BOOK EXCERPT | If there were a checkbox on a form – sex, male or female – I would check naturally “female”. When I look at myself in the mirror, I see myself a woman, although clearly I can see the male parts.
I am pre-op by the way, not to suggest that a surgery is my ultimate goal, or that I would have an operation in the future. So without feminine parts, in spite of my having my male parts, I still see myself as a woman, so that is how I define my gender – I am a woman. I am a woman who is sexually attracted to men.
I think I was five; I loved to – I hate to use this term – crossdress; I would wear my mom’s clothes, wear her make-up, shoes. That was about four and five. No one ever, none that I can remember at least, none of my family members, my uncles, not my mom herself, chastised me for wearing those clothes.
No one ever said, “You should not wear these clothes because they are women’s clothes,” nothing like that. I would not say they encouraged it, but they never punished me for wearing women’s clothes. If anything, they loved putting those clothes on me every once in a while. I could pass as a girl.
I was never beaten up by my parents for crossdressing or for being different. Although my dad on more than a couple of occasions said to me, “Toughen up, be a man, stop being such a sissy,” he would never hit me.
He would correct my posture, for example, like “sit straight, and uncross your legs” and stuff like that. I think the worst experience was possibly with my cousins asking my mom, “Auntie auntie, kenapa anak auntie macam pondan?”
My mom would take no offence because it was just her own nephews and nieces, and so she would just keep quiet. I was sad, angry, mortified, but I was made to believe that is who I am, a 'pondan', and I have no rights to retaliate. So I would also just keep quiet. I did not stand up for myself.
I tried not to move around too much, even in our own house, to not reveal myself too much when other people were around or whenever I visited my relatives. I would not even attempt making small conversation.
The less I interacted, the lesser the chances of them asking weird questions. I felt bad for my mom. I blamed myself mostly because I felt sorry for her having to go through all that because I was different.
I did not feel that she had to stand up for me, because I could not stand up for me. I never did really, not with my family and relatives. I never felt compelled to stand up for myself.
I did not tell them, like, “You’re so ignorant and you don’t know that there are people like me,” because somehow I was well-informed. That sounds conceited, but I know who I am.
It would have been counterproductive explaining to them who I am. So I decided to take the high road and would usually reply, “Oh, okay really?” to their “Kenapa lembut?” Sarcastically.
Different from other boys
When I was in primary school, no one bullied me or said anything, because my mom was one of the teachers there. And even though I was clearly different from other boys, I was more effeminate than all the other boys, no one dared to say or do anything to me.
But when I had to go to secondary school, I was for some reason sent to an all-boys’ boarding school. Even then, I was not the only effeminate boy in that school. Each of us would have a “pet brother”, an abang angkat, a senior who would take in a junior, under the pretext of mentoring the junior.
Sometimes, each year, it would be a different “pet brother”. Some would actually respect the boundaries of “mentoring”, but for most, the relations were very sexual in nature, about pleasing the seniors, oral sex, blowjobs and stuff like that.
I was 20 when I realised that I was a woman. It was gradual in nature, by stages. I’ve always known that I was different. First of all, I grew up being different, I grew up knowing I was different.
And I had come to terms that I was different, even at that young age, until I was sent to the boarding school. The five years that I was there, I was brainwashed into thinking that being different is bad, being different is wrong.
If you were born with male parts, you have to act like a boy. So it was a really confusing time for me, being in secondary school. I identified as a boy at the time because of all the pressure.
But I am thankful that I had a good support system. I had my friends, people like me, they were my rock, they really supported me through the years, through my high school years.
They helped me feel less confused, they were my support whenever I got bullied. High school was hell. The bullying, the taunting, the making fun of you for being different, for being effeminate, for not conforming.
It was bad enough that we were 13 years old and vulnerable, and we were away from our families, with a poor support system. Being juniors, we were prone to being bullied by the seniors, let alone being junior and different, so that was how much more vulnerable I was.
So we were pretty much bullied as juniors, indiscriminately bullied for just being juniors. In the sense that you were made to wash their clothes, buy drinks for them from the canteen, or clean their rooms, stuff like that.
