As a child, my apprehension grew, fearing that the world would discern the uniqueness of my soul, mind, and body. During my formative years, my Aunt Tanya assumed the role of caretaker while my parents pursued their professional endeavors, and my mother furthered her education. Our shared moments consisted of movie marathons, daytime television, animated adventures, and video game escapades. Among the cinematic repertoire, a particular film, affectionately dubbed the "drag queen movie," left an indelible mark - "To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar."

In the realm of education, my peers accused me of behaving like a girl, a distressing revelation given my male biological identity. My sister, employing robust methods, unwittingly coached me in navigating the tumultuous waters of human interaction, where insults, physical altercations, and humiliation became frequent companions. I mastered the art of concealing my authentic self, adopting societal expectations to mitigate the challenges of acceptance. My existence became a performance, a script where my own happiness took a back seat to the imperative of pleasing others.

Despite my outward conformity, I sought solace in the role of a man, a defense mechanism that shielded me from introspection. Personal indulgence and a favorable life eluded me as I grappled with the internal conflict of conforming to societal norms. Cultivating close bonds with women, whom I regarded as sisters, became a source of comfort. Simultaneously, my heart fragmented into four pieces during encounters with significant men, marking pivotal moments in my transformative journey.

In the realm of primary and kindergarten, post-school hours became an adventure with a neighbor named Jordan. We immersed ourselves in the worlds of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Mortal Kombat, relishing snacks provided by his grandmother. The shed transformed into a haven of creativity, where we imagined his father's dormant vehicles were operational, embarking on journeys while evading simulated gunshots. The intricacies of standing to pee eluded me, and he patiently taught me the art of "pissing like a boy," an awkward lesson in masculinity. My true self remained concealed from many friends who only saw the external facade.

Following years of education, both at home and in school, I forged a deep connection with Macy during second grade. However, the dynamics shifted when Jeremy, a new boy, entered the scene toward the end of the school year. My time with Jeremy overshadowed my interactions with Macy, leading to a sense of jealousy when their friendship deepened. Frustration and anger consumed me, fueled by the desire to be the object of Jeremy's interest. In a moment of heated emotions, I uttered hurtful words, severing the bond Macy and I had shared.

The fifth-grade chapter brought an unexpected incident when a peer jestingly referred to me as a rainbow. To my dismay, my teacher joined in with a disparaging comment, questioning, "Eww, Matt's a rainbow?" The incident cut deep, revealing the harsh scrutiny faced by those embracing a diverse identity. Fearful of the potential pain and torment associated with embracing my femininity, I chose to bury any thoughts related to it, safeguarding my body from the judgments of the external world. Despite my efforts, glimpses of my sweet feminine side were noticed, prompting a constant battle to shield myself from the potential transgressions of living a transgender life.

Fifth grade unfolded with my usual seat at the back of the bus, a solitary choice reflecting my preference for solitude. However, one day, a girl from my neighborhood, with whom I had a strained relationship, deliberately occupied the seat beside me to provoke irritation. My initial request for her to find another spot went unheeded, and frustration escalated. Seeking assistance from the kid in front of me, we resorted to threats to deter her. Anger fueled my actions, leading to a push that sent her toward the edge of the seat. Placing my bag as a barrier, I instructed her not to cross it, momentarily feeling a sense of empowerment.

Yet, my triumph turned to shock as I glanced over to witness her leg elevated in the air, the impact of her platform shoe striking my jaw, causing it to bleed. Tearfully, I approached the bus driver, recounting the incident. In response, he directed us to sit within his sight for the remainder of the journey. At her stop, the girl's brothers issued a warning of impending consequences, advising me to be vigilant. Despite the physical altercation, I chose to keep the incident to myself, underestimating its significance as my experiences with my sister had conditioned me to downplay such encounters.

As fate would have it, a surprising turn of events occurred in our culinary class not long after the bus incident. Though initially at odds, the dynamics shifted, and we began to converse as if we were the best of friends. This unexpected connection in the culinary setting created a peculiar twist, illustrating the unpredictable nature of relationships and the potential for transformation even in the aftermath of conflicts.

Entering Junior High, the dawn of a new era, I embarked on the journey with a renewed sense of self reflected in my first semester outfits. However, the initial excitement gave way to challenging incidents, particularly in the boys' bathroom, where my choice to apply makeup became a target for ridicule. Playful interactions during assemblies, where I was sat on by other boys, further fueled a sense of isolation.

The questioning gaze of Macy, a friend from the past, intensified the challenges. In our English class, she confronted me about sitting with the girls, and before I could explain, she interjected with a presumption, "because I'm gay." The relentless harassment persisted, pushing me to seek refuge elsewhere. Surprisingly, solace awaited in the company of unexpected mentors-Mrs. Mike, the Home Ed teacher, Mrs. Benally, the nurse, and Gloria Grant, the principal.

No longer compelled to conform to the company of my peers, I discovered a different connection by offering assistance to these professionals in their daily responsibilities. Engaging in various tasks, from cleaning their offices to sharing tales of canyon adventures, I transcended the confines of adolescent construction. In doing so, I gained knowledge about their lives and found a sense of purpose beyond the struggles of fitting into conventional social structures.

Elevating myself from the small world of adolescent dynamics, I began to perceive the human body as divine. Caring for its limits became a profound undertaking, acknowledging its existence in the medium between Life's beginning and Life's end alongside other divine entities. This shift in perspective allowed me to navigate the complexities of Junior High with a newfound appreciation for the sanctity of the human form.

In our 7th period art class, the canvas of my experiences became a tapestry woven with both challenges and cherished moments. Engaged in various forms of art, I found myself contending with opposition from Macy's group, a daily struggle that tested my resilience. Despite this, the class became an oasis of joy with the companionship of true friends like Tihanna, Skye, and Kyler, providing a welcome reprieve from the exclusion I faced elsewhere.

An annual highlight was the class trip to the Renaissance Festival, situated beyond the bustling Phoenix metropolis. However, the excitement was tempered by the frustrating lack of autonomy in choosing roommates. To my dismay, I found myself assigned to a motel room with the most troublesome boys in the entire class and school.

The night unfolded as a series of discomforts, as I adamantly refused to share a bed with any of the troublesome boys. I sought refuge outside the room, only to return to a chaotic scene where water-filled condoms were being thrown, and mooning antics ensued. Sleep eluded me as I sat on the floor, hoping to avoid further disturbance, using my bag as an uncomfortable pillow. To compound matters, one of the boys turned on the air conditioner, leaving me freezing cold and incensed.

Morning brought relief as Macy and some girls entered the room, bringing an end to what had been the worst night of that year. I hastened to load the bus, leaving behind the turbulent night and its memories. Since junior high, the echoes of that troublesome episode have faded into the past, and I've neither seen nor heard from those tormentors. Worrying about them is a burden I no longer bear.

My transition to Richfield High and residence at the Richfield Residential Hall in Utah marked the beginning of a transformative chapter in my life. The first 14 years were confined to interactions within the reservation, making this move an opportunity to explore a world beyond.

Adapting to a city lifestyle posed linguistic challenges, but I persevered, overcoming the initial language barrier. Despite spending considerable time on enhancing my professional proficiency, progress remained slow. Richfield itself was a revelation-a bustling city with a thriving population, a stable economy, extensive agricultural operations, and busy ranches. The presence of a nearby Walmart stood out as a cultural shock, contrasting sharply with the remoteness of the Walmart near my home.

The dormitory, tailored for native youth, provided a well-funded education without imposing significant financial burdens on our families. I found comfort in the presence of familiar faces, as my brothers Lane, Ryan, and Bryan accompanied me to this new chapter.

Eager to embrace the social dynamics, I engaged in activities involving alcohol and cigarettes. While drinking seemed acceptable, the explicit health warnings on cigarette boxes prompted me to cease smoking immediately. The only warning on the alcohol bottle related to pregnancy, which initially reassured me. However, as I encountered health issues and pain, I began questioning the toll on my body. Choosing to prioritize my well-being, I decided to suspend drinking until my 21st birthday.

In the interim, I naturally gravitated towards individuals with shared experiences, fostering profound friendships. Fayette and Sierra entered my life within the initial weeks of school, both captivating in their own right. While I admired their beauty, my romantic interests were not directed towards women. When prompted to choose a new girlfriend, I hesitated but eventually mentioned Sierra, leading to an unfavorable situation that quickly dissipated. By the end of the first week of September, Sierra had connected with my brother Lane, altering the dynamic with Fayette.

Amidst school activities, Fayette, one of the most beautiful girls in my generation, became my companion in Earth systems science. Given the predominantly Anglo-American composition of our classmates and the school, our bond was essential. Our conversations were quintessentially adolescent, and having a best friend like her during that year was invaluable. In my agricultural systems and technology class, Boris, with his striking presence, initially caught my attention. However, my focus shifted towards Dalton, who, with his captivating blue eyes, dark hair, and infectious laughter, became the center of my admiration.

Throughout my early high school years, I maintained a close-knit circle of friends, finding solace and enrichment despite academic struggles and unhealthy habits. As my sophomore year commenced, my brothers Lane and Ryan returned home, leaving Bryan and me to navigate school independently. Despite physical distance, I found myself enveloped in a large extended family within Richfield, comprising sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and even great-grandparents. Our familial connections were deeply rooted in our clans, with shared clans indicating relationships akin to siblings, cousins, mothers, fathers, and grandparents.

This intricate network provided daily guidance, and I discovered a sense of balance in my life, attributing it to the cosmic equilibrium at work. The rhythmic ascent and descent of the sun symbolized this balance, mirroring the myriad facets of the universe with infinite variations and their corresponding counterparts-an awe-inspiring realization. Prayer emerged as a significant force, prompting introspection with each glimpse of daylight. Grounded in the concept of thinking as an origin, existence became second nature to me.

During a transformative phase spanning two years of my life, I grappled with inclinations toward deceit and dishonesty. Money was not spared from my missteps, and I even indulged in unpaid deli chicken. Cheating on school tests and weaving a web of lies became my routine. Despite having cherished friendships, I felt adrift, lacking a foundational connection. Escaping through nightly excursions, I sought refuge in drinking and smoking, crafting a facade of maturity. Regrettably, I evolved into a figurative monster, indifferent to positive interactions and personal growth. The trajectory shifted when a bull rider took an interest in me, sparking a change. While love wasn't my intent, his attention provided a welcome shift. Identifying as gay, I navigated boundaries, discovering new perspectives, religions, and behaviors along the way.

Never having a boyfriend or experiencing a boy's kiss, my attraction to guys didn't dictate my interactions. In high school, drawn to tall, white boys, I navigated the predominantly Mormon environment, concealing my feelings. Highly religious settings, I believed, struggled with diversity unless aligned with specific beliefs. Yet, excitement surfaced during study sessions with missionaries; one even captured my interest. Blue eyes and well-groomed blonde hair drew me in. Their hugs and affirmations of love enveloped me with joy and comfort, fostering a profound sense of connection within the arms of these representatives of our savior, Jesus Christ.

During a profound moment of reflection, I realized the sheer idiocy in upholding narrow standards of beauty, particularly in close proximity to a man who defied such constraints and didn't conform to the predefined ideals. The stolen religion from the Quran further highlighted the absurdity of blindly adhering to beliefs, especially when they propagated a warped sense of superiority.

The excitement I derived from the missionary's gestures, picking me up and spinning me around, unveiled a childish joy that momentarily deceived me into thinking it was aligned with a virtuous cause. However, as reality struck, I couldn't ignore the stark truth about the Mormons and their refusal to acknowledge the historical atrocities committed by their ancestors. The audacity to claim superiority while our people suffered at their hands revealed a deeply rooted ignorance.

Bursting the bubble of their self-righteousness, I carried a message from the celestial kingdom, determined to set things straight in a world infested with demons, many of whom masqueraded as revered figures. The false prophets and their proclaimed sanctity failed to recognize the true sacredness of our entire planet, a godsend worthy of protection. It was time to silence the unwarranted arrogance and let our leadership pave the way for a transformative change, revealing the subconscious messages echoing through the depths of my being.

