nicole @nicole@myna.social

One of my all-time favorite Chibi photos.

It’s a lifelong art project, being a bad Japanese student. I’m really good at it.

Back in California, where the food isn’t quite as sumptuous, but there’s a little dō who jumps for joy when she sees me.

I may or may not have basically danced all the way from the bar back to my airbnb last night while listening to Future Nostalgia. I blame the sport peppers in my Vesper.

Tonight is my last night in Chicago. I’ve avoided it for two weeks, but, if only for old times’ sake, I think I have to have a PBR.

🫣

Also, a weak michelada. 😩

Today’s Chicago lunch was sourced from Big Star, a fairly well-regarded local institution.

I’m an absolute snob when it comes to Mexican food. Color me Not Impressed. I’ve had better; I’ve had better in Chicago; I’ve had better in Chicago on this trip.

Okay, time to shower, walk to the panaderia, buy some coffee and marranitos (Mexican gingerbread pigs—a favorite), turn my phone off, and commit to a day of overwhelmingly difficult work. 🥳

Had a lovely day of walking ten miles, eating three breakfasts, and doing the irl reenactment of my coming out for friends I could only reach by text two years ago.

Also, my company’s performance cycle, but that didn’t fit in the fun-shaped hole.

Today’s Chicago dinner was a spicy minced pork pie that I carried out from Chiya-Chai. Oh my goddess, I could eat this every week.

Today’s Chicago fast-breaker is Bang Bang Pie and Biscuits. Very much a yum.

I’m being super talkative today. ☺️ Mostly because this is the first day I’ve had entirely to myself in a couple of years.

😳

I only just realized the truth of that as I wrote it.

That really did cast a shadow over the next decades; it never occurred to me that medicine or culture might actually change, or that one might be a woman—in any sense of the term—without meeting some preordained standard grocery list of physical attributes.

In thinking thay way, I was unconsciously furthering the same stereotypes by which I was myself being bound.

All the older requirements placed such weight on being able to pass. And just as soon as I hit puberty and jacked upwards to become a 6,2” barrel-chested behemoth, I knew I could never meet those standards.

(I still don’t!)

Just learned that “you have to live as your chosen gender for two years before you can access hormones or surgery” was still the 🇺🇸 norm a decade ago.

As a young trans kid reading about that requirement in the early 90’s, it seemed like a impossible hurdle to jump; as an adult, it scared me even more.

My own first two years of living publicly as trans haven’t been the horror I feared. Mostly because of the wonderful people around me, but also because of medical support. Support—not gatekeeping.