I’m not sure why I felt compelled to participate in the Transgender Day of Remembrance celebration planning, but it has improved my perspective on life.
For the Transgender Day of Remembrance, PRIDE held a candlelight ceremony on Tuesday, November 20. We gathered at Bolin Fountain to lament the murders of the 26 transgender and gender-nonconforming people in the previous year, despite the chilly breeze and the Festival of Lights event taking place 1, 000 feet away. In their pride, we gathered LED lamps and rose and read the names of each victim.
I believed I was happy with my identity before I assisted with the vigil’s planning. I frequently vacillated between the names of transgender and genderqueer because I knew that I was gender-nonconforming in some way. I was happy with that for a while, but something about the Transgender Day of Remembrance research and organizing brought back long-buried emotions and memories.
At least 47 % of Transgender people who had a known predator this past year were murdered by someone who was near to them. Since the deaths of transgender and gender non-conforming people are frequently not reported,” At least” is the key word in that statement.
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I consider myself incredibly fortunate that most of the hatred I’ve encountered has been moderate. Nothing has ever descended into violence, despite sarcastic remarks, perplexed looks, and the occasional poor joke made at my cost. Despite this, I have undoubtedly encountered circumstances that could have immediately deteriorated.
My father is a sea senior and was born in Arkansas, so it would be an understatement to say that anyone would object to me questioning my gender identity.
He discovered my TikTok account a few months ago, which would not have been an issue if only half of the information was not me wearing male pull. The fact that my profile read” Bisexual, Genderfluid” at the time only made matters worse.
My blood froze as soon as I realized he had discovered my account, and I awaited his eviction from my youth house. My thoughts immediately went to all the folks I might be able to contact if that were to occur. It became a big burden to bear the horrifying discovery that I was residing in an isolated, small-town area.
I avoided my father for a full month while waiting for any sign that he understood that I was female neutral. I was waiting casually for the day when he would expel me while packing a case.
That evening never materialized. I’m still unsure of whether my father is aware of my real personality but has n’t said anything or if he really is unaware. That scares me more than his blatantly ejecting me, for some reason.
Looking back today, I see how extraordinarily fortunate I am. The trans and gender-nonconforming community’s additional people are not as fortunate. Some people experience verbal, real, and sexual abuse.
In the end, I believe that was the primary motivation behind my involvement in the light celebration for the Transgender Day of Remembrance. It served as a means of monitoring the trans community in both life and death. The trans community is frequently disregarded and treated as if we are merely a number. They fail to recognize the intricate individuals we are.
Each transgender person has a distinct story to tell, but through shared experience, we can better understand and communicate with one another. In a world that either corrects or totally ignores our presence, these tales keep us connected and give us the impression that we are being noticed.
