman feels in herself.

It would trigger all kinds of havoc, the uncontrollable sexual desires to be penetrated, equally confusing as men never were attractive to $er. And only if $er lover actually saw $er as a woman. It was not right for $er to look like a man and have this. It was not that $he was judgmental about gay men. It was visceral, apart from the mind. $he wanted to surrender as a woman. It wasn’t even about being passive or active. It just didn’t fit how she felt and wanted to be seen by $er partner coupled with how $he appeared in the world ‘as a man’.

It made $er want to get $er body smooth and waxed, wear form fitting clothes, and long and often go deeply into $er own exploration of which for all purposes felt like female sexuality.

And not just sexuality, all the changes, all the higher maintenance stuff of the world of a female. $he did what $he could, bit by bit over time. But never coming close to being treated as a female as default by anyone.

Girlfriends on more than one occasion would innocently comment that $er body, being tall and slender was like a female models. But then $er face. When $he looked in the mirror it may as well be the head of a horse. The deal-breaker since childhood, the trigger shutting down any further consideration. Likely even if given the option of ‘transitioning’ which was a non-existent concept growing up in the 80’s in suburban Silicon Valley.

Back then $he had no idea what this was even, and through late puberty had innocently never considered that $he was any different than other boys. Aside that $he did not relate to them generally and hated sports. So of course, it didn’t enter $er mind that $he had a choice to be a different gender. A girl.

$he would hear the comments like ‘body of woman face of man’ leaving others lips. Especially embarrassing when $he was deep in male emulation mode and doing $er best. Another of those passive drive-by angering moments $he felt impotent to do anything about.

What do you fucking say or do? It isn’t said directly to you but you hear it. Fucked by the world if I react, fucked by myself if I don’t.

$he’d try to gain weight, do military workouts, but within just weeks $he’d get sick and lose everything $he’d gained, not to mention slip back into the feminine mode because $he secretly liked the more female way about $erself. $he longed more than anything for someone to see $er, recognize and validate what $he truly was. But no one ever did.

With all the changes, in recent years not seeming attractive anymore to anyone, perhaps save for gay men, in whom $he had no interest. So then, would she give up the possibility of a relationship with Cat in exchange for the fem, and in the end be alone, and read as more of a gay man than anything else? To be something that felt seemingly right to $er inside, in spite of the world, at the price of losing what $he wanted most in life externally?

Someone special.

So it was not so much about the house, work or things, but what they symbolized. The intimacy like $he’d had only the previous evening with Cat in the park. A life partnership, together. Equality. $he would do anything for such a relationship. But however $he tried, the person in $er who seemingly could attract that slipped further and further away. Upon $er own body’s insistence. Which had recently led $er to trying female hormones and going on androgen blockers, now that $he was in Thailand and could buy over the counter. Bringing up an even worse problem because $er body seemed to like - no, love - them, and $er small breasts had started to develop.

And it was totally unacceptable to be a man with breasts.

It just was.

But unlike in the past, now contemplating Cat, something in $er hesitated and even pushed back. Even on this day in which she felt so very enamored with Cat. Regardless of not passing as a woman currently. Even to get back to the semblance of a mans body…

It would take a year or two.

Seriously.

Military workouts.

$he still saw it, though, an option. What $he always forgot was that even if $he did start progressing back toward masculinity, it only took a few days, a week or two at most to feel fully feminine again. Lose it all. But that was beside the point. The world and even $er face especially seemed to say $he was supposed to fight against this inclination to be female, and so did a good part of $er own heart, it seemed.

If nothing else to avoid a lifetime of this bullshit ‘farang-katoey’-like ridicule.

But today, as $he contemplated it, doing this manning up process again was just a house of cards.

Destined to fail.

Because it had.

Over and over.

Empirically.

The accrued pain and hurt of the past actually made $er heart revolt today. The courting, the promises, the falling of the woman for $er, a man, apparently at least. $he felt immediately sad, it made the woman $he purported to love actually be a sucker for a false hope.

$he’d never seen it so clearly before.

But could there be something in $er that could unravel this compulsion with being feminine? Some unresolved childhood issue? It was the type of thought, the only one left, really of hope to hold onto. Something too, which when resolved, $he could explain to $er future love, hopefully Cat.

But then again. Being a man. It came with so many anxieties. Would Cat take financial advantage like her ex’es? Would she demand the he fuck her or complain that he didn’t fuck her enough? To fuck $er girlfriend, that way, as a man, it felt like a chore. More than that, it made $er totally anxious.

No win at all. Having to support a woman and then coming home and having to fuck her.

Fuck that!

So in the end it was an unresolved draw. $er heart still longed for such a love. And $he was not anywhere near being seen by anyone as a woman. But just as well, $he was neither able to let go of who $he had become, at best an in-between-gender being. Who $he knew was too thin to be attractive. Clearly off the female radar.

Meaning too, Cat’s radar.

Probably.

Just a ‘katoey’ friend.

So having made yet another pass through the contents of $er trunk of despair, coming around the last bend ahead in the physical world in contrast, was paradise to $er eyes. A park, with shade trees, many gazebos, all along a flowing river. On the other side was rural country, houses and hills in the distance.

$he knew this would be her new home in the early morning and perhaps too in the evenings, like tonight. $he took a deep breath and released it. Fully conscious that for some time even deep breaths did not have the same feeling as they had in the past.

There was something holding $er from full surrender. Ever since taking the ‘going to hell’ path, certain things, just a latent tension or anxiety were ever present. They’d become the norm. She willed and wished to uncover what that was that was doing this.

The clock of life was ticking and this conflict was not going away.

Skype

Mali had Facebook open. Cat had just posted a picture of a chocolate cake she was about to eat. $he had already Liked it some minutes before. And had typed a Comment ‘Where IS that? It looks sooooo good!’ $he knew better but pressed enter by some force in $er $he had no control over. Regardless of $er inner conflicts this action was not not going to happen.

It had been a few days now in Chiang Rai and $he had not heard from Cat. $he was testing the waters. Apparently cold. Cat did not respond in several minutes but showed green on chat as online. Mali got up and started $er pre-bedtime routine which would include a shower, the whole thing which would normally take thirty minutes and forty-five on hair washing day like today.

In the meanwhile Mali began the so familiar process of facing disappointment that itself was a routine: Feel the despair, create an alternative future without the thing or person. Go on living.

The problem was that over so much time $he’d not developed the strategies to handle if $he actually got what $he wanted. Which was counterintuitively frightening.

In some moments $he heard from the bathroom the Facebook ping and simultaneously felt that also familiar feeling hope mixed with anxiety, ripping off the recently placed band-aid against being disappointed. Shutting off the faucet $he had just opened, $he made $er way out, to the low table on which $er Macbook Air sat. A chat message from Cat.

xxxxxxxxxx
Cat: I’m home now. How are you? How’s Chiang Rai?

Mali felt in $erself the impulse to think through what $he was going to say - given all the inner conflicts $he had been facing and the fact that regardless of them, there was part of her $he had no control over that no matter what wanted to get closer to Cat. But then, for some reason, $he let it go and just wrote what came to mind…

xxxxxxxxxx
Mali: Hey! It’s good. Quiet. Like a writers retreat… I may actually get some things done here :)

Cat: That’s good but Bangkok misses you!

Really? How is that, Cat?

xxxxxxxxxx
Mali: Really?

Cat: Of course. Well, I miss you.

Fuck.

xxxxxxxxxx
Mali: I miss you too. It was so fun hanging out with you and having dinner. I’m kind of sad here, alone.

Cat: Well you know there are ways to stay in touch! Do you have Skype?

Mali: Yeah, we should do that…

On Cat's request $he typed in and sent $er Skype id.

Mali hurried to open Skype, not sure if this is where the evening was going but to be ready if it did, temporarily putting off $er shower plans.

And then there was Cat calling $er via video.

Prepared for this? Not one bit.

But here we go.

Mali answered.

“Hi!” Cat sat smiling into the camera comfortable, knees up and in a night shirt. Mali immediately felt at ease.

“Hey you,” Mali smiled back, “Fancy meeting you here!”

“I know it’s really strange running into you,” Cat played along.

“It’s good to see you.”

“Same here. It’s funny, my ex-boyfriend’s already jealous of you,” Cat smirked.

“Really?”

Wow, that meant something. Cat was talking about me??!

As if reading Mali’s thoughts, “I told him I had a new friend. I said katoey friend - I hope you don’t mind? I didn’t know what to call you and it just felt easier.”

“It’s an honor to be called katoey in Thailand and by you,” Mali smiled, “That’s what I love here, its like being katoey isn't an anomaly like it feels in the US.”

“So how’s it going? Is Chaing Rai treating you well?”

“As well can be expected. It’s smaller and more people seem to stare and laugh at me more,” $he immediately thought of the creepy-guy open restaurant $he had to pass every time on the way to the park.

“That worried me too. But don’t worry about it, you know, Thai people are just pretty light with things, try not and take it personally. All katoey here have their days, unfortunately.”

“Really, you have katoey friends?”

“Actually my sister is katoey.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Cat smiled shaking her head.

If you only knew.

And so now doubly intrigued by Cat, Mali felt so at home in conversation with this woman. And apparently Cat did too.

So began a few weeks of impromptu connections together every few days on Skype. It was that shot in the arm Mali needed after so much isolation and also in this remote place. It all felt so easy and was just a continuation of that first night. They talked about everything friends would, up to the point of family and Cat’s first hand experience with a transgender sibling. But not more than that. Which actually felt alright with Mali, as in the end, it was this connection $he was after. And Cat was available, interested and they both seemed to enjoy each other’s company enough to keep doing it, sometimes a few hours at a time.

And the distance allowed $er to continue sitting on the fence with $er drawn out life-conflict and keep guessing about what might be going on here.

A Plan

Mali pushed $erself up the stairs to $er second floor apartment. Hot and just on the edge of sweaty from the late afternoon trek through town in the smoldering orange of late Chiang Rai afternoon sun. Plastic bags of vegetables and other miscellaneous groceries in hand, opening the door, $he released them on to the floor while taking $er shoes off.

$he had been looking forward to a quiet Friday evening and Saturday of unstructured relaxation and reflection, a contrast from how even here in Chiang Rai, $he structured $er time and productivity so much during the week. $he tried to make each Saturday a ‘sabbath’, $er own version of the Jewish tradition of taking a day for reflection and off from work.

Not like all the stuck rules of the traditional Jews, to Mali, the only rule was to break patterns - to not do anything $he would normally do during the week, like wake up early, work, shop and run around carrying things in hand. Also no plans or schedules: Do what you want to NOW and then just do what comes next naturally. It was flexible and $he would add to the prohibited list whenever $he would catch $erself getting wound up on this day. $he too loved the way the Jewish people - $er predecessors - started the sabbath the evening before.

And for $er, the deal was that Friday night was movie night as $he didn’t watch tv or entertainment the rest of the week and $he was looking forward to it!

Just for good measure $he decided to check $er email one last time, as $he liked to take the day - aside from the movie night - off from all computing devices.

There was an email from Cat. $he clicked it open. Simply written, with the greeting to Mali in Thai script as Cat had been helping $er learn during their Skype calls,

xxxxxxxxxx
สวัสดีคุณมาลีค่ะ,

I’m coming to Chiang Mai for the weekend to see my family. Do you want to come down? Maybe Sunday?

