Reviews with content warning for Alcoholism - Pageboy

Goodfellas opens with the line “As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster.” This amount of faith in oneself was foreign to me up until recently. I have never believed that I’ve known myself better than anyone else because everyone always told me that they did. How could I know myself better than my parents? Or my peers? But how could they know me better than myself when they didn’t know the reason I was devastated my ex girlfriend wasn’t with me anymore was because she moved on to men? Taller men, stronger men, men who played football. I could never be what she wanted, which was them. They were born boys, not built-boys. How could anyone know me when I couldn’t share the fleshiest parts of myself with them? Imagine if Frankenstein was putting up a front. Too obvious, but everyone becomes so desperate to believe it that they just go along with it.

As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a boy. My brother and my cousins got to run around the yard, unencumbered by anything. They could get as wet or as dirty as they wanted. They didn’t have to worry about their hair, or coming in to help with the food. When they donned shorts or pants that were too short, a verbal note was made by the adults, “He’s growing, we need to get him new pants.” When it was me, my ill-fitting clothes were my fault. Either I was too fat or I was developing too fast. Can’t wear shorts the same length as my peers because I had a butt early, and every woman in my life made sure to tell me how they made me look “fast”. I was ten, and while I didn’t know the full details, I knew that you could only be fast as far as sports were concerned.

It seemed like my male peers never had to approach the edge of youth in the same way. There was no chastising, “it’s time to grow up.” Or if it did come, it was on the eve of them becoming an adult. I was coming up on being in middle school - meaning they could go on and continue to like what they wanted, but I had to focus on being a “young lady” - whatever that meant.

The first time I wore a skirt, I spent the previous months begging my mom to allow it. I knew that playing the part of girl was the key to being treated well. I knew my family wanted me to play with worms less and start learning how to cross my legs more. All the other girls wore skirts and dresses and none of them got teased. Maybe that’s what was missing? I could get acceptance from my classmates and my family. Two birds.

I remember coming home and talking about how the bathroom was a hassle - my grandmother and my uncle were there. He teased me endlessly for not knowing I didn’t have to pull down my skirt to go pee. Comments were made about “who’s teaching this girl how to wear skirts?” I didn’t know, and I was humiliated. How do I never feel this way again? Practice. Learn more. Make sure this never happens again. So I learned how to be a girl. I wanted the part, right?No room for understudies.

I taught myself how to do makeup. I pretended to not know as much as the boys. I excelled in private academically, but I was focused on getting top marks as the best girl. My proximity to other girly girls helped bridge the gap. It didn’t matter that they were horrible to me, I had a mission. After a while into my covert mission, my best friend told me about how the boys were talking about me. She would tell me how she defended me and told them not to say those things about my body. What was she doing? Bragging about ruining all my hard work? I told her to knock it off - I was on the right track. She was fighting off the wolves while I offered myself up as meat. This is how you do it, right? It doesn’t matter that I’m not having fun. Nobody is. Nobody is.

All my life I wanted to be a boy, but I always knew I couldn’t be trans. It wouldn’t be allowed. I had a hard enough time coming out to my family (twice) and when it finally settled, it was more an unfortunate fact, rather than something anyone should be proud of. I think I always knew, though. I didn’t have time to focus on it or analyze those feelings until shortly after I moved out. I tell everyone I “soft launched” my transition. I started as a she/they enby, soon graduating to they/them. I told everyone I was nonbinary, and I said to myself, “I know this will not be enough”, but I bargained. I tried to make it enough. I could be satisfied here. It was still under the trans umbrella. I didn’t have to approach the cliff.

“I felt more comfortable in environments with queer women, but inherently something in me knew that I was transgender. Something I’d always known, but didn’t have the words for. Wouldn’t permit myself to embrace. I was never a girl, I’ll never be a woman. What am I gonna do?” I used to say."

Reading Pageboy has been one of the greatest joys of my life. Often difficult to push through, the story resonates so much with me. I cried for my younger self, I cried because these feelings were my companions - unfortunate bunkmates. Shame and fear led the way and showed me how to bury my feelings somewhere nobody would ever find them. Not that anyone ever looked for them. Nobody was asking me how I felt, much less allowing me to express myself in a way that would lead me to the truth. I had the blueprint for how to be a good girl - that was always the goal.

I’ll be two months on t on July 4th, which is something I never thought I’d be able to say. So much of this book reminded me of how I felt alone - in the world, and in my body. I think it’s too personal of a book for me to give anything other than a personal review. This book means so much to me. I wish I had it earlier, but I’m so lucky to have it now. And how lucky folks will be to have this book going forward.

Every week I take my t shot, I feel the euphoria. I’m actively taking steps to care for me, whatever that means. In drawing up the liquid and giving myself the shot, it’s an active choice again and again and again. I’m choosing myself, for the first time finally. It’s the only thing I’ve done that has nothing to do with anyone else, and it’s one of the only things so many people seem to have a problem with. Each week I do it and the sky doesn’t fall, I feel like I can finally just myself. Nothing bad has happened. Nothing bad is gonna happen.

As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a boy. Now, I get to be one.

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laurenkimoto's review against another edition

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challenging emotional hopeful reflective sad medium-paced

4.25

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