On the Importance of Touching a Tree III

The day of initial contact was momentous. In hindsight, even more so than she had realised on that day. Sure, it had been an absolutely wild experience, but who was to say that she was the first one with that experience

This is part two of a continuous story, part one is Old Home. The whole story is here

Reveal

The day of initial contact was momentous. In hindsight, even more so than she had realised on that day. Sure, it had been an absolutely wild experience, but who was to say that she was the first one with that experience, and who could have known what consequences this encounter with the trees would have had. Now, hurtling through space in what could only be described as a tin can, she could know! It had been not only life-changing but also earth-shattering.

Now she was in space. The rumbling and rattling, the shaking and trembling the pure force of powered ascent had ceased. Now it was tranquillity. Sure she was still hurtling through space at an unimaginable speed, but she didn’t feel that. “Human’s can’t feel speed, we can only feel acceleration”, she remembered her instructors repeating over and over again. During the ascent, she had felt that incredible acceleration and the increased acceleration whenever one of the giant stages of the rocked, that pushed her into her seat, had burnt up and fell back down to its fiery demise in the atmosphere. But now she was in perceived silence. she looked out of the tiny window her capsule had to offer.

The view on the big blue marble commonly called earth was still pristine. At least what crescent she could see was still a blue paradise of water. She could see the halo that was earth’s atmosphere, but she could also see the vast emptiness of space behind it.


“What?”, stumbled Laura still completely aghast by the sudden voice in her ear. Dennis hadn’t noticed anything – apparently. He was still just looking at gaps at the roots of trees.

“Hello, Laura!”, the voice repeated with a deep rumbling. The leaves of the old oak tree rustled softly in the wind.
“Who the hell are you, and … how the hell do you know my name?”, Dennis looked up at her confused. His eyes seemed to be question marks. She looked at him, rolling her eyes as to signal that she wasn’t talking to him. That, however, made him even more confused. Does this boy never understand anything, she thought to herself.
“They will learn to listen to us early enough”, the voice answered her silent thought, “you are ready, and we don’t have much time!”
“Time for what?!” she really couldn’t think of anything that would fit that particular word choice. These weren’t her words. She was having a conversation solely in her mind. Were those her own thoughts? Was she talking to someone else? Who was she talking to?
“I imagine this must be confusing. It will be alright, you’ll learn what I am talking about, but this is neither the time nor place to do so. For now, we are what you call trees, and we need your help, desperately.”
“My help?”
“Your help!”

She couldn’t even imagine how she could be helpful to anyone, not to even speak of being helpful to all of the trees … treehood? She couldn’t even really get her life on track, how in god’s name was she supposed to help millions of trees. The tree’s call seemed pressing. Not something that should’ve been postponed, but still the tree was softspoken and calm, like a gentle giant. Did the tree have a name? Wait why didn’t the tree answer her thoughts anymore? What had happened why did it fall silent?

She looked at her hand and it became apparent. She had lost touch with the tree. Her hand wasn’t feeling the rough old and crusty bark anymore. She slowly moved her hand closer to the trunk. And surely, the humming in the bones of her arm started again.

“We need contact to communicate, we need that connection.”
“I’m sorry.”, Laura apologised.
“It is fine, you’ll learn to keep your hand steady, you’ll learn to know us more, but the darkness is coming upon this place. It is getting dangerous for you out here, you should really move. We can talk when daylight sets in again.”
“Now you really sound like my parents!”, Laura snarked, and she could feel the tree smiling.
“Better grab them and go to the theatre with the moving lights”. And even though Laura had no information she knew who was meant with “them”.
“And we’ll talk tomorrow again?”
“Yes, we will!”
And with that Laura removed her palm from the tree and lost contact again.

A little later, Laura and Dennis were walking down the neighbourhood street, on their way to the cinema. Dennis had laid his arm around her waist, but she was mostly staring at her feet, steadily flying above the cracks and slabs of the pavement. She didn’t really notice Dennis. She knew he was there, right to her side, but she was lost in her own thoughts.

