– Ray Bradbury
I love Ray Bradbury and I also love that lewd geeky song* and, I have to agree, this window and jumping business is right. Sometimes you even have to build a bloody window in order to do that. Take a huge blunt instrument - like a hammer, a sledgehammer or Mjolnir itself in its mythological or Marvel comics glory - and break the bubble of your comfort zone, make a hole in your room and call it a window, then escort yourself out, falling while the drums are gracefully joined by the trumpets, as you surprise yourself, falling, falling in awe of the tremendous power of your actions.
Because it is a surprise, innit? "I can't believe I'm doing this", "Haha, look at me, I'm mad, I must be mad..". You don't have to be mad, doing something revolutionary, compared to your usual standards, is something justified and good. DON'T get me wrong, I don't mean something like "oh, gosh, I just set my wife on fire, look at me, gawd, I hated the bitch and I feel liberated!". That'd be a perfectly wrong example of what I'm trying to say, believe me....
I was quiet lately, not because I wasn't doing things, I was and I promise I'll catch up with posting my Doctor Who posters here, it's just that I couldn't write and upload and all those Blogger things. I uploaded things on my Facebook page, I started a video blog just out of curiosity. And I thought a lot. I had to take several deep breaths and exhale lots of air. I had to organize things, unseemingly, think of possible flaws in the plan, research, call people, arrange meetings - oh, SO many people - and of course there was also room for guilt, oh guilt, you little slut... But I didn't play with that little slut now, I abstained, because I can't let her rule my life.
December to me is still a blur. I had a friend over, watched SO many musicals, carried lots of stuff, gave my cat away to that friend, bought tickets of sorts, had the most amazing Christmas meeting of my Doctor Who fan group, met LOTS of people, I saw my family house for the last time, I gifted and sold lots of my things.
January as well, was a blur, but I know it was a painful looooong blur, whoops, it's gone now, gone, possibly the most introspective month of my life, as I was writing the longest letter of my life. I don't write letters. I've never written a long letter and, also, not one talking about my feelings (the letters to my girlfriend don't count). I've never written a letter to my parents. Before. I had to stop while writing it, because I couldn't see, there were tears running down my cheeks that I hadn't realized I had to shed, I couldn't see and something was being ripped out of my chest, my heart, as it felt like, and then I'd have to stop writing for some days so as to drink and smoke (other things I don't do) and sigh and sleep so as to heal. Such an ordeal, a stupid letter in Greek. I don't even speak Greek if I don't really have to...
During February (it's still Febryary, funny syntax) I left my house, travelled south, met friends, saw my cat. One of my friends now is angry at me because facing the truth is more difficult. I understand it but I can't justify it. If you're reading this, I'm angry at you as well, but I'll never discuss it. It doesn't even matter now, but you've hurt me. I had all those things in my head and you had to guilt-trip me as well. I am entitled to having a life, taking the reigns. That's all I'll ever say.
I had the tastiest sushi in my life in a house in Patisia and I also learned, or rather confirmed, that my brother is the most amazing and understanding siblign anyone could have. May your siblings be like that, I really wish they are.
I don't know what will happen tomorrow, it's when my parents will most likely receive this gargantuan letter of 14 pages filled with the truth, hard flinty truths, rocks I used to carry for decades. I abandoned my studies on a subject I was never interested, I told them I am transgender, a son, not a daughter, and I left the country. I explained the reasons, the secrets, all the little details. I think they won't ever appreciate this tearing open of my soul to them. So be it.
I was never into taking risks. Never. I never gamble. But when you run out of options you have to. So that it doesn't look like you don't have options left. You always have options.
As I stare out of the window at the rainy, quiet Lancaster street, I hope this small town - with the lovely L and the NC and the STER that I like so much - will become my town and England my country, my home. I never had a home.
Somehow the cloudy sky soothes me. I have no regrets. My hammer served me well. I'll walk on this land dusting my shoulders and mending my new wings accompanied by the sounds of drums and trumpets.
*: this video:
