As time sways forward, it is up to those of us caught up in it's movement to question things like the past and future. These questions are frequent; "What did you do last weekend?" "What do you want to do with your life?" "Where do you see yourself in 3 years?", but I find that the questions that are the most important are the ones which we overlook, the ones made for the present.

We may not all reach this point, but I have personally had to question who I am today, I've done so many times. The questions regarding our image, our comfort, our actions, our friends... all of these point towards who we are without directly answering, for it is by asking questions that we may find a greater answer beneath them all: The answer of who we are, truly. Beneath the covers, the masks, the walls, who we are shapes everything we will be in some way and finding that piece of us we may not recognize will always help in our journey to grow into better and better people.

There was once a day where everything I did felt useless, like it was cursed to fail by some devil I never knew the name of. After finally getting a moment to breathe, I found myself crying, hidden behind boxes and boxes of various doodads and bits, in an attempt to do something without judgement. I passed out before the tears stopped. In my sorrow-induced dream, I remember being in a dark hallway. It was pitch black yet somehow fully visible, like a house you've lived in for years with the lights off. I didn't realize it yet but I was still crying as I explored the hall, searching for a door or a light switch. I don't remember finding anything before the hallway became illuminated by an open door of white, I felt compelled to approach it. With dried tears on my face, I stepped through the light and found myself in another room with no exit, but this time it was pure-white. I couldn't make out any walls or doors, not even a ceiling, but I did see a chair with a small table to it's side. In the chair was a feminine figure, drenched in white, who calmly greeted me by a name I cannot remember. "That's not my name." I spoke back, as it slowly got up. "I know.. well, not yet at least" it said, in a deep, feminine tone. It asked me how the name felt, to which i said "Close... but not quite", it agreed. After a long silence, I asked if I knew it, to which it gave a cryptic answer, something between a "You should" and a "No, but you will". I sat there, thinking without thought, as though I was unable to hear my inner voice where I was. It told me that I have one question, "One.", it emphasized, "Don't mess it up." A silence, the all too familiar sound of the space, once more joined the conversation before I dismissed it, "Who are you?" She came closer, what felt like the perfect distance between private and public space to be taken seriously, to be examined, to show the truth. I immediately knew, "Me?". "Ding, ding, ding", she said as she showed her face. I saw a woman, beautiful and unknown, foreign yet me. We started to discuss what we were, what we were meant to be, as I finally said the silent part out loud, "We're trans, aren't we?". She confirmed my suspicions, thoughts I've had since high school that I kept away for fear of judgement and death, thoughts I've had since I signed my name on the dotted line to have a reliable way to get away from the people who raised me, who wronged me time and time again, who proved in the years between that my fears before were well-founded. I hadn't had the time to address such thoughts and feelings after making that choice, it was never the right time, never the right place. I feared what it would do, addressing them, no, what others would do because of it; what they would use this epiphany of self identity as an excuse to do. We came to terms as a unit on what must be done and what would likely happen. We spoke about outfits, hair, friends, the future. Then, when all that needed to be said was known, I awoke with a single tear in my eye.

If I had never addressed these feelings, if I had never taken a moment to understand not only myself but my surroundings, my life could have been drastically different. I could have died an early martyr for self expression, I could have been forced to a life cut short by those who claimed to love me all before I even had the chance to explain myself. Even after years of making and holding to this decision, even after taking the steps I needed to in order to become that woman I never could have been otherwise, I still question whether I had done what was best for me back then. I fear that I was wrong, that my family's hate was allowed to fester while I hid in the closet and all that could have stopped it's rage was a simple talk, a communication of who I was... I know in my heart that it's impossible, that their anger, misplaced on those who simply wish to exist without the internal struggle of matching a role that never suited them, was always there. It was only by asking myself about the present so often that I was able to answer that question of the future; it was only by discovering myself with no way of confronting my findings or pursuing the happiness I knew I needed that I was able to one day become myself.

I know that the past holds clues for the future and that the future holds opportunities for us all, but the present holds it own place in the puzzle. By focusing on the past, nobody would ever create the clues needed to solve it. By focusing on the future, we'll never be able to know whether the opportunities we seek will even help is. It is only by taking a moment to see the present, analyze it, describe it, and truly think about it's truths, it's implications, it's secrets, that we can then make those moments for reflection and dreams