She had so many thoughts, she wanted to burst out with, but there was no tree listening in on her thoughts anymore, and Dennis definitely had turned silent. She didn’t know how to broach the conversation. And that inability made her uncomfortable, but she just didn’t know a way out of it.

After they cut around a few corners, they were at the cinema, and even while going through the ticket purchase and getting a few snacks, they didn’t talk much beyond the inevitable. Only after they had seen a movie, of which Laura didn’t remember much she still was caught up in thought. The trees, did they have a name? Did the big oak tree have a name? How do they communicate with each other? Do they link up their roots? Do they send over leaves? Do they have a deeper connection?

After the film had finished, Laura was still caught up in her thoughts. As if she was in a trance she just followed Dennis’ decisions to find a quiet table hidden away in a corner of the otherwise quite busy café right next to the cinema. People were pouring in here after their showings stopped, just to drink a beer or to talk about their still fresh cinematic experience. Laura was getting anxious. She remembered nothing of the movie. She still was thinking about the trees. Would she even have anything to say if Dennis wanted to talk about the movie?

“So, eh, I don’t really know how to start the conversation, and I don’t know, this should, well this should be easy, considering who you are, still…”, Dennis started.
This was definitely not about the movie. What was going on? This was not what was keeping Laura’s mind occupied but this wasn’t the movie either.
“well after, you came out to me, eh, I had some time to think about myself for a bit longer, and ehm, I’m definitely not sure about it, but I think, ehm. Well, I don’t know, but could you try out they/them for me?”, Dennis continued, after a short but nevertheless awkward pause.
“Eh, sure.”, Laura mumbled. She was perplexed.
“I’m not sure yet, but I think I might be non-binary.”


“Where the hell is Dennis?”, someone yelled behind Laura.
“Oh they said, they were on their way to the bathroom”, Laura replied without averting her eyes from the earth, slowly shrinking, slowly dissolving into the vastness of space.

Planet Earth

Oh, hi, it’s me again the author. I have never done this, but it seems so fitting. Today, all of educational youtube seems to have conspired to release videos in support of #teamtrees, and while I myself neither have the resources to support them monetarily nor to do deeper research, so maybe consider chipping in with a few bucks. Alternatively, you could also check out this wonderful video in support of Partners in Health in Sierra Leone.
Thank you for taking the time to read my blog and I hope together we can do a bit of good in the world.

1st of Inktober

This is the first time I dared to try Inktober. I, at least, like to consider myself a creative mind. I don’t know if that is actually true, but if it isn’t, I don’t think practice hurts. I usually have trouble with sticking to projects so I don’t know how long I will stick with this. And I also don’t know in which way this will affect my progress with ongoing projects. I very much would like to keep up with The Importance of Touching a Tree and my Eurovision reviews, but publication might slow down during Inktober for obvious reasons of creative depletion. I very much hope this will not be the case, but I can’t guarantee anything.

The official prompt for today the 1st of October 2019 was “Ring“. I, in part, decided to combine this with a prompt list based on in-jokes of the Tuataria Discord Server, made by the wonderful Alys. Today’s prompt on that list was “Egg“.

My first idea was an eggy proposal. I just did a quick sketch with fine liners right before going to sleep (admittedly way too late.

Are those Ass-Eggs?

After a bit of sleep. I tried to do something a bit more ambitious. I’m still learning my way around with Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop, but I had a spacey Idea, building on a background I had completed for another project earlier in September. I struggled a bit with shading and with colouration, but also with making a believable egg-shape.

The rings of an Eggso-Planet

After this attempt, I moved away from the extraneous egg prompt and tried to do something else entirely, but I couldn’t keep my mind from drawing. I got inspired by someone else’s idea of colourful turtles and made my own sketch of very special turtles. Maybe, you could say a ring of turtles.

These turtles say trans rights!

But then I came up with the one to rule them all. And yes this is obviously a Lord of the Rings reference.

I’m really quite proud of this one.