Cat :)

Do I want to come down?

What do you think, Cat?

It was perfect, a nice rest day and then $he’d go see Cat. This would normally have been all sorts of anxiety provoking for Mali given $er sense of closeness and wanting more of Cat, but strangely, it all felt transparent. To date they just flowed, really like great friends. They had sxeen each other in their night clothes and without makeup. They had shared some of their own deep wishes and feelings about what was going on in their lives. They even talked about Mali’s in between state and how $he felt. The only thing they did not talk about was what was going on between them, if anything else was.

Certain things Mali knew, and $he could swear there was something more going on than just friendship.

Mali easily replied,

xxxxxxxxxx
สวัสดี คุณ แมว ค่ะ, 

OMG yes, I’ll look forward to it. I’ll go and buy an early bus ticket to Chiang Mai, get there about 9 or 10am on Sunday? Is that good? 

Mali

For the heck of it after $er movie that night, Mali allowed the dispensation to check email again, and Cat had responded,

xxxxxxxxxx
Wonderful, I look forward to seeing you. Maybe we can go to Wat Doi Suthep, it’s the monastery high up the hill overlooking Chiang Mai. I have a feeling you’ll enjoy it.

Mali texted Cat as the bus pulled into the Chiang Mai station,

Good morning :) I’m here!

It was a bit after 10am. When the phone beeped with an almost immediate response, $he was pleasantly surprised, then caught off-guard by what it contained,

My father suggested you come to our restaurant today. I think you’ll like.

Restaurant? Interesting. How big a deal could that be for a full day?

We come to bus station and find you, okay?

Mali’s heart sunk a bit. $he had assumed, well, was thinking $he and Cat would spend time together - alone. Who is ‘we’? It kind of hurt. This is the kind of thing that women do when they don’t want to be alone with someone. Invite a group. Often it was the point when $he'd make the realization that $he’d been in the friend-zone from the start.

But it was what it was. $he shook $er head realizing that despite the calmness in their conversations, $he’d never backed away from how $he’d felt since day one with Cat.

With the acceptance out of the way, Mali then felt a pang of anxiety and insecurity. Other people - family - restaurant? It was the inner drive that kept $er rather isolated from others: feeling uncomfortable. Not so much uncomfortable in $erself, which was of course part, but $he thought more that $he felt uncomfortable that $he made others uncomfortable. But then, $he had seen the picture of Cat’s mother on Instagram and she seemed so down to earth. As if $he already knew her. So how bad could it be? Anyhow, there was no saying no.

Wonderful, see you soon!

What else could $he say? $he had no idea what he was getting into. Aside from a couple other Thai friends $he had met through a language exchange website, Cat was the third. But her family? Would they be there?

OMFG!

Cat's polish and perfection had to have come from somewhere. Mali shuddered and knew $he was in for something and it might be embarrassing. Even if they were nice to $er as they in all likelihood would be, it could be… awkward.

Why was Cat being so open - at first it was just Cat - but with her family? It seemed that Thai families were quite private, not to mention with foreigners.

All things considered, Mali was thankful that Cat had only informed $er of this now and not the other day.

John Lennon

Mali stood at the front of the bus station under its shaded drive-through carport with a green tea latte in hand.

A large black Mercedes 500 pulled up. All tinted windows on the sides and even the front. It always fascinated $er, especially in third world countries, the affluence that would show itself on occasion. $he continued to sip and watch the morning traffic and movement of cars, tuk-tuks, mopeds and people as they came and went from the station, distracted.

$he turned to a familiar voice, a bit hoarse and breathy, next to $er “Sawadee ka khun Mali ka,” with a bit of seduction and smile in it, even without seeing her.

Cat.

Mali half jolted at the surprise and proximity.

“You didn’t see us pull up?”

Cat was wearing a form fitting one piece white dress, hemmed a few inches above her knees, matching white heels. And everything else black - beaded necklace, earrings and creative ring assortment, all onyx. Which brought out the dark of her eyes and laser straight hair which she was wearing down for once.

Mali was entranced as Cat gestured to the car $he came from. The 500, of course. Also apparently part of the outfit.

Fuck.

Mali finally came to and turned to her,

“Hey you, that is your car?”

Cat nodded, “My dad’s actually.”

Dad.

“Come on, come meet my sister.”

Sister.

Jesus.

Mali exhaled for what seemed like the first time since learning they were going to a family place. As $he walked led by a Cat $he could not keep $er eyes off her. Not like ogling so much as simply in a kind of disbelief of the company $he had somehow stumbled into. $he did not feel like $he fit. The kind of woman and situation that would in most realities would not ever give $er the time of day.

But here I am.

Cat opened the back side door and chivalrously gestured Mali to get in. Cat followed and pulled the door shut with the kind of vacuum thud that only comes on a precision car. Next to $er on the far side, was a girl smiling and staring out the window, headphones on, oblivious it seemed. Kind of a tom-girl, she had rather short, wavy hair, an amazing profile, not unlike some of the most adorable Tom’s that Mali would see especially around $er old Bangkok neighborhood. Slender, boyish yet still feminine. Totally hot.

The resemblance to Cat was in her slender Thai figure and beautiful posture, yet with an edge.

Mali looked at Cat and they shared a smile at their aloof unicorn. Cat reached out across from Mali and pulled one of the headphones from her sister’s ear.

“Oh, why you do that?” she reprimanded Cat, then smiling again, “you Mali?”

Mali nodded and smiled.

“This is my sister Kwanjai,”

“Cat, say Kwan, not Kwanjai, pleeeeaseee!”

“Okay, my sister Kwan,” Cat acquiesced, and Mali got $er first flavor of the sibling drama.

Mali smiled and did the foreigner attempt at a wai, a bow with hands together, which made Kwan smile as she did the same only with full grace.

As Kwan replaced her headphone, Cat came to Mali’s ear, “Kwanjay, bpen kon katoey.”

“I heard that!!!” Kwan complained, face and eyes facing directly ahead.

“It’s okay, we joke all the time. In the end of the day, she’s totally beautiful, no?” Cat gestured with her jaw to Kwan, “And she knows it, so it doesn’t matter. She’s actually very smart too. She’s going to study medicine next year. Wants to go to Chula and become a surgeon to help people like herself… uh…”

“Really? Wow, that’s so cool.”

“Yeah. I’m her best advocate. Making sure she studies and stays serious. My parents - they’re not so disciplined. Guess its the partial Japanese upbringing in me!”

Cat changed the subject, “My father got excited and suggested that we take you to our restaurant, out in the countryside, when he found out you were coming to town, is this okay with you?”

Cat looked to Mali questioning for the truth with her eyes, “Of course we’ll make sure you get back for your late bus, okay?”

Mali’s brain circuits were getting fried at every turn, “Uh, of course! That sounds amazing.”, $he replied smiling.

Cat leaned forward over the front seat to speak to the sunglassed man who Mali only assumed must be the family driver based on his demeanor, dress, and the fact they were all in the back seat, “John, let’s go the nice way, okay?”

And with the instruction the car was in motion.

“John?” inquired Mali quietly to Cat.

“Yeah, his parents named him after John Lennon. He was born the day John Lennon was killed. We grew up together actually. He was like my big brother in ways.”

“Wow.” That was all Mali could say. A million questions which every moment seemed to divide into a million more.

As if reading Mali's mind, Cat brushed $er forearm, “Come on, let's enjoy the scenery for now, okay?”

The Restaurant

Over the hills and through the woods would certainly describe where they were going. After about forty minutes driving and admiring the lush country scenery from the dark tinted windows, from fields and tree lined roads to foothills and hilly curves, Cat announced that they were almost there, just up this hill a bit more.

The car deviated into a stone-laid driveway, through an arch created by intertwined bent trees on either side, and began making its way up a steeper incline. Passing what looked like a rustic wood cabin, they continued, some dogs catching up and running alongside the car, barking along the way, escorting them safely to a small gravel parking area.

As the car stopped, Cat whispered, “Were here,” then reached to open the door, through which she and then Mali stepped out into the warming day. The first thing Mali noticed was the air, although warm, was lighter, and not humid. $he inhaled deeply, seemingly for the first time in months, really since being in Thailand. Cat, picking up on it looked over,

“We’re higher altitude, it’s different air! Good, no?”

“It’s the best! I wish I could live here!”

“This is actually where I grew up, my younger years.”

“Really? But how…” the million and accruing questions returning to Mali.

“We’ll talk later and I’ll tell you the story. Let’s go in?” she reached gently for Mali’s upper arm to coax $er in the direction.

The ‘restaurant’ was a two tiered modern looking wooden building, the top of which was open aired by the grace of large windows that opened upward and latched at the eaves. The top floor cantilevered out from the hill from the long driveway they had traveled, rooted back in the direction of the parking area.

Cat led Mali onto the walkway to the restaurant, followed by Kwan. As they neared, a jolly woman with a huge smile came down to meet them. Mali recognized her as the same woman in the photo with Cat, who $he had assumed was her mom. “Welcome to our home,” she greeted in accented but perfect English.

As Mali tripped over the home vs restaurant question, Cat broke in.

“Mali, this is my mother, Bow. Mom, this is Mali, who I told you about.”

After the formality of a wai - Cat gracefully and Mali in attempt - and a smile to Cat’s mother, Cat looked at Mali to explain, “Like I said, I grew up here when young. In fact this property is where my mother grew up and actually her and my father met. His family’s land was a few parcels over,” she continued, a little quieter as if just for Mali, “We were dirt poor. Well, aside from what they could produce. I remember a bit as a child. Different life for sure. And could have been for me too.”

As they started walking up the stairs and in to the building, Cat continued, “When my father discovered that grapes for wine could be cultivated here, everything changed. For them, for us. Actually for Thailand. We were the first winery that we know of in the kingdom. I was just a child. It was like over a year or two we went as you say ‘from rags to riches’, Cat laughed, remembering something, “You know the fairytale books and Disney? I thought they were simply true and that they happened for everyone - because it seemed to be happening for me in reality as I grew up!”

Mali raised $er eyebrows. It was an amazing thought and synchrony to have as a child. Maybe that was one reason Cat was a person who seemed like there was no limit or ceiling to anything.

“But the thing is, I hope you will see in my family, it never went to our heads particularly. Well, except for me, just a little, and my dad with his Hong Kong Mercedes” $he winked her signature, at which Mali quietly snorted, the fact those were the exact words in $er head this morning at the bus station when $he first saw the car.

“Well, please come in and have a seat, the best table is over here for you,” Bow urged them on, as Cat and Mali had gotten stuck chatting at the entryway. And true to the fairytales, it was a majestic view that made Mali believe in what Cat had just told $er.

The table was shaded, and really the whole restaurant existed in shade thanks to the long gradually sloped roof overhangs. But due to the elevation, the view was panoramic. Seated at the two person table, Cat and Mali gazed out upon the property, vines, and behind them the road and surrounding countryside. It was another world. It could be Napa or Tuscany. The altitude they had risen to made the air and environment, at least to Mali, a much happier place. If it was up to $er, $he would live here over Chiang Rai or Bangkok.

Menu’s arrived. One page, on rustic paper. Very classy. What caught Mali’s attention was it all looked healthy. No pork, in fact no meat or animal products aside from dairy.

