Also, I find it so fascinating when people can connect their daily experiences to a particular culture…and not just traumatic childhood experiences. I’m feeling more and more like I had a relatively whitewashed childhood…

My friend Alok wrote a powerful piece on the politics of family in queer South Asian culture. With an impending visit to see my mother (whom I haven’t seen—and have barely spoke to—in five years), I’ve been thinking more about how I navigate the aforementioned politic. As a Black American, and also a military brat with few connections to blood relatives, I feel a desperate sense of isolation and otherness when it comes to the concept of “family.” Tying in with Alok’s thoughts, “coming out” for me was less about leaving someone/something behind in search of someone/something “better,” and more about being visible in spaces where I didn’t exist anyway. Perhaps I was running at one point, and now that I have found my niche in the Universe I am returning “home” (to my mother) to confront her as her worst nightmare. I’m her only child. She can’t really get rid of me. And I can’t get rid of her. So, thus beginscontinues the work. Except…the importance of family is not actually important to me because I never had one.

More thoughts to come later.

I’m starting to understand why people do long distance relationships. The Black queergay “community” in DC is entirely too small. Everyone knows everyone and the drama is unreal. I refuse to deal.

Someone come cuddle with me via Skype.

Should I stop having expectations so that I’m never disappointed?

An old friend used to tell me that I needed to learn not to stress over life and just let it happen. I never liked that idea. We only live once. Why shouldn’t we be committed to making the most of of that one chance? Why should we just let things happen and act as if we have no control over them? Life is going to happen as it will, but it’s our lives. Which means we have control, even if only a bit. Decisions we make impact our future. I’d like to make decision that will lead to a happier future. I’m tired of always feeling sad. I just want to make good decisions.

I hate having no clue about what sort of career, if any, I’d like to pursue. The lack of awareness means I have no idea where to focus my energy.

When I know what I want to do, I do it with ease. When I transitioned, I knew what I wanted and made it happen in two years. When I wanted to escape my mother, I did the same and was free in 10 months. When I transferred colleges and moved to a new city alone, I pulled it off in 6 months. But with the rest of my life (allegedly)? I have no idea what I want to do.

So I sleep. And waste time. And hate myself. Because while everyone around me seems to know what they’re working toward, I’m stuck at a job I hate, attending a school that offers nothing for me (because I don’t know what I need from it), in a city I loathe. Trying to make ends meet for some nonexistent goal. Not following through on any ideas because I don’t have a support network.


Apparently my queerphobic parents have been watching—and love—Orange Is The New Black. Which means there might be hope. Except now they’ve probably got this very normative idea of what trans “looks like” and will expect me to be butch. Meanwhile, I wore heels to the White House last night…

(SN: I told my coworker about said heel-wearing and she said, “Oh, so you be dressing like them queens?” But it wasn’t in a rude way. She really thought that was the right language. I’m sure not if I was offended. Because hi, I’m Queen Shaan. So.)

As I navigate this new femme, genderqueer space, it has been very interesting to realize that I am never safe. Usually, I am perceived as a (Black) woman and catcalled. If/When I speak up, my voice leads people to gender me as a (Black) (gay) man and I then encounter homophobia.

Also, the erasure is real. And the struggle to navigate sexuality when you lack a gender in a gay city is…. *exasperated sigh*

Liberation is not very liberating.