Being a transperson, you’re bound to have a wall.
Wait, no — walls. You’re bound to have layers of walls.
The first layer of my wall started during childhood, I think. Not that young, just … enough to be aware that I was burdened with a secret, and to realise the cost of said secret if it ever came out. So my first wall was to protect that secret. My first mask.
And since it was built out of fear of the outside, it ended up being a tall wall. Like, gigantic tall wall.
It’s enough to last me a couple of years. Then puberty hits. More walls. Then crushes and disappointments. Even more walls. Then aspirations and dreams and hopes and wishes and expectations of reality … so basically just more and more walls until they look much like a maze.
And they’re all as tall as the first one.
I am a very reserved person, I admit that now. No wonder my shrink had problems getting information out of me.
Here’s the thing though: for a long time I had no idea what I’d built. I just knew they were there to protect me. I am safe under their shadow. My secret is safe. Sure over time they got me lonely, but if that’s what I had to get in change for safety, I would build them all over again.
My walls are my guardian angels.
During this glorification of self-outcast, Tom Petty came in:
All around your island
There’s a barricade
Keeps out the danger
Holds in the pain
The song is called Walls. I love how obvious and spot on that was.
Well actually I listened to The Lumineers’ version of the song. I learned afterwards that the song was written by Tom Petty, and that it’s about acceptance, about letting go of what happened — or will happen — to you by letting your guards down.
So this song, most specifically those four lines, guided me into a slow and painful realisation about the true face of my guardian angels: that they’re super flat. Cause … you know. They’re walls.
And I realised they were protecting me as much as they were restricting me.
So it’s the whole two-sides-one-coin situation. Thing is, see, life is always a two-sides-one-coin situation. I should’ve seen that sooner.
And if I want to embrace life more, the answer should be to let down some of my guards and enjoy life just as is. Both the good and the bad. The blessings and the sufferings. Simple, right? However. Given how long my walls have been there and what made me build them in the first place, you have no idea how scary that shit is for me.
My whole life, my fears taught me to always, always, constantly put my guards up. Not the other way around. It’s a matter of life and death.
… but then came this part:
Sometimes you’re happy
Sometimes you cry
Half of me is ocean
Half of me is sky
Now for a long time, my walls have been allowing me to look up the sky, but they bar me from the ocean. And that was fine. All was great. Things were peachy fucking creamy. No problem, no biggie.
That is, until one day, this person came.
She’s ocean.
I don’t know how but she managed to slip past my walls. I don’t think she even knows she went through them. I guess she just went about her day, suddenly found a maze and thought, “Oh it looks fun!” then there she went.
While all I could do was, “What the fuck?”
Suddenly having ocean on my doorstep, it was drawn upon me that this whole time — as cheesy as it sounds — I was only half complete. There’s ocean out there and I want to be with her. Many times, it got me to let down some of my walls. I went to parties. I talked to strangers. I check WhatsApp constantly. I wrote scripts again. I directed my film. I shared my secrets.
My fears no longer matter that much, so long I can get to know her. To be with her. Enjoying her presence, consoling her sorrows. Embracing her.
Boy, am I head over heels for her.
Unfortunately though, the ocean wouldn’t stay.
She’s looking for her own sky. And it’s not mine.
So for now things are going on like:
Some things are over
Some things go on
Part of me you carry
Part of me is gone
It’s just another two-sides-one-coin thing. Though it pains me, her visit (and of course, the song) made me realise the length I can go if I were to tear down my walls. The many opportunities in life I may have. The horison I shall eventually find should I pursue it.
Now I don’t take my fears lightly—that is, will I immediately break down my walls in the near future to pursuit my slim chance of happiness? Heck no. My walls are still my guardian angels, after all. They still protect me.
But I look forward for them to fall down.
And I look forward to finally meet my ocean.
Update: she’s my ocean.