“All the food here is organic, vegetarian and grown in this area… we don't bring anything in. Even the eggs and cheese.”

“Wow, I’m not only impressed but this is like the perfect food for me!”

“I thought you’d approve,” Cat smiled. They had discussed food and diet at length on one of their Skype calls. They’d both admitted the tendency toward being vegetarian but neither had succeeded yet.

Soon they both ordered, and once the food came, the simplicity and deliciousness at par with the whole of the restaurant experience, they sat, savored and spoke of Cat’s family, past and this amazing land. What Mali already knew of the kingdom of Thailand, temples, golden fluted roofs, rustic and modern aesthetic beauty had extended exponentially.

To something real.

To something…

I feel included in…

Through lunch, Mali fell into a kind of relaxation and surrender that $he did not have so often. Just when the body really lets go, even becoming sleepy. The dry warmth of the day did not hurt either. It was comforting like a nice summer afternoon in a temperate climate, like where $he grew up.

As they finished and continued to sit and chat, Cat looked over and saw this and smiled. Almost not wanting to break the mood but as well having so much $he wanted to share with Mali, now that they were here and in person, she broke in, “So are you ready for the next part of the tour?”

“Well off course,” Mali drawled and smiled lazily.

“Great,” Cat replied as she stood, Mali following. Turning toward the inner part of the restaurant building, through glass doors, an intense black shine caught Mali’s eye. A pristine upright piano, the sight of which anywhere made Mali drool to feel its keys. As if they were vanilla-chocolate, and the sound was probably like the rest of the current environment, $he thought, imagining it to be transparent, crisp, warm and true.

Cat caught $er staring. “Do you play?”

“Well, I just do what I do. I am not formally trained but I love the piano. It gets to my heart.”

Cat arched her eyebrows, “Really. Well come.” She opened the door and led $er into the inner room which was really the internal dining room and bar, right now empty and with a nice coolness complimenting the shaded illumination of the windows which surrounded it on two sides.

Cat looked at Mali, “I want to hear,” she smiled.

“Okay,” Mali smiled back, excited to share this with $er but as always insecure as although most people felt something when $he played, who knows what Cat would think, and it mattered what she thought. Aside from fantasy, music was the place that could exist and be created of the longings in $er heart. If a girl didn’t 'get' $er playing… it was a total turn-off historically.

$he pulled out the bench and sat down, Cat joined $er at the edge, “Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” Mali smiled back. Everything felt just like home.

Piano

Today $he would remember to stay relaxed as $he played, just feel and stay in the present. Sometimes, well almost always in the past $he played to $er liking but ended up tense. Although $he felt good about what $he was improvising, $er body reminded $er that $he wasn’t completely relaxed, maybe not completely authentic, trying to please perhaps or simply self-conscious.

$he knew that was not necessary. Just like with women. Things could feel so good and right, yet engaging, connecting, getting closer to loving, $he could feel the tension and some sort of discord build. Something did not fit, regardless of $er sentiments, as a man moving toward this with her.

$he struck a simple low C with $er left hand and a major 9th chord with $er right. Simple but the 9th adding a dash of emotional foreshadow. The piano was perfectly tuned, the keys were in precise mechanical shape. The black shiny piano was not only playable, it was potentially heaven.

As was $er style, $he just intuitively moved from chord to chord, slowly, not playing the next until $he heard it first inside - actually felt it - and knew its harmonic function which would give $er the relation in the actual scale $he was in, which was easy right now because $he was in the key of C. $he tended to stay in certain scales because $er hands and muscles were almost auto-tuned to translate what $he heard and felt inside into the feeling it took to execute the sound with $er body.

That was what it was all about for $er. Not the mind, just a feeling, almost bypassing the mind, from the internal feeling, the longing, through to $er arms and hands and out into harmonies. Almost a passionate aggression. Not angry, but insistent. Knowing. Knowing of all things of passion, what $he liked and did not like were always clear in music. It was one of those things - musical taste - $he just knew without anyone telling $er. Same with fashion, same with taste in women.

If only I was so clear on ME.

The sounds, the feelings evoked with each execution of $er hands, all that was so hard to find reciprocated in day to day life. As if the tones and the somatic feeling which produced them made $er relate to how $he wanted to touch and be touched by her. The only other thing in $er life that resembled this was how $he was with $er hula hoop, also powered by music on $er iPod.

What $he did not consciously realize other than knowing $er passion for it, is that the piano and $er own unique way of playing it, really becoming one with it was the third instance in $er life of $er way of knowing — somatic knowing. $er body, muscles connected to $er emotions, nervous system and brain, in that order. To know what things were.

The first was the feminine sense in $er pelvis and sacrum. The one $he still held in doubt because everything around $er had told $er to do so. And the second, maybe equally early in life than the first, was the embrace $he longed for.

In theory love and sex should have been somatically understood and driven too, but every connection and relationship $he had had went a step further beating out of $er the once-upon-a-time knowing. Which was the most disappointing thing on top of all in $er past relationships - that females from whom ‘he’ expected high levels of sensitivity and intimacy, seemed far from it, even less sensitive than $er own innate senses and longings.

So in the past especially, the piano was of coming home for $er. $er lifeline to $er tenuous inner true self and without it, who knows where $he’d be in life. And from music sprouted dance. And from dance sprouted expression of femininity and authentic movement in $er body. Maybe femininity came first but in $er it had to find a path out perhaps.

Hoop-dancing had taken over playing the piano for $er. With the piano it was $er heart channeled into $er hands and fingers. With hooping, it was further, the music $he heard channeling to $er whole body, even soul. Where in the past the offering of music was a way to express how $he felt inside to someone, but now in dance, it wasn’t an offering to anyone as much as an embodiment.

Not for her.

Because in dance I am her.

Whenever $he decided to be a ‘man’ again, $he would always fall back to playing music as an outlet, piano, flute, drums, whatever because the embodiment was proscribed in that role. But now, the embodiment $he’d reached through hoop-dance, it was $er, who $he was. It still - and had been engrained into $er from past teachers and therapists - that this was really selfish.

“You’re supposed to only care about discerning and feeling your woman’s emotions, she does not care about your emotions. No woman wants a man whose feelings are equal or primary to her own. Biology makes us that way.”

Well, fuck you too then.

It was one of those things that made $er angry and bristle inside in male-female relationships, of how $he was ‘selfish’ for being aesthetic, wanting to look good, slender, sexy in a feminine way. It pissed $er off what $er girlfriends could do and wear but $he couldn’t. It had been a long time, but now $he remembered how upset this would make $er feel. Any any insisting on it at all was ‘wrong’, culturally emasculating and a felt embarrassment. When trying to be a man for someone.

The woman was the one who was to be the focus of $er attention. $he resented this imposed dynamic from the core of $er being.

As if today was witness of $er continued growth, $he did not tense. For some reason $he felt no pretension or need to please. Even with Cat sitting right next to $er. $he let the feeling and tears come. The longing for a love and closeness and as intimate as these 9th and altered 4th chords, of the play and changes, and the resolution, especially the IV chord over a V pedal, the sound of the most intimate union. To $er taste the dominant V chord was in so many cases just bare and vulgar compared. $er playing was never perfect but imperfectly perfect.

All $he really wanted was for someone else, another, to feel how $he felt, together with $er. Because it was so intense and deep. People did not understand sometimes when $he cried. They tried to stop or comfort $er. But $he loved the feeling of crying, it was like life and liberation, if there was a ‘water of life’ or holy grail, for $er it was crying. It softened and revitalized $er body like nothing else. Erasing the cage of tension $he lived in, albeit for some moments.

And the piano was an attempt at such communication.

$he checked in and Cat looked like $he was having a good time, eyes closed and comfortably leaning on her arm, leaning slightly toward $er. Deep inside Mali wanted and wondered. If Cat’s consciousness was placed inside $er own body, and $he in Cat’s. Or for that matter interchanged with anyone else. Would the feeling be familiar or of a different world of feeling?

We have language to try to bridge understanding between people, and we have touch and senses to lessen the distance and make us think we are all alike. But to one person who gets transported to another - if it was indeed possible - would they find a prison or a palace? Would it seem familiar or foreign compared to ‘themselves’?

Do we feel ‘normal’ just because it’s what we’re used to? But if mystically transported to another we go from tension, doubt, despair and anger to humor, joy, gratitude and peace? Then whose ‘normal’ is really ‘normal’?

Because even in $erself, through the secrets $he found about $er own body, $he could go from gridlock to expressive bliss in a matter of minutes. Just by changing how $he held $erself, paying attention to symmetry and balance in $er muscles $he became a different person.

Can anyone love so much to really be one so you feel everything together and the same way? Somehow $he trusted this as being possible regardless of what $he saw out in the world. A knowing not unlike the music itself.

And if it was, this was the kind of place, this land of Cat and her family, the kind of world where it could happen. Maybe the only place.

Cat sat even deeper in herself. Her head down, hands now in her lap, head tilted to the right, almost appearing asleep. She wanted more of what she felt in this music. This flow. She wished she could have Mali playing while she was falling asleep, it for sure would bring her to places in dream that were the best of where she would hope to ever go. The encompassing and warmth she longed for. Even in pain or death presence, these sounds would be light and hopeful.

It was also confusing. This Mali. Rockstar or katoey Mali? So soft and gentle. Yet something very strong. Was it her being selfish that she wanted Mali to be a man? Could Mali be a he? He would be the perfect life partner if he was. The way they could talk. It really was effortless. Not unlike a best girl-friend. But then, was there more?

She found her thoughts on Koona. Poor Koona. Who had so many times been up here with her too. What had happened? So many years of friendship and now this void that apparently neither cared to bridge. A cloud came over her but the music insisted in her heart that she not hide from what she was feeling.

What was even stranger to her is that somehow, in Mali’s playing, the feeling reminding her of that last moment with Koona by the pool. Another cloud passed over her heart, this one more suffocating. Being with Mali was also rather familiar, it was kind of like being with Koona, but if she were a man. But then again, is Mali a man, right?

Jesus Cat, mind-fucking are we?

Well, who knew but one thing she did know was that Mali was into her. And she was feeling things too but it was all so confusing and jumbled. Like since that night they walked in Chatuchak Park, this all was something in motion that she didn’t have control over but to go with it. Albeit a bit passively, waiting.

Well, too, it felt good.

Like the last week with Koona.

That felt good too. As good.

Better even?

Cat made an unconscious nod.

Everything was always better with my best friend.

Fuck…

The Path

Mali knew $er flow and inspiration were coming to an end. Timing was timing and $he knew to listen and respect it. $he eased off the last resolving chord on legato and looked over to Cat. Who simultaneously opened her eyes and smiled.

“That was amazing.”

Then out of the corner of $er eye, Mali was shocked. Inclining toward Cat’s ear, “Oh shit, look around!”

The room was almost full of diners. They had not been alone for who knows how long. That was a first for a generally hyper-aware Mali.

From nowhere Cat’s mother was at their side, “Mali, we want to hire you. Really. Everyone love your playing.”

“Mom, Mali lives in Chiang Rai.”

“So, he can move here!”

The ‘he’ hit Mali’s heart but $he sucked it up.

How is Cat’s family supposed to know… if she nor I really do either?

Jesus Mali.

English sucks shit with it’s built in ability to shame. Even when unintended. And too, English was not Cat’s mothers native tongue, so $he let it go.

