The traumas are over. The person who really mattered to me, my child, is safe. He’s almost 17 now, an honors student, in a relationship with the same adorable girl for almost a year. So he’s fine, which is the thing I’ve worried about for the last five years. So not only have I propagated the species, I’ve raised a decent human being to boot. Yay me.

I am happy about transitioning, don’t get me wr0ng. But I am also on a boat on the Ganges, being set on fire. Am I just the creature being torched on the boat and fondly remembered or am I something more?

So...was who I am just a deathbed revelation, so to speak, or the beginning of a new life?

I have a new life here. But I don’t even know what to want.

I don’t know. I really don’t.

I wouldn’t commit suicide because my father did that and it was terrible and I would never do that to my own son, but...who do I become now?

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Who I want to be is that old woman. THAT old woman. The one with the eyes. The one who looks like she knows things. Our grandmothers gave us glimpses of that in their last days because all women have it.

That’s who I want to be. All wrinkly eyes and saggy boobs and...wisdom.

If I’m super lucky, I’ll be burned as a witch....

But I sit here watching that little flaming boat go down the Ganges.

I’m happy and sad at the same time, is all I’m saying...