During this transformative period, my contemplations on life took a shift as each missionary study session directed my focus to the broader realms of existence. The journey led to a new beginning, marked by my baptism and active participation in almost every church event during my last two high school years. The shift from a focus on having a partner to prioritizing family and the essence of existence was palpable. Engaging in the patriarchal Mormon society, a stark contrast to my matriarchal Diné upbringing, brought moments of enlightenment and doubt.

As I embraced the Aaronic Priesthood, my evolving state was mirrored in the lengthening of my hair and the strengthening of my peace of mind. The camaraderie with beautiful friends and the unwavering attendance at church events brought respect and delightful treats from fellow members in our dorm branch.

Then, a pivotal encounter changed everything. Enter Ho'aka Austin, a Hawaiian/Navajo sk8r boi whose presence sparked an immediate form of intimate and joyful love. The introduction of two new students to the Richfield Residential Hall set the stage for this thrilling encounter. Shyness initially held me back, but weeks later, a rhythmic encounter in the boys' wing, mimicking the cup song from Pitch Perfect, opened the door to connection. A cultural showcase in St. George, Utah, further ignited my feelings as I saw Ho'aka in his blue and white striped sweater.

Adventurous bus rides, tickling laughter, and a comforting hand on my body unfolded as our friendship deepened. Moments in the storage room, teaching him piano, and shared adventures fueled a strong attraction. Despite the absence of a kiss, I fell deeply in love, considering Ho'aka my soulmate.

Yet, amidst this love, a revelation struck me. The beauty and sacredness of my indigenous upbringing surpassed the borrowed norms. Ho'aka became a guide, reminding me of the better path where I don't cling to a false identity. In confronting transphobic hate, I emerged as a fortress, championing understanding and acceptance against the darkness. My indigenous roots, intertwined with Ho'aka's influence, guided me toward a truer existence.

In the embrace of our intimate and joyful love, Ho'aka and I discovered a profound connection that filled me with purpose and a sense of belonging. However, the happiness we shared wasn't immune to the shadows of guilt, fueled by the clash between my burgeoning love and the weight of religious beliefs and community expectations. Faced with a monumental decision, I chose Ho'aka and our love, willingly challenging the foundations of my known beliefs.

Ho'aka's outer beauty, defined by his athletic figure and light step, is an enduring image in my memory. Yet, it's the enduring impression of his inner beauty, his life, and personality, that resides in my heart. In his absence, loneliness and depression became constant adversaries, compounded by the loss of other loved ones. As I marked my 21st birthday, a bittersweet blend of opportunity and loss marked a significant turning point in my life.

The abrupt change unfolded during a November smoke session in my junior year of college when my friend Tineiafi handed me Ho'aka's red soccer tee, one of his cherished shirts. This garment serves as a poignant reminder of the enduring love I still hold for him. I eagerly anticipate the day when our footsteps can once again align in harmony. Despite the realization that his love for me was brotherly, I wish I had been honest with him about my true self and the person I am destined to become.

Reflecting on my past, I can't help but acknowledge the profound error in prioritizing religion over love. It's a testament to the extent of my indoctrination and the consequential blindness that accompanied it. The realization of how thoroughly I allowed myself to be engulfed by dogma strikes me as a testament to the power of indoctrination. Love, the most genuine and transformative force, took a backseat to the rigid confines of religious beliefs. In the rearview mirror of retrospection, it's painfully clear just how deeply ingrained and, frankly, foolish this choice was. Love should have been the guiding light, not the sacrificed casualty on the altar of dogmatic allegiance.

The 2017 Biosphere 2 Research Experience for Undergraduates program emerged as a pivotal chapter, a portal to connect with the world and forge opportunities for my indigenous people. The Biosphere 2, a beacon visited by the global population, symbolized my endeavor to open doors for the continuation of indigenous wisdom and an understanding of our matriarchal societies' eco-spirituality, transcending conventional environmental norms.