Cat looked at $er mother and then to Mali, “So you want to go on the tour still?”

Mali nodded and smiled.

Cat spoke in Thai just to get Bow off Mali’s back,

“Mom, we’ll talk about it, okay?”

She knew her mother could come on strong at times.

“Okay.”

In that moment Bow was called to respond to another group of arriving diners.

Mali turned to Cat as she led the way just a step ahead, “sorry, I got carried away… this is a beautiful piano and such a beautiful place, I could not help myself.”

“You think you need to apologize to anyone?!”

“So you’re mom wants to hire me, huh?” Mali smirked.

“It would seem to be the case,” she winked shaking her head.

Mali actually hoped Bow was serious. Of course $er motives would be all twisted... would accepting to come here to work be for the music or just because $he felt this family was surrounded in light and $he wanted more of it?

A few minutes later Cat led Mali from the restaurant, back the way they had came. The patrons unobtrusively watched and smiled. Many of them were regulars or those who knew the family. Who knew Cat. And that Cat did not lead men around, or even really accompany them for that matter, except for in the most formal and rigid etiquette. It was like she was leading a girl-friend more than a man but that was lost for the most part on the people there.

They saw ‘his’ feminine physique, but many Thai men as well were pretty, gosh, with virtually female faces, which of course Mali would die for. Slender bodies too. They did not see ‘his’ makeup or jewelry. All they saw was ‘his’ back while 'he' played then being led out by Cat.

When they had made it up the driveway, past the little rustic parking area, they turned to the left onto a path which was almost a tunnel created by trees. Light came through but it was shady and relatively cool. Cat turned, smiling and said “I could not say it in front of my mom, but that was beyond amazing! Your playing was like it was from another world. It made me feel so happy and calm. I wish I could listen to you play everyday!”.

Mali’s heart skipped a beat. What was she saying? No, it was just a compliment, he had received many from women especially as for some reason they could feel and appreciate $er playing more, and no, they were just sweet people, friends but it meant nothing else, historically. Although somewhere inside $he felt what $he played was a message encoded for someone, intended and impulsed for the one.

That’s who I play for. Only her ultimately.

“That means a lot to me. I don’t play much anymore, and when I do I not only miss it but feel I should be playing more…”

“Not just something, Mali. It made me wonder whats under all this, inside you,” she whispered just a little lower tone and huskily, gesturing at Mali’s appearance. “I mean, oh, I don’t know…”

It was the first time Mali had ever seen Cat with even a slight tumble over her words.

“I mean, what else are you so good at?”, she stumbled, twitching her head as if shaking off those words, “No, that’s not it. I mean, I don’t know, do you feel… uh, what do you feel when you play? Do you feel like I felt when I listened?”

“How did you feel when you listened?” Mali chuckled.

Cat was in a corner, betrayed by her own words.

Being true to her name, she gestured “Come on, let’s not just stand here, let me show you the best thing about this place.”

Mali smiled inside and allowed her escape.

“For sure, lead the way,” $he smiled, feeling a warmth inside knowing that at some point, there was a promise of some deeper conversation. Too, of things $he wanted to know like…

What is really going on here?

Of course $he could guess where Cat was going with her questions but of course too, it was better to let things come naturally. Especially from someone as special as Cat. Mali as well continued to wonder what else $he didn't know about her special friend.

Cat led Mali at times reaching for $er hand as if to gently hurry $er along. Like the woman in the dream, ushering $er down a wooded path on a pristine afternoon, the comfort of being in this woman’s hands felt so good.

The trail was at times sparsely covered with young green trees and plants and at other points around a turn, almost dark with old growth. Light green, dark green, white-gray rock gravel path, sunlight that played with them, threatening to heat, even scorch, but never getting the chance as they made it again to a covered part.

The thing was, $he was walking behind Cat, alone. Cat in that dress that perfectly fit her slender, toned form, at some point the heels had been traded for some equally cute shiny white sandals. It did cross $er mind how it would feel to hold and be held by her. It wasn’t sexual. Well, it was. But not in the way that $he’d been programmed to think by $er culture. Or perhaps by the rare spikes of testosterone based desire. Sexual was supposed to be penetrating but $he had no desire to. But to hold and bond. Even as friends. But no, Mali wanted to kiss her. And if $he was honest - to be Cat’s. What she’d dreamed of since $he could remember, being three years old and embracing that pillow, essentially imagining the same thing. Being with and being. One.

“We’re almost there,” Cat announced happily as they came up to a clearing, but one which the trees further up the hill were now was shading from the sun. In the clearing was a white structure. Some might call it a gazebo but it was not the traditional frilly kind of round or hexagonal. It was a rectangle wood structure, all natural wood with small supporting pillars making it almost invisible under the thick lattices of interwoven grape vines, evident with clearly visible purple grapes! The vines had been arranged to cover the back toward the hill as well as the two sides to the right and left, creating abundant shade and leaving the front exposed with a complete view perpendicular to that which they enjoyed from the restaurant, only several hundred feet higher.

“What do you think?”

Mali was speechless again. It kept getting better. All this reminded $er of the long drawn out crush $he had had on $er best girl-friend throughout high school and how $er family had owned a property not unlike this. It was uncanny, and too the same unexpressed longing of so many years back. Then as now, never declared. $he simply wanted this with Cat — and this day itself — to never end. Now as if it was also then.

“You okay?”, yelled Cat, already inside the structure.

Mali had spaced out. Coming to, $he hopped up along the last fifteen feet of the path and up the steps to a new paradise.

Sweetness

“This is so amazing!” was all Mali could say, as $he reached Cat.

This is so amazing.

Just words. Regular words.

The last words I spoke to Koona.

Is life fucking with me?

“Want a grape?” Cat offered with a playful arm out, erasing the melancholic thought. Cat had a more liberated and seductive look than Mali had ever seen to date. Mali accepted the grape and as $he bit down and found another heaven in the sweetness and slight sour bite of the blue grape. Delicious. Here $he saw what seemed like a younger, carefree Cat. Someone in her own element. Not that she was so heavy now, but otherwise was cultured and polished, to a T. This other girl was just — without so much. Natural. Just like the friend $he had been secretly in love with so many years before. That kind of ghost in $er that seemed could hide even for years but would never leave.

There were a set of wicker reclined ‘sun’ chairs with thick white cushions, on one of which Cat had taken out a luxurious sprawl, along with her bunch of grapes.

“Sit here and we eat grapes!”, the younger Cat motioned to the matching lounge chair next to her. Mali settled down on it and stared out. Comfortable. Relaxing. With Cat. And this place, this view. A sense of being cared for and protected, something $he hadn’t in years except for fleeting moments.

Since $he began ‘going to hell’.

$he closed $er eyes and took a deep breath. The whole scene was still so Mediterranean-like. Too, it reminded $er of the peninsula on the west side of the Bay Area where $he’d grown up. So many associations overlapped in the synesthesia of comfort. Albeit half the world away, everything in this moment felt so comfortable and familiar, to a T.

This feels amazing.

Maybe this meant there was something wrong with the path $he was on? But $he didn’t have time to contemplate and the worry vanished when a few seconds later Cat held another grape to $er lips. Which $er snout accepted, biting down with a grin.

“These are so delicious!” Mali intoned allowing $er voice to rise and quiver just as many women would in receiving the same delicacy. $er voice still had a lot of work to be done but it had its moments of femininity when $he would actually let go, which were rays of hope and of encouragement to keep going. In fact the first day $he tried vocal training practice, $he found $er female voice - not a put on pretend voice, but something real. That actually felt less constricted and tense than what $he was used to as a man.

So it seemed that whatever kept $er from that voice and that person, was more in $er head than a real limitation.

“Soooooooo”, let out Cat, marking each word slowly, “As I was saying earlier. What are you all about? I just cant figure you out still,” then she spat out a piece of honesty which left Mali on the floor, now the one cornered, “I mean, at moments I feel like you are someone who is like a man who wants to get to know me and ask me for dates and all that stuff. Its not like you’ve done it as much as I feel you might want that.”

Mali could feel $erself bristle a bit inside. $he for some reason could not stand being seen by a woman like that. In fact, $he always had disliked it. It felt inherently predatory and wrong. The wrong signal. But what the world expected from a man. Contrary, $he just wanted to be close and the girl, equal to $er, not to feel like $he had pretensions of getting into her pants or necessarily leading her anywhere. That was virtually never what it was about for $er.

But on the other hand, it was true. Mali clouded a bit, as $he realized that $er own confusion was probably causing Cat to have a confused feeling too about $er intentions. $he wanted more than friendship with Cat if that was possible.

But Cat continued, “Then turn around and you are this - who are you? - amazing pianist and sensitive person, like someone I can talk to when really in life there is no one anymore, who can ever get in here, where you are with me. And then like leading you up this path, you are my best friend - a girl-friend,” she intoned the world ‘girl-friend’ as if stating a fact, “Like any of my girl friends but just more of a soul sister. So what is it, you?”

Cat did feel a halting moment, as the unresolved Koona swept again like a breeze through $er mind and heart.

“You want a box, huh?”, Mali smiled. Two could play at honesty.

“Well, I don't know. I just want to know who you are and what you want with me.”

“Who said I wanted something besides you?”

It took Cat a minute to process the sentence as it could mean more than one thing. First causing her to doubt her English for a moment, and then put her into a kind of spacey place while her mind tried to unravel it.

“Well who said I wanted something besides you either!”, she smirked reveling in her intelligence, again not lost on Mali.

“So here we are then.” Mali smirked back.

“I guess so.” Cat returned. Long pause as they both stared out and continued working on sharing the grapes which Cat had placed on the little table in between their chairs, and trying to make sense of what was ‘not going on’.

“All I can say is it’s nice, whatever it is,” Cat drawled in a beautiful feminine sing-song.

As if on stage cue, there was the sound of gravel, shoes and what sounded like skipping which preceded the appearance of Kwanjai. She bounded up into the gazebo beaming her happy-mischievous smile, as Cat rolled her eyes. At that moment Mali further recognized the humanity in Cat and that she did not just come out of nowhere as a polished Thai-Japanese spokesmodel but had a real family and past. The drama of siblings.

As if to punctuate the thought, Cat remarked, “and heeeerrrrre,” she drew out the last word, “may I present my kaaatoeeeeeey sister!”, rolling her eyes again and then into a smile, the one with the squinted left eye, as if letting Mali in to an ongoing shared secret.

“Mom said keep eye on you two. Doesn’t know what going on. Not sure who or what Mali is.”

Mali almost choked on a grape and a piece of it went up $er nose.

“They say katoey’s talk more than any genetic woman and that they hold nothing sacred. They are often so vulgar. Well, here is my family’s contribution to affirming the reality of katoey folklore,” stated Cat again as a fact.

And as if not to disappoint, Kwan continued, smiling at Mali, “So are you a Tom or a Dee? You dress kind of like a Tom. But you know what, I think you are really a Dee you just have not accepted it?!”, lisping the last few words.

Mali smiled into a laugh at not only the directness of Kwan, only young Thai’s could be this way and get away with it since it was all said and done with such lightheartedness, but also her perceptiveness. Too because $he remembered the conversation and verdict of the two boys at the night market.