This concludes my artistry for the first day of this endeavour. I hope I’ll be back for more tomorrow. I’ll leave you with a bit of writing, for some eggy rings:


Nowhere on earth, you can get egg dishes as delicious as they are in a small inconspicuous restaurant hidden in a small alleyway behind the local Tommyball stadium on Kepler 31 b – 01372. Every day when the shadow of Kepler 31 b – 01372’s or as the locals call it, Egota’s rings graces the capital. The local restauranteur and owner off The Egg Bar, Blod Farnsteik, opens the doors to his kingdom. 25 chefs employed by Farnsteik serve the most flamboyant egg dishes of this Galaxy.

The tradition of serving eggs on Egota is a long one, and only recently has it gotten a bit awkward. Only a year has passed since the local space ferry company made their first trip to a neighbouring planet mainly inhabited by the Egg people. Which of course is not what they named themselves, but what Egota’s sentient races decided to mock the suspiciously egg-shaped people from the said planet with.

Interplanetary race relationships are never an easy topic to navigate so Blod Farnsteik probably did well to diversify his business by investing in other restaurants with less controversial culinary themes. However, even if the servings of The Egg Bar have gotten their fair share of hate and ire on social media platforms, it would be a shame to lose the extraordinary cuisine The Egg Bar serves from sunny-side-ups to scrambled or to even creations I don’t dare to describe to earthlings not accustomed to Egota’s extraordinary gusto, everything that is egg-related. The egg bar is open every day from ring-rise to sunset. Reservations are recommended, especially during the high traffic season in April and October.

On the Importance of Touching a Tree 2

She was caught up on this warm island in a bleak and dreary world. Had she ever felt that way? Well maybe, but not in a long time. They didn’t move. beneath them the boards of the garden path set into the grey and dark grey gravel that was her parent’s excuse for a front garden …

This is part two of a continuous story, part one is: Old Home

First Contact

Laura enjoyed the embrace of Dennis. It felt warm and fuzzy to be appreciated for who she was. And even if it had been hard to tell Dennis what was up with her at first. He had been so nice, loving, and accommodating. He really didn’t behave, like she had expected a teenage boy to behave.

She was caught up on this warm island in a bleak and dreary world. Had she ever felt that way? Well maybe, but not in a long time. They didn’t move. beneath them the boards of the garden path set into the grey and dark grey gravel that was her parent’s excuse for a front garden. The gravel kept in place by a wall of rectangular granite blocks, set into the ground at different heights, delineating the border of her parent’s kingdom to the grey pavement and street, above them the orange glow of the streetlight draining all other colours from the scene. Behind them, a bush, more a shadow than visible green, yet. It was early March.

She had fond memories of that moment. It had been the first moment in a long time where she felt at home, but now she was hurtling through the upper layers of the atmosphere at a breakneck pace. The engines were roaring beneath her. She was pressed into the cushioning of her seat. At this time there was nothing to do for her than to survive the enormous acceleration. “Even if something goes wrong, you’ll have no chance to intervene fast enough in the first stages of ascent!”, she remembered, her instructor told her. She had been scared then, and she was scared now. She tried to think back to that spring evening under the orange lantern. Maybe it would calm her down or at least make her remember why she was speeding through thinner and thinner strata of air.

Without a sound, a raindrop fell onto the gravel next to them. Dennis looked at it: “I guess we should move and look what’s up in the garden before it really starts to rain.” Laura looked at the wet spot on the ground for a little bit longer: “I guess.”, but she didn’t move her arms. She still held Dennis tight. “Well, you’d have to let go of me”, his voice interrupted the silence. “Oh, yes, I’m sorry”. She quickly let go of him and moved her arms behind her back, awkwardly shuffling a step back. She looked at the floor. She didn’t want to look him in the eyes. “Hey is everything okay?”
“Sure”, she replied still only raising her eyes slightly, trying to look him into the eyes, but repelled as if by magnetic force.
“Then, come on.”, he grabbed her hand.

