//I wrote this letter to my dear friend Ben. I find writing letters the most enjoyable of them all. A mirror is held up and truth is welcomed. Write more letters my friends, to yourself, to your lovers, to your parents… //
Dear Ben,
I am writing to you on a sunny Spring day in New Mexico. Summer is close. The flowers in the garden are blooming, light lilac color sprinkled in the lush green. I had a hard time loving flowers. They seemed weak and frivolous. When you spend most of your life in the dark fighting, it is easy to forget that life contains color, beauty and tenderness. I want to live a full life. I suspect a full life includes colors, beauty and tenderness.
I lived my life as if I were in a man’s body. I climbed trees and scraped my knees. I pretended I was so tough that no one could hurt me. I studied my male friends closely. They would spread themselves on any flat surface with confidence and ease. I mimicked their body language hoping I would be accepted as a man. I desperately wanted to be as carefree as they seemed. I wanted to be a man!
My period visited at a healthy age. I gasped at the sight of blood dripping in between my legs. The horror and the shame! The mystery of womanhood began then. Much of my early womanhood, I denied the fact that I am in a woman’s body.
How was it for you? Being in a male body? What’s that like for you? I can picture you making swift and blanket statements about how awkward it was for everyone. I don’t care about everyone. What was it like for you?
I am growing my hair out. Every month near my period, I want to shave my head off. I still don’t fully understand this urge. My hair is beautiful. Why so much hostility with looking feminine? The answer is easy. I learned to equate femininity with weakness. Weak men/women can’t and won’t take responsibilities for their own lives. I am not weak. I am the strongest person I know. I want to build a life of my own. That was and is the blazing desire I know intimately. The fire protected me and pushed me to grow.
I keep telling everyone that you are the smartest person I know. That’s true. You are also the kindest. I like you. You worry about me. My hyper awareness of the Exit light in life makes you nervous. I am sorry about that. I know being alive is great. I know thinking about death isn’t always a fruitful exercise. I know how much you would like me to stop spending time on unnecessary thought exercises. You want me to enjoy life. You are a great friend.
I am. I am on the side of life. I am writing – something I will do for as long as I am here. The other day, I was hiking and thought about how I would feel if I could no longer share a pizza with you. My chest tightened. I need to talk about retirement plans with you. I need to tell you my laughable dating tales. I want to hear your judgmental comments about everything. I need to share tshirt design ideas with you. I need to be able to hug you and knock your chin with my shoulder when I do. I need to see your dazzling hand gestures and hear the sound effects when you speak. I need to know where the center of gravity is in life. I hope we will be friends until we die. I don’t have anyone like you. I only have one Ben.
I don’t know how you would describe me when I die. Tell them the truth. You know how I would describe you. The smartest and kindest.
Love,
Xiaoyu