Mali knew $he was a Dee if $he was a ‘she’. Although it was easier transitionally to appear as a Tom. Stronger, a bit alpha. Keep people at a distance who would otherwise be able to get too close. But that was all unconscious. $he felt like $he could not dress and act like a Dee and not appear ridiculous… and $he did not want to look ridiculous. Just like man-breasts. Not going to happen. If anything, it was heartbreaking because of $er aesthetic tastes.

If $he wanted it, $he had so much work to do, even if it was possible, and $he barely entertained the possibility. So $he tried to comfort $erself with the salve of ‘in between’ and also being just a little too adamant against the concept of ‘transitioning’ to female…

‘I have no transition, I am who I am,’ stating to therapists and anyone who needed to be told, again and again. Such a decision historically felt like a relief, to $er inner-being of not having to do such heavy stuff like surgeries, hormones, painful long-term electrolysis. Not to mention the expense.

But for some reason $he never found peace. To a third-party observer $er appearance was to the male side if for nothing more than the fact that $he stayed on the fence and hadn’t surrendered. Doubted that $he really could, and feared trying. $he was so used to the gridlock in $er body and being that $he almost had no reference how much better it could be if $he just step on to the other side. If there was 'the other side' for $er. That was the problem. $he didn’t know if $he could.

Kwan’s words brought Mali back to present.

“And what they don’t know either is what you and Cat have. Are you girl-friends or ‘girlfriends’?”

At which point Cat flushed to a full crimson. Mali having done all $he could to hold back, snorted and began laughing uncontrollably, tears flowing freely, even dislodging the remainder of the grape that was still stuck in $er nose. Cat’s disturbed composure was priceless. Paired with the perceptiveness of Kwan’s exposure of the elephant in the room that both Cat and Mali had been tap dancing around all afternoon, not to mention months.

Mali was having contractions and pushed off the recliner and onto the floor to lay out the tantrum. It felt so incredibly good, this. Thank god for Kwan. Well for the whole day for that matter. The ridiculousness of everything - this day, well just being a friend of Cat’s was amazing enough, but the car, her family, the restaurant, the piano… And to top it off the fact that this little katoey was sent to knock some reality out of the two friends and get the answer that they themselves were avoiding.

Coming out of the fit, through $er tears $he turned $er head to the right and looked right up into Cats eyes, which Cat averted. But still Mali could see Cat was also having albeit light controlled convulsions of laughter herself. $he reached to tap Cat’s arm, who turned, making real eye contact now with Mali. Mali smiled. They held their eyes on each other and as if contagious, a smile sprouted on Cat’s face also building until she also burst into laughter, still sharing the gaze. Maybe Kwan could crash the party but the party would just continue on a different frequency.

“Well, you two stupid and crazy! She wanted tell you that - she did not want know all those thing - I did. She wanted tell you that we going soon to city,” then switching to the easier for her Thai, directing at Cat “Father has some business that came up, he wants you to join him as the company counsel can’t make it,” then back to English, “So chop-chop - Mali is that right how you say it? - hurry up!, lets go?!” She turned on her heels and sashayed out of the gazebo and down the path. The ‘chop-chop’ thing to Mali confirming the family relation and intelligence shared between her and Cat.

Mali and Cat were left to face each other and finish the laugh, prolonged by Kwan’s final monologue and stage exit. The laughter broke through the tension and was probably just as well for now. Interestingly, both felt free to call an end to the beautiful foray to the gazebo and head back to wherever it was they were going back to.

“Shall we?”, Mali pulling $erself off the floor offered a hand to Cat out from the comfort of the recliner.

“I don't want to but, yeah, it’s just too comfortable here!” as she got up and brushed her dress, “It’s been quite a day, hasn't it? Well, more for you, you had to get up so early and take a bus!”.

If that was only it.

“Oh, and I am sorry - I’m getting pulled away - to help my father with business. I’ll have to explain at some point”.

Mali stored away one more curiosity.

The walk back to the restaurant, to the waiting family and the car ride back was pleasant and uneventful. Aside from Kwan and her attention from the lookout of her left side seat with her equally alternating questioning looks and then mischievous smile. Once on Mali, then on Cat, then on Mali, then Cat and so on, apparently finding this more entertaining than the music she’d been listening to on the way. She had tried to insist on being in the middle but Cat would not have it.

There are just some things that only a katoey can see in another. Something like gaydar. And it was basically never that she had found a hole in Cat’s polished surface that had any real potential for exploit, until now. That surface was in place since her earliest memory when Cat returned from Japan for the first time some years ago and they met for the first time. She truly was not mean hearted, but as every katoey had to go through, often in their own unique way, to become themselves, she saw beyond appearances and culture. She had already formulated ideas about her sister. But add Mali to the picture… and it was way beyond what she’d even imagined. She found this supremely amusing.

But how it would actually play out was still beyond her wildest dreams.

And at this point beyond Cat and Mali’s too.

Parting

As the Hong Kong black Mercedes entered the city proper, Cat, who had been in a daze watching the scenery and looking just a bit tired, probably just to keep Kwan at bay for the ride, turned across to Mali, “Look, there is my sister’s school, Chiang Mai University!”, she pointed over to the right as they drove by, “Its a nice campus, tranquil and pretty place to enjoy. I wish I could have taken you there today.”

Kwan smiled devilishly.

“Yeah, well we can make a list, right? Add also to that the monastery you talked about.”

“Oh yes! I almost forgot about that,” Cat spoke and thought to herself, that truly both places would be so nice to continue that chat they had started earlier.

“I don’t think a monastery is quite appropriate for you two,” Kwan couldn’t help herself but was ignored.

"So what did you study, anyway?”, Mali had been curious for some time, for some reason there were certain things that never really came up. For that matter, there was still so much $he didn’t know about Cat, as was evidenced in today.

“I studied, believe it or not, international business law. Very useful to what I am doing now, don’t you think?”, she paused, “Well, aside from helping my dad on weekends when his own legal counsel refuses to work!”

“So how did you end up where you are now?”

“I floated after school. I mean, a Thai woman from a family with some money, that is easy to do,” she paused pensively, “But actually most people would not consider it floating. I went back to Japan to work. In whatever, just because I wanted to.”

“That’s when you found the Japanese clinic?”

“Well, yeah. I got a job at a beauty clinic in Japan, doing more or less what I do now. I met the owner of the clinic and we got along. It was just a nice match. I love greeting people and I love the Japanese way of things, can you tell?,” she made her wink-smile, sitting up ever more in her poised manner, then laughed, “And I wanted to ensure I had access to all the cutting edge beauty treatments… forever… so why would I change? I came back to Thailand a few years ago and helped them open the clinic you see now. So actually, I know I look like the reception but actually I own this one and the other we have in Thailand, in Phuket.”

Suddenly many things started to make sense to Mali. “Wow, so you really have made it for yourself, I mean you are in something you like and happy doing it? And doing well at it.”

“Yeah. As well, I get a lot of freedom. I don’t have to be in the clinic when I want to go travel. So it works out, and I still make money even while away!”

“That sounds wonderful. I am happy for you.”

Mali’s programming work afforded $er the life of a rock star, so was the inside joke about such between $er and one of $er previous co-workers whom she’d remained internet friends with. Well at least a rock star on a shoestring budget. But that was fine. That $he had freedom of location and often working hours, generally working when $he needed money and it paid well. The only thing is that $he felt like it drove $er into the ground. Unlike Cat in the clinic in something that was affirming to her person, Mali would feel so anxious and tense after hours of programming.

On one side the work totally absorbed $er, just as solving puzzles and problems absorbs many. But the focus, it was like it disassociated $er from $er body. The same work which sustained $er and made all $he was doing possible, at the same time seemed at odds with $er ever reaching where $he felt $he needed to be as a social person in the world. $he longed for what Cat had - income, ideally $er own company or product, and feeling alive in what $he did - at least for a great part of the time.

Cat was lost in thought when Mali looked over again, as if cuing her.

“So maybe - now don’t say anything here,” she whispered, “it helps you understand some of the things I said to you when we walked in the park the first time. About how I am. Just a bit different. I’m fine on my own and have no need for certain things that many women are looking for,” the last sentence even more softly. Which Mali read into, hoping it too meant something about their connection.

$he sighed internally as $he realized todays time was running out. The car was now in sight of the Kad Suan Kaew mall where $he’d hang out before making way back to the bus station.

As the car pulled into the malls ‘VIP’ carport, Cat looked apologetically with scrunched shoulders, and smiled, “I'm sorry things are cut short. But maybe…”

Mali broke in, “Don’t worry, it was a fantastic time. So much! It’s okay. I’ll see you soon, right?”

“I’ll try to Skype later, if that’s okay?” Cat offered.

“Totally.”

Wow, there could be more today. Incredible.

“Well have a nice time at the mall and safe trip home.”

“You too, and thanks for everything, it was wonderful!”

Cat opened the door and got out, with Mali in tail.

She smiled, “Talk soon.”

“Perfect," Mali smiled back.

Kad Suan Kaew

Mali sat in the crowded Top’s Market cafeteria, which was on the basement level of the mall. With a bowl of duck noodle soup in front of $er, $he ate slowly, while looking around. It was a surreal contrast to where $he had been even an hour ago. But it was Thailand. Where almost absolute contrasts were just part of a normal day.

The place was lit with fluorescent lights giving it a feel that made you not want to linger too long beyond the tasty food. On the perimeter were the myriad food booths where one could choose from virtually any type of Thai regional food, not to mention other options like Indian and Halal.

The crowd there was an overall sample of the population of Chiang Mai. Many Thais, families, young couples, couples with children. Some Thai-Muslim’s, and occasionally what looked like more ‘serious’ Muslim people. The difference to Mali being the combination of colorful dress and lighter smiling faces compared to just the standard black and more solemn attitudes.

And what’s the deal with a woman in a black Birka and her guy wearing shorts and a t-shirt???

Then there were assorted expat riff-raff — men or women who looked like they might be more comfortable sitting on a Harley or at a biker bar. But if you talked to them, like Mali rarely did, they all had a story. And expats tended to be quite nice.

Every expat foreigner in Thailand had a story. The Thai culture tended to designate people either as Thai or ‘farang’, a word originally meaning ‘barbarian white person’. It was something perplexing, something Mali often considered at length. Set against the ever present Thai smiles and sensitivity, this us vs them distinction made what often seemed like an impermeable wall. One that newcomers to Thailand, $erself included, would easily miss.

The collective sum of expats had a shared culture and experience. Anyone who had to face the monthly visa runs vs Thai language school visa decision, hailing cabs, ordering food, local vs foreigner prices, not to mention the question of love. The concept of which was discussed endlessly in online blogs and forums. Well, about love between men and women. Forums which now were basically academic to Mali.

To Mali up until Cat, $he had started to think that as a foreigner $he’d always be on the outside culturally. As if there was some unwritten thing floating in the air that categorically created and enforced in every Thai person to be kind and friendly, yet unknowable. Much less, accessible for a true relationship beyond talking about superficial things like the weather, the traffic, or what’s good to eat.

Given that, Mali found a fascination in the third group presenting in the food court, the generally older white man with the young Thai wife. And sometimes younger farang men with their Thai partner. Sometimes with baby in tow. From what $he understood it was often a mix of economic needs, cultural crosstalk and maybe a good measure mental erase.

Perhaps even split-morality.

Too, once in a while $he thought $he could see a couple who was actually ‘real’ -- had actual intimacy -- in this group. But more often than not the Thai woman seemed to lead the guy around, seeming more like a tour-guide doing her job.