Laura hadn’t realised they were already at the back of the house when she finally caught up with Dennis, who had moved fast pulling at her outstretched left arm. They looked into her parent’s backyard. It was relatively big, especially compared to the small house and how big the property looked. The premises were narrow, but long, and faded into a small forest at the end opposite to the house and street.

Dennis kept on running and tugging on her left arm: “Come on, it’s going to rain soon, you sure don’t want to sit in the cinema all wet and soggy!”

They reached the first trees, but there was something amiss. “This tree has moved!”, Laura exclaimed, “Look, it even left a trace!”. Dennis stared at the deep groove, that started a few meters behind the big oak tree and led all the way to its gnarly and scarred trunk. The old and leave-less oak was still standing on firm ground and didn’t look like it would move easily at all, but apparently, it had moved. The marks were evident. “Ho … How, does a tree move like that?”, Laura asked. Who would come into an unsuspecting garden and move an old and knobby oak tree? Had her parents withheld a garden remodelling from her? Had someone wanted to steal a tree? What if the thieves were still around? Laura caught herself nibbling at her nails, still starring onto the disturbed soil behind the tree.

Dennis stepped a little bit closer. With his left boot, he tapped a clump of loamy soil. It didn’t move but was left with a slight indentation from his heavy shoe. He exhaled.
“Maybe someone pulled it along with a rope?”, Laura asked.
“I doubt it, wouldn’t the tree topple first? And besides that, I didn’t see any tyre tracks or anything like that…”
“Maybe they were just very careful?”
“Sure, and it wouldn’t have been easier to dig the tree out of the ground then?”
“Okay, I admit, that sounds implausible, but the tree definitely moved. A groove like that doesn’t appear on its own … What if it was Aliens?”
“And that sounds more plausible to you?”, Dennis looked at her with incredulity.
“It was just a joke”, she backpaddled.

The rain had stopped, maybe it didn’t really want to rain, but who knew. Laura jumped over the groove. It smelled like wet grass and soil. She looked up into the bare and crooked branches of the old oak. Dennis called her. He had walked over to where the small forest got denser. The ground was covered with dry leaves and needles. It was soft. Laura could see his heavy boots sink into the cushioning the forest floor provided. “Look, these have moved too.” And indeed they had been pushed or pulled in the same direction. They hadn’t moved as far, but they had left a small gap behind them, where their trunk didn’t touch the soil anymore. Laura crouched down next to the leader of the trees. She laid her left hand onto the rough bark as if to keep balanced. She felt a slight tingling in her hand. What was that? She yanked her hand away.

Tentatively she reached out again, and even before she touched it she felt a weird hum in her hand. It was as if the tree was vibrating with static electricity. But trees don’t do that, do they?

She looked up at Dennis. From down here he looked so tall, even if in fact he was just a teenage boy of average height for his age. In fact, Laura was taller than him. But Laura didn’t think of her height, usually a source of great anxiety for her, she just said: “This is weird, this is really fucking weird!”

Dennis didn’t reply. What should he have answered? Of course, this was fucking weird. Why did she even have to say that? Surely, he knew this was weird. Why was human communication so hard? She looked around, avoiding to look at him directly.

“I think we should tell your parents what’s going on in their garden”, Dennis suggested after a while of staring into the forest.
“I don’t feel like telling my parents. They’ll probably just declare us out of our minds and in the end, they won’t be able to do anything anyway.”
“Eh, I just feel out of my depth.”
“I mean, fair, this isn’t something I see on the daily either.”

Laura tried to get up, out of her crouched position next to the tree. Her knees were slightly stiff. She struggled slightly but caught her tumble with an outstretched arm grasping at the rough tree bark. And there again there was that weird hum in her left hand, and it got stronger. Not only got it stronger though, but the hum also moved up her arm quite quickly.

