I go by name Quinn, as in Tarquin. The name stuck with me since the moment I realized the truth: I’m transgender. I didn’t know it as in “oh, I’m wrong sex”, I knew it as in “oh, this isn’t right, and you comparing me to this male character oddly feels more right than anything else, ever”. The fact that I won’t be able to change my name to Tarquin in the nearest future saddens me a lot, since my passport will soon need a change, and therefor whole situation would be real cheap. Those who know why I want a name change – few encouraged me to go for Quinn as full name, since that is considered female name. But truth is, in Lithuania you’d get an end to the name to actually feminize it. So I can take Tarquin, they’ll simply make me feminize it, since it goes along with my birth certificate. And I’m not willing to have a name change just so I have to change it again in the future. It has to be done once and for all.
Because I’m not confused, and I don’t see why some people who are completely unaffected – are.
“Solution for gender confusion: look into your pants.” – see, that’s not a problem trans people have. We don’t have to look into our pants to tell you what gender we are. It’s you who refuse to take in simple truths in life. To many people like me whole sex change, as gruesome as it is, is more of a final aesthetic, than “fulfillment”, since every human being comes along a time in his or her life where they feel better with this and not that. Say, a haircut, beard, hair color, clothes style, make-up, etc. To others it’s the final dot on an i. A final statement of “I am who I am, and my lifestyle requires this”. To put it simple: you can choose whether to go to the mall in PJ’s, or to put on some pants for the task.
It may sound stupid when I call genitalia “lifestyle” piece, but think about it. You live your life as a gender you were defined as, right? So imagine one day you wake up with wrong stuff in your pants. All else is just the same, except for that thing. It affects everything, your walking, talking, body language, even the way you dress. And if you are completely certain, and never ever questioned what you are, then I invite you to do and try: how come you are completely certain you are the gender that is in your pants? You were raised that? doctors told you that? society tells you that every day? How do you know?
I think I was 16 or so when I was told I remind someone of Tarquin Blackwood. And it cut like a knife. Because something was wrong in my life all that time. I was told I’m too boyish before, but I’d usually just put my horns up saying “oh so boys should do this and girls should do that?” stuff. But truth was simple, I just was what I was, and some knew it better than I did. It took a while to accept it. I seriously thought it’s a mental thing. And the fact that ten years after this is the first time I’m speaking of this loud in public is nuts.
My family doesn’t know it, and I don’t see a reason to tell them. Especially since it’s not a safe place for me to come out. Most my friends don’t know it either, I guess some just think I’m on a more queer side, with the way I allow myself to dress up the way I want to, rather than the way I “should”, how I go about my hair, and all the other little stuff that people might notice. And most of those people who don’t know – won’t find out from this post either, because when I said that no one cares about me the way I care about others is true. I know some wonderful people, but they’re as rare as rhinos. And going extinct at same rate too, killed off by other, far more disgusting breed of humans.