Being a confused child about sexual orientation and gender identity, you can be confused on who to look up to. Being closeted can also be a struggle as you have nobody to share too, you have yourself and yourself only.
Gay culture in the Philippines has some strict standards on how you have to be. If you’re feminine, you have to be pretty, if not you have to be funny. If you’re masculine, you have to be hot, and if you’re not, you’ll be left in the dirt with no hope. Growing up feminine and noy exactly attractive was very damaging. Being a ground to earth person meant I don’t fit into those stereotypes. I had to put on a façade that I was always happy and funny.
And that’s when the art of writing comes in. It was my escape, a made-up fantasy so I could see myself through the eyes of an idealistic reality I wanted to live.
“I struggle, we all struggle, but realize what your struggle is.”
My name’s Angel. I’m a trans woman living in New York City, the home to bustling cars, city lights, very vulgar drivers, lots of rats, and one-dollar pizzas. It really doesn’t live up to the hype people say it is. There are a lot of people suffering, sleeping in alleys, hustling any way they can in the piers. I used to be one of them, and here’s how I first thought I escaped it. It was 1983, it was freezing cold outside. I was on my way to hustle; it was the only thing I could do at the time. Try finding work as a trans woman in the eighties, while surviving off of ramen packets; warm if you’re lucky. I wore my fur coat I invested $20 in with a cheap nightgown in a matching lavender color that was slightly warmer of a shade underneath. I was wearing my favorite white boots, but they got wet from the damp wood the piers were made of.
There wasn’t exactly a schedule for girls with the same work as me, as long as it was dark and late. You’d get picked up by white rich men fast. But this time I was in a rush; my girlfriends were a lot earlier to the spot than me. I ran as fast as I could in this dimly lit street I always walk by, its scary but you get used to it. I was holding the other side of my fur coat as I ran, it was cold, breezy, and I felt the cold wind whoosh through my skin and hair. My boots made the sound of loud clunking but it was muffled because of the wet wood. I felt a strong gust of wind completely flowing my hair, and for a moment I stopped and inhaled the cold. Even though I smoke I always love the way the cold air flushing through my lungs.
I snapped back from my melancholy moment and saw my girlfriends waiting for me, they were all waving at me as they stood by the light pole as one of them puffs a cigarette with the smoke following the air their hands were making. I smiled and rushed over, making big steps so I can get their faster. Smiling and tucking my hair behind my ear and I say “Hey dolls!”. Us trans sisters say dolls to each other, it’s just the way we speak. Talia blows out a smoke as she holds her cigarette away from her mouth and she says in an energetic tone “Girl… we’ve been waiting for you. You went home early yesterday and you missed this guy asking for you! He’s right over there waiting!” as she points out to a man in this business suit sitting in his car with this demure music with his hands resting on the wheel staring at me and my friends. I turn around away from the wind as it blows through the coils of my hair. I slowly walk up to this car with its window only halfway down, he looks at me and smiles. I look at him with a straight face and I said with a strong tone “Its fifty for the night, twenty for thirty minutes.”. He gives me a warm smile and looked right at my eyes and says “Alright, fifty.”, I look back at my friends giving them the signal to call the police if they don’t see me come home tomorrow as a joke, laughing. Even if this guy was a serial killer, I knew I didn’t have a single hope for the police saving or finding me, people like me are the last priority.
I look back at the guy in his seat, eyeing him up and down. He was clearly flushed and nervous at my presence. I thought it was cute, he didn’t look bad either, he was tall, pale, and his hair was probably undone from a hairstyle he was wearing earlier his day. He looked at me but he looked down as if he was scared to look at my eyes as if he wasn’t looking directly at me earlier. He uttered shakingly “Y-you’re very beautiful...”, I thought it was stupid but adorable. “You do know I’m transexual right?” I asked him as I tilted my head looking at him smirking. He finally looked me in the eye and said “It’s what I admire about you, it’s like you’re free being you and its amazing. I’ve always envied that.”. I took a deep sigh and looked away for a moment staring at the road, almost blanking out. I say in a calm tone, “What is there to envy? You do know how lucky you are right? You’re white, you have a job, you have a house. I’m here selling my soul to you people to get what, scraps?” I said without tearing up, I’ve always made a point on this so I’m desensitized to the idea that this is what I am; this is what I’ll have to do. He looked down in silence for a moment recollecting what I just said. I look back at him, seeing him turn pale then slowly go red. “Please, get out.”, I look at him confused. “Please get out!” He shouts as I arch my brow, opening the car door and stepping out like he wanted. He speeds off, his car blowing smoke to my face as I just stand dumbfounded. Finally, the cold air blows once again on my face as I look up and stare at the stars. I whisper to myself, “I guess were going hungry again tonight.”.