And with a thunderous rumbling unusual for the season, the heavens opened their gates, and a torrential downpour hit the ground. At first, thick and heavy raindrops hit the dry and dusty ground forming small little impact craters and then the drops got more and more frequent, wetting the earth, wetting the leaves around the two teenagers. Dennis was dripping wet within a surprisingly short amount of time, but Laura was kept dry by the canopy of leaves that had blossomed from the barren branches of the autumnal trees in a speed akin to that of a time-lapse.

Laura’s attempt at getting up was stopped in its tracks and half crouched down half upright she looked into the leaves above her, her mouth open with wonderous astonishment, her face hit by a thick collected drop of rain every so often. Dennis turned towards her, his arms extended to his side as if hit with a cold bucket of water, and he just stared at her. She was slightly levitating, but she didn’t notice. All she noticed was a deep and sonorous voice calling out to her. Dennis couldn’t hear it, but she could.

“Hello, Laura!”

On the Importance of Touching a Tree

Old Home

Only seconds remained until she would be launched into space at a hurtling pace. She heard the countdown through her helmet, but it was distant. Her mind was preoccupied with her own past and future. She remembered her childhood. She thought about all the fun times she had on this planet, but also all the embarrassing little mistakes she had committed. She was sad, she had to leave this planet, but there was no other choice. She had to. But what would be on the other side?

“20 seconds and counting!” – “t minus 15 seconds, guidance is internal” – “12 … 11 … 10 … 9” – “ignition sequence start” – “6 … 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … 0″ – ” all engine running … lift off” – “we have a lift off 32 minutes past the hour!”

She felt a rumble going through the rocket, she felt her body shaken, and she was shaken. Was this supposed to happen? A tear started running down her cheek as she and her rocket slowly started to move off the ground with incredible power.

15 years earlier she had been a teenager. She lived in a small house with a disproportionally big garden, somewhere on the outskirts of a small German town. Her life wasn’t poised to be a normal one in the first place. She had to fight for her right to be who she was anyway, but she couldn’t have known what history had in store for her.

“Mum, can I please go out with my friends tonight? Dennis is celebrating his birthday, and we wanted to see the new Apollo movie at the cinema.”
“Well, have you done your homework?”
“No, but it’s the weekend I can do it tomorrow, and I’ll still have time to spare until Monday.”
“Okay fine, but don’t stay out too long, I’ll expect you back by midnight at the latest. Even if Dennis is turning 16 tonight, you’re still 14, and you still live in this house.”
“Ugh, yeah, fine, mum!”

Laura wanted to be older. She wasn’t excited about her adulthood, but then, finally, she would be able to escape the control of her mum. Her mum was just too worried anything might happen to her precious son. Laura didn’t want to be precious. In a rare accident of obedience, Laura decided to start her physics homework before the evening commenced.

Physics was one of her favourite subjects, well, to be fair there weren’t many subjects she disliked. There were some teachers she couldn’t stand, but other than PE school was manageable for her. Her biggest issue was boredom. If not for her mum constantly checking her homework as if she was still a 3rd grader, she probably wouldn’t have done her homework ever, but who knows.

Her physics teacher seemed exactly as excited as her about the upcoming rocket trials, her only homework for physics was a question about rockets. She loved rockets and she was listening intently when Mr Lampert talked about the ongoing programs to open up a final frontier in space. She could feel his excitement and she was excited as well. She caught herself staring out of the window into the garden. She often beat herself up about the lack of focus she would bring into projects. It made her feel even more inadequate than usual and she worried she would never fit into society.

She looked out of the window again. It couldn’t be. Was she just hallucinating? She felt tired from her day at school, it was probably just her mind playing tricks on her. She looked down again onto her empty page and her physics textbook. Where was she? Yes, rocket propulsion. So rockets apparently flew by pushing out a somewhat constant stream of expanding fuel, and then, well, because of Newton’s principle that every force causes an equal and opposite reaction, well that would push the rocket forward, or well upward. But wasn’t this too easy? Well, yes, the mass of the rocket would change. so it wasn’t just two unchanging masses pushing against each other, the process of pushing would change the mass of the pushed object. Oh no, this smelled of differential equations – Wait! There it was again, something in the garden had moved again. And it wasn’t supposed to move, was it? Trees don’t just move on their own, do they?

