nicole @nicole@myna.social

I couldn’t find Chibi this morning, but I did find half a fuzzy donut.

I’ll never understand sports people, but I’m happy to photograph them.

And that’s kind of the wonderful thing about FFS: even if it isn’t enough to make you pass all scrutinies, it can still bring you to a place where willing people can defy their own disbelief, and see you as they want to see you.

If these people are your friends, they will see you as you want to be seen; if they aren’t, well, … best you both know, so you can preserve your energy for those who are. 🎭

Last night, I enjoyed the company of three other women over cocktails after a film screening. One of them was friend; the other two were newly-introduced to me.

I spent the first half hour stressing about whether or not I was passing. But at some point, through circumstance and conversation, I realized they were at ease with my presence. Whether or not I was passing was moot; I relaxed and had a lovely time.

This gives me a lot of social anxiety. The sort of anxiety they write prescriptions for. (And for which I have been written prescriptions).

That’s when the house lights come down and all of a sudden I’m standing in a spotlight.

And nothing hurts more than when I’m talking with someone, and while we’re talking, they realize that I’m trans. The light goes out in their eyes, but the conversation continues, and it’s like you’re talking to an afterimage of the person with whom the conversation began—the words are coming, but the warmth and humanity channels have just been cut off.

Passing is such an interesting dilemma.

Post-FFS, I pass inconsistently, mostly as a product of my height and build (6,1”; footballer); my surgeon did miracles on my face.

I don’t actually care very much about when I don’t pass (though, I neurotically keep score). Depending on the context, it stings, but also I’ve had 2.5 years of it. (I literally don’t care at all if I don’t pass in the eyes of men—I’m not subject to their approval).

But when I provisionally pass I get extremely anxious.

It’s interesting how when things finally come undone, they all come undone together. 🧶

Okay, so maybe reading the Slack channel of goodbyes from my now-exited peers on the train wasn’t the greatest idea. (I _was_ warned).

I did learn that tissue will be readily offered to a sobbing woman, no matter how large and awkwardly-shaped she might be.

😭😭😭

Standing in center of the Shin Ōsaka train station waiting for my shinkansen to be posted on the board, and again wishing I had invested in waterproof mascara. 🥹

It’s 0422 and I’m awake, staring at the ceiling of my hotel room. 😳

Korea Town was a fun shamble. I had the best meal of the trip at an adorbs little Korean Izakaya. Then we wandered over to and through Nihombashi, where we got kicked out of one shop for being gaijin, denied entrance to a bar for being gaijin, and I found the butter gachapon for my dairy products of Hokkaido bag tag collection.

That’s a successful outing!!

(Photos of Ōsaka streets in the rain are such a cliche that I hesitate to share, but whatevs)

Okay, after a bit of morning sadness and feelings ramble, we’re heading into Ōsaka. Destination: Korea Town!

Last full day in Japan (tomorrow’s a travel day).

While I was bouncing around Hokkaido, crying my eyes out every other day (I really need to invest in waterproof mascara), the org I’ve been in for seven years was dissolved. My team continues, but dozens of longtime peers and partners lost their jobs.

Everything since has felt like a prolonged drawing in of breath before a plunge into cold waters. (Albeit, with a side table of fresh Japanese food).

The cold water comes to me on Monday.

Our J-Horror movie fest turned into epically-scaled napping. I think I slept for 14 hours yesterday, all said.

There was also some novelty food purchasing. Namely, Japan’s Dominoes Pizza Cheese Volcano, which took me right back to high school in all the worst ways.

Today, we’re supposed to hit the park.