So one of the defence mechanisms for this, for not being bullied, is to align yourself, to be a jambu of a really prominent senior, because that way, other people would be afraid to bully you.
So that is why the 'jambu abang angkat adik angkat' system comes in handy. It is a defence mechanism, more than anything else. But the main point is, being a junior, Form One, in an all-boys’ boarding school, puts you at risk of being bullied, makes you vulnerable to be bullied by the seniors.
So it was a tough time for me, as I was not only a junior but I was different. So having friends who were like-minded helped me so much. But even for that, for being a support system for each other, for coming together as a group, we were given a hard time.
We would be called all sorts of names. Words like 'pondan' and 'bapuk', 'sotong'. Whenever we walked past them, they would tell us to “jalan keras lagi”, make fun of the way we walked, made catcalls.
People had a hard time understanding me, people like me. They would avoid contact with me, because I was different. I was beaten up once by my seniors. I was only 13.
I tried to cover up my bruises, to hide the fact that the incident happened, because if any of the teachers had found out, I would have been targeted for selling out. Disclosing what happened to me is a bigger threat.
I had to look out for my own survival, so I had to keep all that happened to me under wraps. After that incident, I was approached by a senior to be his 'adik angkat'. Even though my relations with him were completely platonic – he would just peck me on the cheeks – it confirmed my attraction towards men. I was 13 then.
First relationship
My first serious relationship was with a Malaysian, even though I was out of the country. He saw himself as a straight guy and me, at that time, as a gay boy. And he would say to me that it would be so much easier if I were a woman.
Our relationship hit a rough patch and it ended, but it made me think that maybe I am not a boy and I am not gay. When it comes to romantic relationships, sex for me is part of that. My gay friends do not relate to that as much, compared to my female friends.
They do not relate that well to the idea of a monogamous relationship. That is why I thought to myself, maybe I am not gay.
I relate better to my girlfriends, I can easily hang out with them, I am comfortable around them, they’re comfortable around me, so that is when I started to realise that maybe I am a woman, that I could possibly be a woman.
I used to shop in the men’s department for clothes, but I would unconsciously choose the more feminine styles, the more androgynous-looking designs. Once, I was shopping and I was directed to the women’s section.
I was shopping for a top, and the salesperson said, “I’m sorry miss, you are in the wrong department, those are for men, women’s are this way, women’s clothes are this way.”
That was my defining moment, because I was still struggling with my identity. But when that salesperson acknowledged me, identified me as female, that was when I knew that I could definitely pass as a woman, and fully dress in women’s clothes.
I was about 20 or 21 years old then. With my mum, it is a little bit tricky, tricky in the sense that we never talked about it, we never discussed about it, even until now. We never had a proper sitdown conversation, an adult conversation about my identity.
But I never hid my identity from her. I would put on my make-up in front of her, she knows I wear women’s clothes, she knows I lead my life as a woman, and she knows this is my identity. But we had never talked about it, and she still refers to me as her son.
It is actually my decision to not discuss the matter with her, because I know her character, she is a very sensitive woman. She would feel that if I discuss this, then this is real.
I mean this is the whole Malay culture thing where when things are unspoken, things are not real. So it is better to keep her in the dark because she has brought this up on a couple of occasions.
She would often say to me that she’s not happy with the way I lead my life. That she’s not happy with the way I am spending my money, like when she sees me buying my make-up and clothes and shoes.
She would say, “It’s a waste of money,” “It’s a waste of resources,” “It’s a waste of time.”
Then she would often ask, “What are you doing with your money?” But my gender identity was never explicitly addressed, like she never asked bluntly, “Why are you dressed like a woman?”
She said that my actions were irrational, that they are erratic, “Tidak munasabah” in her words. We would usually argue over these things when I fail to give her enough money every month. My father passed away when I was 18, so dad’s approval never factored into my becoming a woman, to be who I am.
My mother understands now what I do with my money. When we had our arguments, she used to live very far away from me, but now, she sees how I live daily.
She understands that I do not earn much, but she also sees how I am accepted by my friends, and that I am functional in society, that I actually have a career, that I can actually be who I am, be myself, and contribute to society. She no longer worries about how I spend my money.