Laura was thinking if she should go out and look for herself what was up. Maybe it was all just an illusion. A weird artefact of diffraction or a lapse of her judgement, she had had a long day after all. Going out there could have cleared up her mind, after all, it was probably nothing, or was it? She looked out of the window again. She squinted, but she couldn’t see anything.

Still wondering, what was out there, she returned to her physics homework, just to be rudely interrupted by her mum: “Jonas, come down and set the table, dinner is almost ready”. Oh god, did Laura hate this name, but was there anything she could do to convince her mum to not use it anymore? Probably not. To her mum, Laura was just a delusional child, not willing to accept what nature had brought upon her.

“Have you had a look into the garden today?”, Dennis asked when he picked her up after dinner.
“Eh, no? Well, there was … why do you ask?”, Laura replied.
“Ah, I just thought something looked different when I walked along the fence. Just as if something had moved that shouldn’t, but it was probably just my mind playing tricks on me.”
“Wait, Dennis, no! I saw that too. Earlier, when I was doing homework, I felt like something had moved, but I thought my mind was just playing paranoid tricks on me.”
“Always, the good child doing homework, but maybe we should check it out”, Dennis mocked her with a grin.
” I don’t know what if it’s something dangerous…?”
“Come on, it’s just your backyard what dangerous thing could there possibly be?!”, Dennis urged her.

Dennis grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the little path that led around the house into the garden. Laura wasn’t really enthusiastic about the garden. She struggled a bit, but the fight she put in was more for show than a serious effort to stop Dennis. She secretly liked Dennis’ spontaneity, she wished she wouldn’t always worry about every single possible consequence of her actions, but she did. What if it was a dangerous animal? What if her parents would think they were crazy? What if Dennis found something embarrassing about her in her garden? Wait, what could a garden even tell about her.

They hadn’t moved more than a few steps, they hadn’t even passed the kitchen window when Laura’s mum screamed: “Jonas, don’t forget your jacket. It’s going to be cold today!”. Dennis stopped and looked at her slightly baffled. Laura just rolled her eyes. “When is your mum finally going to use the name you picked?”
“I don’t know. I’ve tried to tell her before, but…”. A tear ran down Laura’s cheek, glistening in the orange glow of the street lantern in front of the dark house. Dennis stepped closer on the slightly damp planks that made up the garden path and held her tight.

The second part of this story is First Contact. The whole story is collected in Touching a Tree.

The Happiness Colour Coordination

Sometimes we need a bit of colour in our lives. We need the light to find our own way out of the darkness. And, yes, we need to find our own way. Expectations crush us, our lives seem predetermined and our mind recedes into the grey. Maybe a dash of colour will lead us the way.

Colours as such are a weird concept. We all have a mental image when we say red or green or blue, but if we dig deeper it is next to impossible to describe a colour without falling back on these basic colours. Can we even be sure that you see the same as I do when I say, “red”? Probably not, or actually maybe. But that doesn’t really matter. At least I don’t think it does. All of our experiences are fundamentally our own and really hard to relay to others. Yes, we have language, but a language is a standardised way to crawl slowly out of Plato’s cave. As a mere model of our world, it necessarily makes abstractions and implies assumptions about our world that aren’t necessarily true or true for us. A great example of how language can mould our perception of reality is grammatical gender like it is used in German. Any occupational noun (except a few that were traditionally associated with womanly work like nursing) is male by default in German. You can add a suffix like “-in” to it to make it explicitly female, but there is no way to make an occupational noun truly gender neutral without an awkward unpronounceable letter-addition or the use of both variants. But is this truly gender neutral? I don’t think it is. German has no good way to include people who don’t feel adequately described by either male or female gender identities. And in my experiences, this lack of the German language makes German speakers even blinder to the world of non-binary or genderfluid people.

