Evening Gorgeous xx

Note the change? Well it is half eleven in the evening, realistically? Morning? OK. Wherever you are, Morning Gorgeous!, because somewhere on the planet it’s 8am; just not here. Not now, anyway.

So what brings you to write at this time of night then? I hear you cry. Well, as the title of the post says, ‘Memories’. Memories of days gone by, old memories, good memories. The kind of memories that are character building. The kind of memories you tell your children – And your grandchildren, when you have them. The kind of memories that bond families together and make each & everyone of us; unique.

And my memories that are at the forefront of my mind at the moment. The reason for that, is those memories give us strength of character. Those memories build our individual personalities. And those memories are the core of who we really are. Sex, Gender, Gender History, all that kind of thing – The things that this blog is setup for. Melt away in front of this type of memory; and I go back to being that little boy, sat on the sofa in my nan’s house, eating home-made Apple Crumble drenched in Carnation Evaporated Milk.

Thats the type of memory that makes you who you really are.

And that is my memory. Family all around in my nan’s living room (brother, sisters, uncles, cousins, etc), all fat from a Sunday Roast, eating Apple Crumble or Fruit Cocktal; covered in Birds-Eye Custard or Carnation Evap. All watching a film on the Television because we can’t move.

And I can take that back to being at least 4 years old. I can see the picture of me up on the wall, pride of place strangely – as it was the biggest one above the fireplace and I was told I was my Nan’s favourite. With my ginger, curly mop in my 1970’s horizontally striped; knitted jumper. Sitting above the two Smash spacemen from the UK advert; also from the 1970’s. TV in the corner to my right. My Nan and Grandad in their separate arm chairs to my left and we were on the floor with my Mum and Dad (Step-Dad, but he was more of a dad to me than my real one) behind us on the sofa.

The thing is though, I was the little boy in the middle. My Younger Sister to my right and my Older Brother to my Left. My older sister to my far right and cousins dotted around the room, And we were all happy, at least that’s how I remember it; and that’s how I’ll always remember it. We were happy.

I look back with a lot of fondness, as you can see and a lot of sadness. But I’m not sad about it for any negative reasons, I’m sad about it for positive ones. For reasons you may not expect (and yet you might, how do I know). You see, most of my parents and grandparents are gone; they’ve passed away and I miss then dearly. What’s left of my family shattered when my Grandad passed away five years ago – but there’s family left, so lets be optimistic and this is my memory, I’m cool with it.

I’m also sad because I was that little boy. I didn’t care back then. I was as carefree as any little boy could ever be. I now know I’m Autistic, so that probably explains the carefree attitude; as it does today. I know now I’m Trans and I must have wanted to be a little girl, rather than a little boy; which would explain why I felt closer to my sisters, rather than my brother. But I also now know that I’m happy, again; just like I was back then.

So what triggered this? Well that’s easy, I’ve sat here and eaten a really nice Apple Crumble; drenced in Carnation Evaporated Milk. My god I enjoyed it! And I’m going to do the other half before I go to bed. Anyone around going to stop me? I don’t see anyone, do you?

So other than nostalgia, why write this? Well that’s easy as well. I know who I am. I am Vikki. I am me. Just like I was back then, I was Bert. I was Me. The only difference is, I got what I want and no one can take that away from me – And no one will either. But here’s another thing. I hear a lot of talk about Trans people rejecting their past, rejecting their ‘Dead Name’, trying to be someone else, trying to forget who they were and become a new person. Lying to themselves about who they really are. Why do that? What are you trying to achieve?

And are you going to tell me that doesn’t happen? I vow any fucking one of you to come and argue with me on it? Bring it on…

Well I’m not going to do that. You see, Vikki was that little boy, Vikki is that little boy, Vikki was inside that little boy crying to get out. And she did. And I’m not going to change that little boy into a little girl just to satisfy anyone else. I’m going to leave everything exactly as it is.

You see, as the title of the song from the film ‘The Greatest Showman’ (and by the way, it’s a pride anthem) says… This is Me.

And this is me. Deal with it.

 

Vikki xx