Mali chuckled to $erself, $he’d love to acquire that skill, the Thai mental erase.

For my own purposes.

If $he was honest, there was a fourth group represented here. The farang katoey.

Just one of them.

Me.

Albeit today $he felt stronger and more secure, Cat’s confidence and embrace having rubbed off. Of course in this mall, at every juncture you’d run into a Thai katoey -- transgender woman. It was commonplace. It was one reason $he especially liked this mall in particular. And Chiang Mai in general. It was more of an educated katoey population. Many were students.

Real.

But nonetheless, usually $he was the only farang $he’d in this category. And nothing reminded $er more of this than sitting in a Thai shopping center.

Fucking fishbowl.

Although Kad Suan Kaew was one of the most chill from unwanted attention.

But mulling over the familiar series of perceptions, Mali felt between the two worlds today. Because what had just happened this morning had seemingly taken the things $he thought $he knew and cast them into an unknown reality. Stereotypes and prejudice are exacerbated by isolation. Cat and her family this morning had taken black and white and cast them all into a rainbow.

Jesus, literally!

$he felt the constriction of sadness and tears inside, now sitting alone, all of the sudden. In the midst of what seemed like now again unknowable chaos, with Cat in the distance being the form that unified things back to colorful coherence and light, combined with the fuel of the ever-held longing and conviction in $er own heart.

Returning to the bus station, Mali was dazed. The kaleidoscope of $er inner fragmentation had shifted. But just as a kaleidoscope, it was a new arrangement of light and colors but the pattern that put it in motion was one and the same as before.

Cat was simply mystical.

Almost felt karmic that way.

Too perfect.

What should have made $er ebullient was now attacking Mali at every place of conflict $he had.

I think I love her.

If there was one thing Mali knew, it was $er core dream. And $he knew how to recognize it.

But maybe I can’t make her happy?

Won’t make her happy…

Sexually. Like $er past girlfriends. In many cases they were satisfied with $er, even very. Well, until they insisted on the gender role. Then was $he who felt off. Incomplete. It was $he who always broke things off in the end, like a bull in a china shop, by $er nature, or what rather seemed to be $er inherent brokenness.

I’m not enough for her. Even if I tried. Which would still fail. It always comes back to this.

Would I be happy really?

Why would it be any different here?

The only possible way out was the path $he had not tried, was with a woman so amazing. Such a love that would override whatever was broken in $er. A woman who being with $er, so amazing that $he would have no need or space for this quest of feminine in $erself.

I could let this all go and just revel in her.

But even as Mali imagined this possible outcome, $he felt an anxiety build in $er thinking of being with Cat ‘as a man’.

Because that is what I’d be, right?

But Cat is on another level, right?

Maybe it would be different. Like today.

It was true, Cat was the complete package. In the time $he’d known $er, there was nothing that made $er feel there could be anyone else more amazing than $er. Beautiful, smart, a companion capable of never-ending conversation and intimacy, fun, and a woman who owned her life, independent and self-sufficient. $he still had a bit of trouble believing that Cat saw what whole rest of the world missed seeing in $er. Because Mali knew inside $er depth and how amazing $he was, despite $er conflicted exterior. But for Cat to see this and want to be even just $er friend, was against all odds.

And much less, more than that.

Could be.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

Maybe $he and Cat could be a match sexually. $he was conscious that $he was thinking sexually, not romantically. Because the fact was, $he had no question they were a romantic match.

There something off with $er as a man. A hint that $he was gay? Because being penetrated - as a man - wanting something phallic inside, a penis, made $er gay? No, that wasn’t it.

That does not make someone gay. Duh!

Too… $he didn’t have any attraction to any man attached to such a penis. And that’s where phallic transgender women came in.

But then…

I don’t want to be a man with them.

$he did not feel like a man there either.

And… that’s how $he’d gotten here. Right here. In this place, in these clothes, walking in these shoes.

Paradoxically it was this ultra-soft, gentle woman who was $er last hope. Cat. None of $er girlfriends to date had been gentle enough. Even after asking for what $he needed. $he hated the feeling of being groped. Of the expectation of ‘fucking’ the woman, it felt like being an object, a machine, to 'perform'. $he wanted to melt and bond. That’s where $er sexuality - the one that felt good in - came from. The one that made $er cry when $he came. If $he could feel this, $he could penetrate, but only in the most gentle and soft way. The second the connection weakened or broke, it was over.

So maybe Cat?

But would $he no longer need to be penetrated? Because to express this deep part of $er sexuality, $he couldn’t be a man.

It isn’t possible.

I’m not a man.

Not there…

And this had been the deal-breaker in the past. And even so, Cat did not feel particularly dominant to $er.

$he tried to imagine this but failed. $he would not have Cat taking $er that way, as a man. Even if Cat was totally into it.

Repulsive.

But can I ever really present as a woman?

To the point where a woman who wants a woman is attracted to me?

That Cat would see me as a woman, really.

Because that was where it always ended. $he turned on the camera of $er phone and looked at $er face. The male-ish face looking back at $er made $er bristle.

No chance.

Would I stop waxing?

Could I?

Mali historically always returned to waxing even after trying to stop for some months. Of course making things worse because the first time back would always be summarily more painful than if she’d just maintained it.__

Will I stop taking the pills to keep my hair from balding?

Stop estrogen and see my skin get less soft? And my body-fat distribute as a man's does?

Will Cat quit work like my ex and expect ‘him’ to provide?

$he winced. It was a disgusting thought, albeit totally illogical, given what $he now knew about Cat.

So regardless of the goodness of the day, Mali’s heart sunk.

There was no way out.

No happy ending however I slice it.

Be a man. Or be myself. Be with Cat or be me.

I guess…

In the accompanying depression, Mali’s conscious processing petered out and sleepy trance settled in as $he relaxed in the seat, snuggled in $er down jacket as protection from the infamous frigid A/C of this particular bus line, staring out the window at the passing scenery.

There was nothing else $he could do or think. Everything was shit, even at the end of one of the best days of her life.

The late afternoon sunset did its part in the lull, the comfort of that time of day was always so big to $er. The sunrise was always freshness, but this time of day was romantic time. Of being a bit tired and sleepy even, and a time when it was easy to feel things.

And who I long for.

And how it would feel to be… in her arms... to surrender...

$he had met with this feeling again and again in the past but missed the lesson in it, just like today. The depression required $er to first feel who - and what - $he really was. The point of hopelessness in the ‘real world’ was only the conduit.

Cat.

The place of making a choice.

Going to hell.

Now with the promise of the unlikely but real Cat, lifting $er out of that chasm.

My lifeline.

Mali suddenly jolted.

I have to decide who I am.

Now.

So that the lifeline would not be cut by mistake.

Not again.

$he knew how rare meeting Cat was. The chance of such a connection happening again was...

Minimal on my trajectory.

Cat was beyond all women. If there was ‘perfect’, it was her.

It was as if $er real life experience with Cat had now wedged itself into the fantastic dream originated by $er three year old self - that also now seemed to be unfolding.

And making its demands.

Without thinking, $he brought $er hand to $er heart, feeling gently into the flesh as he would comfort a child,

“I love you. Whoever you are. I’m sorry for ignoring you and worse. I’m sorry for causing you so much pain. I need to know what you really want. I'll let go of Cat.. I'll let go of anything. Just tell me.”

$he cried and $er body shook, silent tears streamed feely down $er face, pooling at $er neck, wetting the down fabric as $he stared out the now darkening dusk sky.

$he was glad for the darkness around and in the bus.

Katoey farang nobody.

With the fairytale-like appearance and magic of the Thai countryside passing by, $he had no answers and was lost.

Alone, in a strange foreign land.

And in an equally remote place with $erself inside.

Surprise

The absence of expectations results in the reduction of disappointments.
— Buddhist saying

Cat’s jaw dropped slightly but perceptibly as Mali entered the clinic unannounced. A moment of of vulnerability ensued before she could marshal her poise again. Mali looked different, a bit ragged. Tired, eyes a bit puffy. But as the unexpected feelings floating through her, such perceptions were more in the background.

Mali asked, not saying much, for a different treatment. Not the laser to remove facial hair like usual. Which now was not lost on Cat in combination with Mali’s stubbled appearance.

What was up?

To Mali this was not the Cat handing $er grapes in the gazebo. Professional Cat. Polite as ever but almost cool.

All was the same over the span of the appointment, the courtesy, the tea, just like the first time there before they had gotten to know each other.

HE went in for HIS treatment and then came out.

Projecting HIMSELF into the painful male role.

If HE wanted THIS, it was up to HIM.

HE hadn't called Cat. HE hadn't done HIS part. Regardless that Cat had not called, Skyped or anything in the interim was beside the point: It was up to HIM to have reached out. It felt as bad as ever, but anyhow, there was no time to delve in. So it was clear. THIS was the fucking game. The one HE tried to play. The one $HE despised.

Post treatment, Mali sat on the waiting room couch quiet, nursing the second offered cup of green tea.

“So am I taking you to dinner?”, Cat questioned, on a limb, she knew, but to keep face, a little more harshly than Mali had ever heard come from her lips.

Still Mali smiled inside. She cared. Still didn’t know why but she did.

“I’d love to go to dinner, but you don’t have to take me! I don’t have to take you either, we can just go and have fun, agreed?”

Cat felt embarrassed.

This was one of the more self-empowering things ever to escape Mali’s lips in HIS dating life. Cat rarely lost her composure, this really was an unintended reaction from the incessant probing and teasing of Kwan as of late. Not to mention her own apparent paralysis in the situation.

“I agree. I have to be here until 5:30, can we go after that?” Cat said with a calm but a smile hinting at apology and amused embarrassment.

“Sure, I have a little shopping to do - across the street. I’ll come back then.”

Not wanting to prolong the stay there should anything make Cat need to change her mind, HE left his tea and exited.

Cat’s demeanor meant something - feelings, that was obvious. Which was so much more than the outcome HE'd prepared for, indifference. So it was confirmed mutual. Tonight was going to be an interesting one, that HE felt deep inside though not having idea what direction.

So regardless of the fact that neither had communicated to the other in now over three weeks, since that amazing day in Chiang Mai, whatever had been so easy and strong between them - was still there. That was a relief. The last two days since deciding to come to Bangkok and come by to see Cat had been torture to not reach out to her.

Mali felt finally good again in $er heart. $he smiled and took a breath as $he went on $er way.

Oh, in HIS heart I meant to say.

Suan Benjasiri

Its name was Suan Benjasiri. One stop on the Skytrain from Cat’s clinic. Suan meant ‘park’ in Thai, the formal word being something like ‘suansaturna’. It was an easy word for Mali to remember and so perfect, conjuring an image of swans and Saturn, like a big orb with swans going all around it. A perfect word for the most treasured of places in $er day to day life. 

‘Suan’ to Mali also sounded a bit like ‘suay’ which meant beautiful in Thai. And today as always, Cat was ‘suay mak mak’, very very beautiful. It did feel weird to think this ‘as a man’. It felt like it put an artificial distance between them. Even a little creepy.

As they sat on the bench by the lake, Cat put her fingers on the stubble Mali had let grow, feigning to pull at it, with a curious and playful smile.

“What is this??!”