But back to colour. We already established that language can make us blind. But what does blindness do to our colour perception? Well, it’s dependent on what we mean by blindness. Let us assume you are totally blind and can’t see even one shed of light. Does colour still exist? The question is really hard to answer. Hey, don’t expect me to know all the answers.

Fundamentally, colour is just different photons with different energies. Does it require these photons to hit our retinas to become colour? I don’t know. But our colour perception is definitely more complicated than it seems at first. We can’t just see orange and that’s it. Our eyes don’t just have a receptor sensitive to any colour there is. Not only have we a limit of what on the electromagnetic spectrum we can see at all. We can’t see ultraviolet light for example. But we also have only three kinds of different colour receptors. So any colour we can see is just made up by our brain as a mixture of the different light levels or cones detect. Human cone cells are receptive to blue red and green. Hence the colours of every pixel on this screen: red, green and blue. This screen works differently than our eyes though. While this screen has the same proportion of red, green and blue subpixels, our eyes generally have fewer cone cells receptive to blue and the percentages of red- and green-receptive cone cells vary quite a bit even in people with quote “regular” vision.

What stands out is that in the end, we in almost any case agree on what red is and what blue is. We have many categories we collectively agree upon, some are more cultural some others are more basic, but even terms for colours have a certain order of appearance in human language and of course that order influences how we perceive the world around us.

Still, this doesn’t answer the question of whether colour exists without perception, but to be honest I don’t have an answer to that. I just know that a dash of colour in the right place can make me quite happy. Why that is? I don’t know, but it might have to do with another categorisation I previously mentioned in this essay.

The category I’m talking about is gender. We’re all automatically sorted into one of these bins at birth or quite often even before we even leave our mother’s womb. We get a pronoun and our allocated room (some people like to call it a nursery) gets either painted in a slight pink or a dashing light blue. Of course, there are cases where this categorisation fails. Not everyone is born with a clear set of genitalia that fits neatly into one category or the other, some people don’t feel like they were sorted into the right box. But most of us are sorted cleanly, sometimes even if this decision should have maybe been postponed until we could make a decision for ourselves. The category itself isn’t the problem necessarily. Trying to categorise everything is human nature after all and usually, a useful shortcut for our everyday mental life. Just our desire to have neat boxes makes things complicated and our expectation, that nobody should change their assigned box makes these to categories appear a bit restrictive to some – maybe even like a mental prison to some …  me included.

I was sorted into the male category at birth. And well at least at first there was nothing wrong with that. A baby doesn’t care about societal expectations of gender. And why should it? Why should anyone, well I don’t know? I only know that people do in fact care. And at least for me, that is a bad thing. It is confining. Granted, I don’t like the male features of my body. Some of them I hate, a few I am indifferent about, and only a single one I really like, but does my body define my own identity? In part of course, but in the end, it is only secondary to my mind. Do I just want to wear nail polish? Yes, I want to wear a dash of colour on my fingertips generally associated with feminity, but it’s only a small part of what I want. I would also enjoy it tremendously if someone would flick the elusive switch that would make my body magically appear more feminine, but to be honest, I don’t care about my name, I don’t care about my pronouns as long as they don’t compromise my safety. My identity isn’t defined by the confines of society. On one hand, I, generally, enjoy feminine fashion more than men’s clothing. On the other hand, I really like me a suit, a tuxedo, or a tailcoat. I like me my Oxfords, but I also love me my high heeled pumps. At some point, I just want my tie to match my nail polish. Want the colour of my shoe to match my skirt. What am I? Male or female? Red or Blue? I don’t know, and I only care because society cares. But I’m captive in society’s expectations. I try to be me as good as I can.

Colour is my way out of it. Colour coordination is my goal. One day in a suit and tie, one day in a dress and high heels. Beneath that preferably a female body. Tie, handkerchief and nails matched.

At least maybe, that would make me happy. Sometimes it’s just small things though: perhaps just a dash of nail polish will suffice to elicit a smile from me. That’s definitely easier to pull off than the whole rest of my desires.