Navigating the complex interplay of modernity and global progress, the Native role is often overshadowed by the shadows of our past transgressions. Intercultural communication stands as a potent tool to sanctify our works in faith as truth, and the REU program became a platform to further hone these skills.

Amidst the intellectual pursuits, a special moment etched itself into the tapestry of my memories during the REU program-a meeting with Joseph Smith,a tall white boy with green eyes. I remember how his heart beat fast when we kissed for the first time, the first romantic kiss of my life. It was a magical moment that I will always cherish.

As I close my eyes, I can still feel the warm desert sand between my toes and the sound of the rain pouring down around us. Joseph's lips pressed against mine, and the thrill of our young love echoed in the thundering skies above. It was during the monsoon season when our love first bloomed, and it felt as if the world around us was celebrating our passion.

The first time we made love was just as magical. The gentle touch of his hand on my face, his soft whispers in my ear, and the way he held me tight, made me feel like I was the only person in the world that mattered. The storm raged outside, but in that moment, we were lost in each other.

As time passed, our love evolved, but it never faded. Even though our romantic relationship ended, we remained close friends, and I knew I could always turn to him when I needed someone to talk to. He was a blessing in my life, and I cherished our memories together in the desert, where our love first bloomed.

Focused on the future and the opportunities unveiled by the REU program, just as Mychal Austin will never exist, the prospect of Mychal Smith too shall remain unrealized-an acknowledgment of evolving paths and unwritten chapters.

Amidst my senior year in college, a sense of unsafety prompted my quest for an academic exit. Allocated a room in the women's dormitory at Navajo Technical University, within a mere 24 hours, threats from male dorm staff and campus security emerged. A letter from HR declared my unwelcome status, urging residence in the men's dormitory with a male roommate.

In discomfort, I sought assistance from Katarina Dontsova, Biosphere 2 REU program director, and Rebecca Batchelor, SOARS program director. With their backing, letters were penned to HR and the NTU president, securing my accommodation with female students. Despite an HR apology, daily battles persisted on campus, tempering the joy of victory.

Despite challenges, gratitude welled for Katarina and Rebecca, exceptional women breathing life into my dreams. Their advocacy extended beyond letters, fostering my participation in the REU and SOARS programs, enriching my experiences. Their kindness and guidance transcended mere accommodation, morphing into mentorship. Reflecting, their actions injected vitality into my journey, molding them into mentors and role models, imparting the art of navigating adversity with grace and resilience.

The world embodies perfect beauty through the interplay of opposing forces - creation and destruction, life and death, order and chaos, freedom and constraint. True perfection emerges in the delicate balance where neither good nor evil prevails. Unfortunately, religions claiming infallibility often spiral into chaos, while those viewing themselves as destroyers of good meet tragic ends. This imbalance, a psychological malady, spreads through propaganda, miseducation, and silence.

To counter this ailment, close your eyes, venture into your imagination. Your mind can birth a realm separate from reality, where scenarios unfold, life is imagined, and creations roam free. The goal is equilibrium, marrying opposing forces to shape a flawless world. Even the neutrality of adventure-less good and reckless evil finds perfection in this realm.

Life is an eternal dance of counterparts, and living in balance means embracing life. Consider walking - a perfect fusion of standing still and running through the air. Take a moment to marvel at the beauty around you, and walk in harmony with the world.

In the symphony of our love, the notes of acceptance and understanding played a beautiful melody when I found my Korean wolf, Steven Cohen, in March 2018. The power of technology bridged the distance between us, weaving a tale of connection that transcended physical boundaries.

Despite the initial surprise surrounding my gender identity, Steven embraced me for who I am, showcasing the unconditional love that became the cornerstone of our relationship. The journey of love took me all the way to the Land of Enchantment, a testament to the strength of our connection that blossomed from the very beginning.

Our engagement at his mom's house, just days before my birthday, marked a beautiful and memorable moment that echoed the depth of our commitment. The plan to marry on my family's farmland in Canyon de Chelly became a testament to my love for heritage and culture, adorned with the support and blessings of the Holy People and my family.