Mali had let go upon returning home after that visit with Cat. It was not a conscious decision. It was strange but like times in the past when $he’d had been taunted or even mildly threatened because of $er appearance. It was a pattern $he had started to see - that within a week $he’d have an urge to call off the dressing, makeup and be a guy again. But the change if she'd be conscious of it, was not from fear of it recurring as it was more out of despair of her impossible situation.

In this case too, $he had missed the trigger which would have been to own the despair in Cat’s disappearance. And all the confusion between the two exacerbated by that virtually perfect day together.

But in absence of this awareness, the prescription on this twilight level was to become who $he ‘needed to be’ for Cat… for the world, for survival. 

A man.

All $he had really felt in this few week interim was more of frustration and anger. And to $er that was ‘guy mode’. Those were the ‘guy’ emotions $he knew, the only ones $he knew as a man.

Hence the stubble and eating a bit more, which counter-intuitively actually made $er body feel more feminine and look sexier in the mirror, because doing so also increased $er energy and drive for exercise and romance, libido too.

The jeans and button-down shirt HE wore today could be ‘either’ but with such a slender and graceful physique, more female than male. The gay guys were all over it checking HIM out today. Regardless of how insecure $he was in $er femininity, HE was completely lost in terms of masculinity, even more now, back in the big city with all eyes on HIM it felt. HE didn’t even know how to move when HE walked. 

HE hated the male attention. Every possible wrong signal.

Mali finally answered, “I don’t know. I just let it be.”

God did this feel wrong. HE felt miles away from the woman sitting next to HIM.

“But all the laser?”

Something in Cat made her question what was going on. It was just a stubble, but they had talked too much, shared too much. She knew too much about Mali to believe it wasn’t deeper.

What had happened in these three weeks?

Mali shrugged. There was really no good answer anymore. Or that $he was willing to speak.

Just let me be.

$he wanted to cry, this all felt so bad. 

The truth is the deepest part inside wanted Cat and would do anything for her.

Even this.

Just being with Cat had always felt like coming home, out of the rain.

And if there was one thing Mali wanted - no, needed - in life, it was to come home and out of the rain. 

To be together. With HER.

This gender thing was simply a fucked-up thorn in the side of what mattered most.

Being with Cat, out with Cat, in relationship with Cat would validate HIS life. Show the gay onlookers that HE had other business here. And fill $er heart.

They continued to sit, shaded on their bench not by trees but by the rather massive high rise buildings at the northwest side of the park. To Mali it was one of the most civilized parks in the city. All kinds of people practicing tai chi and qi gong, the exercise crowd, the lawn sprawlers, and then the sitting couples, including them, on the abundant benches.

Usually HE - well, not HE, $he, would be the additional rogue: the hula hoop dancer. But not today. As a HE, Mali would just be relegated to eating HIS heart out in the expression of other women’s femininity. As well when passing the lingerie store.

Just pretend not to look, not to feel, not to care.

Hoop-dancing was one of the doors $he had found to open to $er deepest feminine. And the only way to the most surrendered dance was to be more of that. Because even to date, there was so much more poise and grace to obtain. There were not a lot of things $he knew in life, but in terms of the evolution of $er body, the hoop was the teacher. There was one true path.

“I’m sorry I did not call you,” Cat broke in to Mali’s rumination and the mostly predominant silence that had lingered over them since leaving her clinic.

Part of that silence was her own. She had also been completely blown out by their day together. Not either being able to completely recognize or admit that over the past months that Mali had taken over the void left in her life by the absence of  Koona. And what that meant - about her, about her and Mali, the professed katoey, much less, her apparently dead friendship with Koona. 

Something hurt somewhere deep inside, but she could not get there.

“No, I realize I just as much should have reached out. You - and your family - showed me such a nice… amazing… time - I barely thanked you.”

All of the sudden Mali felt more sad. Fuck it was hard being a guy. In the moment HE realized that HE was supposed to have been the one to take initiative, and how this must look now --- weak.

“I’m sorry,” addeded Mali, “I hope I didn’t tarnish the day we had, it was fantastic. In fact more than that. I’ve just had a lot going on.”

“Going on?”

“Well, yeah. I… I don’t know how much to say,” then making an about turn, “It was just such a busy few weeks. I have been sorting out a lot of things, work, what I am doing here, all that.”

“Why?”

I’m not buying this, Mali.

“Because, it feels like I am on borrowed time. Well, life is borrowed time, you know?” HE said, tears forming in $er eyes, “All we have is what is now and I just, well, I want to know I’m not making horrible mistakes.”

If there was one thing, however much Mali intended a poker face, $he loved intimacy and disclosure too much to withhold with someone $he was connecting with in the present.

“How could someone like you make a horrible mistake? I have hard time believing it.”

Mali smiled, loving Cat’s English with only slight and far in between errors that showed only the careful listener that she wasn’t a native speaker.

“Its just hard when I’m not working and don’t have income. I feel bad about myself. My self-esteem. Even if I don’t need it immediately, still.”

“Work?”

Cat’s bullshit detector was redlining. But if it was true what Mali was saying, then it saddened her.

“Well, what I’ve done in the past and want to do in the future. They are not the same and I’ve been sitting on this fence for gosh, now, maybe seven years. Its too much!”

Part truth, the easy part.

The couple stared at the water and the floating and maneuvering ducks and swans. None of this was right, Mali admitted to HIMSELF. $he had a lump in HIS throat. HE felt like a fraud, a lie. A black hole. The same black hole that would be in HIS relationship with Cat or any future relationship if HE ignored who $he had become the last few years. Too many things, tremendous growth, and most of it feminine in nature.

The grace of the swans and the peace of the early evening tugged at the smokescreen. The company of this dear special soul with HIM. How could $he waste these moments, should they never come again?

Cat also felt heaviness but did not know how to maneuver it. Something was off. Had to be broken. No matter what illusion or bubble was around them, the same bubble that probably held both of them in limbo from eachother the last few weeks.

Even though she wished the relationship between them would not change, for Mali to really be the Mali she thought she knew - the artistic, sweet, soft rockstar. Like he seemed to be trying to do...

Was it for me? All this?

But it had to give. The energy wasn’t right.

She also knew deep inside that this Mali would never have even made it to their first outing together. Because that Mali was different. That was the Mali she felt free with, not this one.

How could it be?

This Mali was all she’d ever wanted on paper. But in the end not.

After a few more minutes of staring, appreciating and deliberating, Cat spoke in a soft, breathy, huskier tone.

“Mali, look at me.”

It was the most feminine and commanding. Irresistible to that part deep inside HE was veiling to the world tonight.

Cats head was turned toward him and he slowly let the rigidity in HIS neck and chest allow it to turn.

“Look at me,” she repeated as if anything but full contact was not enough.

And $he did.

“Maybe the problem is another fence you’re sitting on,” Cat looked intently and directly into Mali’s eyes, “Can I speak frankly?”

Mali caught off-guard nodded, coddling the lump in HIS throat, afraid to speak. HE felt about to be devoured by a tiger.

“Mali, you don’t have to be anything you’re not with me, okay?”

Mali nodded but averting HIS eyes.

“Mali, look at me, okay?”

Mali shook HIS head, “I can’t Cat. You’ll hate me if I tell you everything.”

Cat sighed and let out a long breath.

“Mali, this is not who you are. What’s the point of this? We both know this feels horrible right now. And we both know too that we’ve never been like this before together,” pausing, “And from my perspective, there’s only one difference.”

“Okay.” Mali waited for more.

Cat sat and waited too. She knew to.

“Okay,” Mali swallowed.

Time to come to Jesus.

“I just… after our day together. I felt sad you were not still with me. Something in me wants… I feel like you are like bathed in light. I just wanted to be closer to you,” the tears coming to $er eyes, “Out of this darkness, the cloud I live under day to day…”

Cat arched her eyebrows.

Mali felt a surge of anger, “I just try so hard and never get there… You want a man. I was trying. Shit, it’s so embarrassing to say this.”

What kind of shell of a person am I? Ditching the true me by the side of the road in order to love and be loved?

Mali lost it and tears flowed. Sobs. All this longing. For and within. Seemingly at odds. The wound HE’d been trying to heal over broke open once again. A loosening of all that armor $he did not even realize had been re-accumulating around $er heart and neck over the last few weeks.

It didn’t matter, $he couldn’t deceive Cat. There was no point.

$he let go and looked at Cat, her poised yet strongly loving presence. Cat had turned toward $er and had her arm up on the top of the bench, even in this moment not lost on Mali her slender figure with gentle curves, this most beautiful face, full cheeks and eyes that were now looking directly back, also clearly tearing up as well.

$he was back where $he was a few weeks before. But more solidly. Just like every time $he's tried to be a guy.

It always ends with tears and ‘coming to Jesus’.

At that moment a sheet of rain fell.

Not surprising either as they both realized they had felt but ignored the cooling and a gentle but persistent breeze since the time they had sat down.

It down-poured with no foreplay at all, like someone had overturned a bucket.

They quickly broke from the bench.

The gazebo!

Cat was ahead of $er and gestured for Mali to follow, “Come on!”

There was no chance of not being drenched, only the hope of not being so continuously!

Once safely under the structure which jutted out a little bit into the lake, leaning back against a railing, Mali who had now lost all inhibition, feeling everything, surrendered to the sadness, crying.

$he couldn’t speak at all but gestured for Cat to come to $er.

Cat came over and Mali looked at her directly, into that poised, and now wet beautiful face with running mascara. As beautiful wet and disheveled as in her finest, $he thought. $he latched on to Cat’s lower arms near the elbows as she came close, and somehow as if she knew to complete the circuit, let $er hands fall to Cats. Looking into Cats eyes, continuing to cry, Mali fought for the words…

“Cat, all I have ever wanted is this. Fuck,” inside Mali all the pain and torture of a life feeling taunted by this burning ember of desire for such closeness and always seemingly elusive. As was now. It was just unacceptable.

Cat cocked her head to the side in question. Mali continued but cryptically, “I am not a man. I hate being a man. To be myself is to not be a man. But to have this with you… I am supposed to be a man.”

“Cat this is my fucking life!” the tears and the coordinating muscles in full flow, “Its cuts both ways but both ways are inside myself. I can be me or I can be with ‘her’. And each way cuts into a different side of my heart. I can’t win here. In this place. Goddammit. I can’t!” then from the depth $he felt a rage, a rage like being taunted by god. Put in an impossible double-bind.

“Fuck God!” Mali yelled. Not for the first time in $er life and for the same reason $he yelled it the first time when not even understanding the problem, years ago, in bed with $er last ex.

Although it would have been above many, Cat caught the message. And she also knew this was no time to prolong a conversation. So also did what was her instinct but certainly not what her culture and training would say is acceptable. She came closer and embraced Mali with all her heart. Hoping, in some way inside, she could flood away this pain he - she - was buried in. This confusion. It did not make sense to her completely but the spirit of Mali’s words did. She held and let Mali hold her back and continue until complete. Which Mali did.

Strangely, a feeling - no, an image - of a smiling Koona swept across her like one of those fluffy white clouds at the pool, that fateful last moment after all those years as friends, all gone. She felt like crying now too.

Maybe it was contagious.

In a few minutes of holding in silence, things soon quieted down in both of them and the rain.

“Mali, can I take you somewhere?”