I am very considerate about how comfortable other people are around me, so often, I would dress androgynously. For example, the first few months at my current workplace, I again dressed androgynously to work.
I had a good, long talk with the director, the director of my workplace. He said, “You are free to express yourself, you are free to dress as yourself, so do not mind so much about the society because we accept who you are, here.” So, I started reverting to crossdress again, or however people would like to see my dressing.
I go to private doctors for my health needs. They seem sensitised. They would look at my IC and then ask me, “Okay, so what shall we call you?” Sometimes, they would just give me a number and call out the number.
Often, I would get the usual, quizzical, puzzled looks, but I would always try to choose who I see for my health needs, people whom I know who are more knowledgeable about people like me; who are more sensitised.
Once I had to see a psychiatrist here in Malaysia, because I was depressed. But he was okay, he was quite sensitised.
The first time I went through depression was when I was out of the country, and it was because of my academic studies, because I had lost interest in what I was studying, and my grades were just average. I was a perfectionist at the time.
I did not feel worthy if I did not score straight A’s. When I started achieving average scores, I began to question my self-worth. It was a matter of values.
Personally, as far as identity on my papers is concerned, I am more than happy to retain whatever is stated on my identity card because in my belief, in my opinion, my ID card doesn’t make me less of a woman.
I am not defined by my ID; I am not defined by other people’s perception. I define myself as what I see in the mirror, I define myself as to who I am, and that is more than good enough for me.
I am more than happy to have “male” on my ID or passport, as long as I do not have any problems with immigration when I travel or with the police or any other authorities for that matter.
At peace with myself
I am usually harassed by taxi drivers. The worst I had to experience was this one night, I was coming back from work, a little bit after midnight. So, I hailed a taxi.
A taxi driver stopped and picked me up. I said, “Please take me back to my place.” I gave him additional directions, and he turned around and looked at me. He said, “Oh, uh, can you sit in front please?” I naively said yes for some reason.
I sat in front, next to him; he said, “Could you please go down on me?” Yeah, he asked me to give him a blowjob. I said, “No, I am not interested. Please do not ask me to do this.
“Please take me back to my place or just, you know, I’ll pay you whatever you need, just stop and let me off.” “No, I do not need your money; I need you to give me a blowjob,” that’s what he said insistently.
So, he had one hand on the steering wheel, and the other hand on my hand pushing on his penis, all this while he was driving. I resisted. He stopped for a while, and pulled over at one point. It was a really dark place, he pulled over and he asked me to go down on him again.
I said no. The doors were all locked, so I could not go out. It was really dark; it was about 12 or 1 at that time.
I pleaded and I cried. I said, “Please send me back home. I don’t do this, please don’t force me into doing this, and I don’t, because I just don’t do this, period.” The thing that hurt me the most was that he said, “Oh, I thought you are like this.”
“And I thought all of you enjoy giving blowjobs to men. You are the first trans person I encountered that is like you. All the other mak nyahs that I have encountered would just go down on me.”
I said, “No, I do not enjoy giving blowjobs to strangers.” When I started crying, I think he started to panic and he said, “Okay, okay, I’ll send you home.”
The way I see it is that I am at peace with myself, and God will judge me based on the rules that God set.
I think God is very forgiving and God is very tolerant, and God is very accepting of differences, of variances, of diversity, because if we are to believe in the creation of God, why did God make us, why the differences, why the variances?
God created us in God’s image, for lack of a better explanation. Essentially, that’s how I see it, and the rest are all man-made problems.
That is how I see it. So when I die, I would be already at peace with myself, so the rest, whatever happens after, is what the living decides. And that is none of my concern, which is their decision. And I am not judged for what will happen after I die.
This is just one of the many stories featured in 'Mata Hati Kita - The Eyes of Our Hearts' edited by Angela M Kuga Thas and Jac SM Kee, a collection which invites readers to witness the lives of lesbians, bisexual women and trans people and which speaks of our shared struggles of being human, of loving, of living for oneself and of living for others.
'Mata Hati Kita' can be purchased at Gerakbudaya's PJ bookstore, online at www.gerakbudaya.com and is soon to be released in eBook format at www.gerakbudayaebooks.com.
My husband beats me, just like any woman