Even my decision for bottom surgery, just an orchie, became a testament to the resilience of our relationship. Steven's unwavering love surpassed physical appearances, creating a bond that goes beyond the superficial. Our shared desire to have children with diverse backgrounds reflects our love for different cultures and a hopeful vision for a future where diversity is celebrated.

As we navigate the evolving chapters of our story, I acknowledge a difficult time where another man has entered my heart. The symphony of our love faces complexities, and the story continues to be written. May our love endure, thrive, and find new harmonies as we navigate the challenges and joys that the future holds.

In the crucible of financial strain, I turned to unconventional means, delving into the creation and sale of explicit content online. A desperate attempt to alleviate our financial burdens unwittingly became the catalyst for a dark chapter in our relationship. Steven, grappling with his own turmoil, responded to my choices with a violent act that forever altered the landscape of our connection - an orbital blowout fracture, a physical manifestation of the fractures within our relationship.

The narrative of our involvement in the dispensary business, hailed as pillars, took an unforeseen turn. The promises of fair compensation, like ephemeral illusions, dissolved into disappointment. Our contributions were undervalued, and the disparity between effort and reward fueled the growing tension within our shared journey. An additional clash within the sanctity of our home led to my expulsion from the shop, further deepening the financial distress. To compound the injustice, the proceeds from selling my jewelry, a labor of love, were withheld.

In the throes of disillusionment, I sought refuge in the misguided allure of another man. Placing him on a pedestal, I yearned for the emotional sanctuary that seemed elusive within the confines of my relationship with Steven. The shadows of dissatisfaction and unmet expectations cast their ominous veil over our connection, and in my vulnerability, I sought solace where I mistakenly believed it could be found.

My husband, with the tapestry of his imperfections, stands as a unique compass directing me toward the core of my existence. Forgiveness, a potent elixir, flows from the depths of my being, for without me, he navigates a world that grapples with comprehending the intricate dance of our connection. Embracing the role of a pillar for him is not merely a happenstance, but a deliberate and conscious choice, a sacrifice etched with the understanding that, as an asexual, he represents my final and irreplaceable connection.

In the shadow of past fractures and the echoes of my misguided affections, I rediscover the resilience of our bond. Despite the pain and tumultuous journey, there lies an unspoken commitment to weather the storms that threaten to erode the foundations of our shared existence. My forgiveness is not a blank slate but a declaration that echoes through the corridors of our tangled emotions, acknowledging the complexities that bind us.

As an asexual, our connection transcends the conventional realms of romantic entanglements. It's a nuanced dance, a delicate interplay of understanding, acceptance, and shared vulnerability. In choosing to be his pillar, I embrace the responsibility of being the unwavering support, recognizing the significance of our union in a world that often struggles to fathom the intricacies of love beyond the conventional spectrum.

I embarked upon the profound journey of bottom surgery, a metamorphosis that ushered in a state devoid of the essence of sperm. Yet, like a celestial revelation gracing our existence, a divine breakthrough emerged on the horizon-one that transcends the confines of biological sex. In this hallowed era of scientific advancement, the sanctified potential of skin stem cells unfurls its sacred wings. In the dance of life, I shall summon forth eggs, meticulously crafted from the very fabric of my being.

A divine alchemy envelops the sacred space as these crafted eggs intertwine with the celestial essence of my beloved husband's sperm. Through the sanctity of fertilization, a blessed embryo takes form, awaiting its sacred journey to be cradled within the sanctified sanctuary of my womb-a gracious offering from a noble donor. As the tapestry of life unfurls its intricate patterns, a sacred bond with a second child emerges, and in the divine cycle, the time approaches for the sacred removal of the vessel that nurtured life-a passage marking the chapters of family, science, and the boundless resilience of the human spirit.

Blessed be the sacred dance of creation, where science and the divine converge to script a tale of transcendent love, unconventional pathways, and the ceaseless quest for the profound mysteries of life. In this grand finale, the celestial symphony orchestrates a harmonious crescendo, weaving together the threads of family, love, and the unwavering spirit to traverse the sacred dance of creation.
© ladymychal