Mali loosened $er grip and getting Cat’s eyes back into visibility, all $he could do was nod.

$he didn't even care to ask where. As it really didn’t matter if it meant being together. $er heart warmed that Cat wanted still to be with $er after this insanity. Still with anxiety of jeopardy as never had anything like this ever happened to $er or turned out happily.

They were both still dripping. Although neither could be sure what was rain and what were tears anymore.

“Do you mind walking? Even a lot? Maybe thirty minutes?”

“I love to walk,” Mali smirked, the only expression possible moving between tears and smile.

Nodding, Cat began to impulse them to movement out of the embrace and on the way.

Out of the park, onto the street.

Down a block and a turn.

Are We There Yet?

Looking down at the puddles they were walking through, both with reasonably nice shoes, clothes that were virtually plastered to their slender frames, Mali smiled.

$he felt like a child playing in the rain and being led away by $er care giver, with tears and red eyes from a tantrum. What the tantrum was about? It was about a purple lollipop, she decided. Remembering an actual time they had run out of the purple ones at the doctors.

$he smiled an internal laughter and grin sprouting from inside out.

A sweet surrender to the elements. Letting go and just being in how $he felt and in the weather. With Cat leading the way. Lighter than in ages.

It felt like before with Cat, back to the day in Chiang Mai. Funny how going back to even just ambiguity felt so good.

They walked. And walked. Blocks, puddles, dodging mopeds whose second road was the sidewalk and even more so in rush hour rain. Which on many days was simply annoying if not frightening. But today seemed rather hilarious and special in its lawlessness. That was the best way Mali could understand $er feeling of being more alive in the ‘third world’ than $er own country. It reminded $er of the true fragility of life and the depth of feeling that seemed to have been paved over in the USA.

After a while and growing listless, in the child spirit which had overcome $er, spotting a big puddle Mali’s eyes widened and as they passed to it, and with all $er weight $he jumped into it, soaking Cat, in vein of course.

With her hands up in avoidance and a little scream, Cat succumbed to a laugh, shaking her head.

“No you don’t.”

She grabbed into her open bag and pulled out a small bottle of some sort of red soda. It didn’t take more than an instant for Mali to realize what was going to happen next.

“Nooooooo!” $he cringed, as the liquid met $er skin, smelling cherry, knowing how sticky this would be, but Cat was relentless until the bottle was empty, hair, back, front, down $er shirt for good measure, and tears were now flowing along with the mascara lines, down Cat’s laughing face.

People were passing, looking, questioning. A slender farang and a Thai woman, acting strange. As if it was Songkran (the Thai water festival). But it wasn’t. One by one, they entered Memory Erase mode and went on, never to recall the scene again.

Mali in $er own laughter, shaking $er head looked at Cat from the corner of $er eyes, “Cat, I don’t even care anymore how you take this,” $he paused to emphasize, “I love you. If it were up to me…” She said so lucidly and coherently it switched from the child-play context to something equally special but honest in depth, catching Cat off-guard.

That moment everything stopped. Cat’s mouth and jaw dropped. $he started getting it, the one and only way Cat could lose her perfect poise was whenever it hit close to home.

Mali stopped. No further words, shrugged and smiled as if in apology for the shock but not the content.

As Cat recovered her composure, which she noted seemed to be regularly necessary when Mali was around. She reached to Mali and pulled $er on with her right arm.

“I think we better get you somewhere where you can dry off. I think you’ve become delirious.”

The dismissal would have been a hard hit, especially from the fall from the clouds they were riding, except for the sideways look and wink smile Cat delivered with the message.

Magic.

Cat could feel something pushing up and above the surface of consciousness, almost through her.

Who was this Mali?

Am I right about Mali?

Really katoey?

Female inside?

What does it mean if I like it… enjoying getting close?

Right then surfaced the moment of that almost kiss at the pool with Koona. Unconsciously her smile and feeling of aliveness broadened. Something let go in her pelvis deep down that she had never felt before it seemed. It was freeing.

“Are we there yet?”

They had been walking for over twenty minutes and Mali had slipped back to fun-child mode. The warm humidity had started to take over again in the wake of the rain, making the feeling of $er wet clothes, hair and skin to be like a sticky paste.

“Right around the corner,” Cat smiled no-nonsense playing the parent par-excellence.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” shaking her head in good humor like a parent being tested.

They turned left and went half a block. They were now in front of a tall pristine white condominium tower which looked like marble. ‘Klong Toei Tower’ was the sign.

“What’s this?” Mali questioned.

“Home.”

“Are you serious???”

It was a disbelief that really shouldn’t have been by now. It was one of those skyrises. The one’s $he always saw and wondered about but from a distance. These buildings had a lot to do with the big city elite feeling of Bangkok. And $he’d never been inside one.

Yet another chapter in the unbelievable life of Cat.

“Yeah. Come on!” hurried Cat as she swiped her keycard. As they entered an open elevator waited.

She punched floor 44. At the top they exited and turned left. 4400. Somehow the even numbered ‘0’ unit made it so much more elegant than say, 4401. The thought passed through Mali’s ever active mind.

Cat opened the door and immediately discarded her shoes as Mali did the same. Not only a Thai custom to not wear shoes in the house - which was something Mali had been doing on her own for years - but tonight it was just common sense. Rain, city mud, muck, motorcycle grease, red soda…

“Let me see,” Cat pondered and seemed to come to a conclusion.

“I have two bathrooms. Assuming you don’t need a bathtub, why don’t you take the one here to the right,” she motioned down a little niche-like hall to the right after the entry, “I’ll use mine. I’ll bring you some clothes, okay?”

“Perfect!” was all Mali could say. $he could see beyond the foyer what looked like a treat. Being overwhelmed in new experiences and sensations once again with Cat, $er life shifted once again to a new version of surreal. Complete feast or complete famine and virtually no middle ground.

They parted and Mali entered the all white bathroom and began to draw a shower.

After a lot of warm water savoring, and liberal amounts of cherry soap and jasmine-coconut shampoo that looked and smelled good enough to eat, Mali exited the shower and wrapped a towel. Playing with $er hair, there was a light knock at the door “Are you decent?”

“It depends what you mean. But if you mean wrapped in a towel, yes!” $er words sending play and smile. It was funny how $he’d lost self-consciousness of $er voice, and at the same time $er true voice came more easily, feeling and sounding so much more authentic to $er.

Cat entered with a perfectly folded item which she held and fanned, “It’s one of my night shirts, if nothing else it should fit and be comfortable,” and then with a wink, she produced some cute boyshort panties, “and these, a bit too big for me but I bet fit you perfectly.”

Mali smiled and nodded. The cotton of the shirt felt heavenly soft as Cat passed it to $er. It seemed too to mean Cat was holding the door open to keeping $er there for a bit.

“Oh,” and as if from nowhere two additional items appeared, “Here’s a razor and cream.”

Mali broke into laughter, $he had forgotten about the stubble.

The items proffered spoke volumes.

“Okay okay. I know. Geesh!”

$he’d be happy to be rid of it, forever. A spark of warmth permeated through $er body, now clean and starting to feel once again normal. The feeling of the soft, plush white carpet under her feet was electric, $he rubbed them back and forth feeling the warm friction. $he had not done this since $er teenage years, and probably never had felt so warm, comfortable and protected since childhood. $he pinched $erself but it didn’t hurt at all, $he felt too good!

Mali caressed the white panties which were just as soft as the shirt. She could feel energy build between her legs. They would feel good, and $he slipped them on, tucked herself under, they fit hotly, from front and especially back as they perfectly emphasized her minimal but firm behind.

$he looked in the mirror, grabbed the comb and ran it through $er hair. $he looked cute. It worked. Taking advantage of the moisturizer on the counter $he had noticed earlier, $he coated $er face.

“Are you coming?” Cat whined from across the apartment, “You’re slower than a wom… geez, oh, okay,” she corrected herself. Mali shook $er head smiling.

Ready, $he opened $er door and made $er way.

Broken Rules

The main area of Cat’s apartment was bordered with windows. The combined kitchen-dining-living room looked out on the Sukumvit area of Bangkok and in the distance the park they’d been at. Sparkling evening lights, the inching along of cars on roads and bypasses in the distance, punctuated by those in sibling buildings near and far. Drops of light rain spattered on and off against the outside glass making all out there seem like a snow globe -- Thailand version.

Cat was in the open kitchen at the far left side of the expansive room. Apparently a corner unit. At the far end of the kitchen was a bar-counter all lined with windows on the far wall. Another counter, the main cooking one, closer to $er creating a divider to what could have been a living and dining room but purposed only as living space with a whole bunch of plush white pillows strewn around.

Mali stood in awe. It was the full package and then some. The place, and then Cat, in a white camisole and black leggings, hair pinned up stood at the counter island washing something in the sink. Mali shook $er head just observing, Cat not registering $er presence emerging from the hall at the other end of the room.

The perfect woman.

Whatever had been surreal already was not ending. She pinched herself again and $he knew $he was doing it… but it didn’t hurt at all. It was like being with Cat soothed and strengthened $er.

It was not like such surroundings were totally out of her league.

She had lived - as ‘he’ - for several years in an apartment in San Diego several stories up and up a hill, overlooking the Pacific Beach ocean. Falling asleep to the sound of waves and the treasure of the cool tinge of the ocean breeze in the late afternoon and evening were familiar and everyday occurrences. Long walks after work to decompress on the beach. Even learning to surf. It was not that she was not accustomed to good things.

But since leaving ‘grace’ in San Diego, following after this inside ‘$er’, not so much. Such occasions since then were more based on perhaps a company location in a high rise in NYC or being invited to the penthouse of acquaintances of friends.

But since imploding - self described words - ‘his’ life there, it had been on and off. $he made less money overall but more per hour. $he could have made more. But that wasn’t important to $er. But the rules were changed, and it was not about that anymore. Things that seemed to matter before - like building a career and a life, even having a home, a space in $er life for a woman to enter, no longer had the thrill and hold on her.

What was the point?

Partly from disappointment in the relationships ‘he’ had had, but also that $he couldn’t stop on this feminine path.

Something in $er longed for the security and comfort again that $he had had. Being beloved by her employer, working hard - sometimes to exhaustion - but for something. The last years too had been hard work, but for no one but herself.

A code mercenary.

With the purpose just to figure $erself out, continue the path and carry on.

“Do you know how many rules I’ve broken for you today?”, Cat broke Mali out of $er trip down memory lane Cat's space had inspired.

“Uh… shall I imagine and count?”, Mali smiled, “But do friends break rules for friends? I thought that was a dating thing…”

Busted.

“Well, lets just say on external appearances. If you were a guy and I a girl. Or if you being a girl. Same difference.”

Or is it Cat... really?

“If we were into each other.”

Their eyes locked for a long moment.

“Keep going, so you were going to count?” Cat saved herself.

“You do it. They’re your rules!”

“I am not sure even I can count. Lets see…”

“Being snippy in the clinic,” she thought about it, “no, that’s not really a rule, only being a bitch… I’m usually anti-bitch, you know…”

“Ah, but, being a pest in the park to you to get you to wake up,”

“Holding arms and embracing in the park. You know decent Thai people don’t do that?!”

“Leading you like a child,” Cat laughed, “again, arm in arm,”

"Pouring soda down my shirt!" Mali exclaimed.

Cat smiled widely in response, “bringing you home.”