I had just come home, this dark winter night, from an enjoyable - and educational - outing. I wanted to relax, so I stowed away into my room and shut the door. I wanted a little me time. So I hopped onto a chair in front of my desk, and woke my computer from its three-hour rest.
The Internet had long been a source of comfort for me, especially in dark or trying times. Tonight was yet another of those. I browsed through some forums, and posted a little, but I wasn't enjoying myself too terribly much. However, an old idea grew in my mind. I hadn't done one particular thing on the Internet for a while: it had been an age since I last read some good, heart-warming, fictional story with a transgender character as its star.
I decided to go along with this idea. It probably wouldn't hurt like non-fiction does, and I used to enjoy it, so there was little reason not to! I loaded the site up, and found an old story that I had read a long time ago. I opened it up, and flipped through the virtual pages, and I was taken over and over by such overwhelming nostalgia. It was as if my life was suddenly the plot for a new science fiction movie, because I felt like I had been transported back in time. The story kept true to real life in many respects, but I wasn't bothered to analyze how realistic the story really was - I was home, and nothing else.
Reading that story was a wonderful way to revisit my past. However, I suppose it was a shame that the story had to end, because when it did I just started running comparisons through my head, and tried to understand who I was in the past, who I was in the present, and why one had to become the other. I realized that I had become unhappy with not just my transition, but my life as a whole.
When I was younger, I never believed in magic ... but the optimistic hope I had, the motivation to see that hope through, and the imagination to 'know' what would happen with my life and transition in advance was a special kind of magic that I never realized I had - at least, not until it was too late to do so. I became disenchanted, and I lost my magic without a fight.
I really regret that I haven't blossomed into a beautiful woman the way my fourteen-year-old self had hoped I would. Her expectations were very reasonable, and they did not change throughout the years, but perhaps the mistake was creating expectations to begin with. Or maybe the optimism was the mistake. After all, "realism" is what most people try to lead their lives with. In any case, I just wish I could apologize to my younger self for being a disappointment... because I have lived up to precious few of her hopes thus far.
I will do my best to rekindle that hope, and fulfil my old dreams. Maybe some day, I'll have become something that would make me proud.
(Just needed to spill my brain a little... I apologize if I was too depressing.)
