Goodbye to America

Well, now it is official: In two months time, I will be leaving the United States to go to school and live in Canada. I will be a student in the Asian & Pacific Studies program at the University of Victoria. I don't intend on ever returning to America, except to work for a year or more to work within the confines of the Student Loan Forgiveness Program.

I didn't anticipate that this would be happening so soon. I had originally planned to stay here until spring of 2012. But the political and financial circumstances here have forced me out of my country, essentially.

But I am glad. In the immortal words of Leonard Cohen, "I love the country, but I can't stand the scene." I have lived here all of my life, 21 years, a meagre amount in the grand scheme of things, but a lot has happened during that time. I feel that things have become truly unstable here for me in America, as a disabled person, as a woman, as a non-Christian, and as a queer person of Jewish ancestry.

I never before would have advocated flying away with my tail between my legs. I am by nature a fighter, and I would, if I could, be willing to buckle down and show the world that I still believe in fighting for what's right in my home country. But I also have to think about my own education and my own safety. I also have to consider in the long run how much good I can do in the world. I feel that I will have the greater power to fulfil my dreams and aspirations in Canada. I will have a social safety net to depend on, a culture which is not rapidly flushing in a downward spiral of willful ignorance and cruel disregard for the vulnerable, and my beautiful girlfriend to aid me all the while. It is in this environment that I can flourish and engage in my academic future and legal future.

My talents and ambitions were not considered worth funding in America. Montanan students were collectively thrown under the bus with the slashing to upper education funding. We were considered a liability by the Montana legislature, because we were educated, passionate, and willing to challenge the dominant paradigm. So, they can pat themselves on the back for forcing me to leave, but the joke is on them. My exile will strengthen my resolve to make this world a better place for all people. From Canada, I will become unstoppable in my resolve to bring about justice, freedom, equality, and safety for all, and these lessons won't stop at the border.

I believe in Canada. It's not a perfect country either, far from it. But I know it will give me a chance to find my way as an advocate of all I believe in, as a student, and as an aspiring lawyer.

Goodbye, America.

An interesting revelation

Last week, I wrote about how my girlfriend had come out to the world as a trans woman, and we were adjusting to the new labelling of our relationship and adjusting to how our lives were going to change as she transitioned and we lost our heterosexual privilege and she lost her cis privilege and perceived male privilege.

I was bracing for everything, angry relatives, cynical friends, bigotry and confusion. I'm sure that we'll meet more of that as the process goes on and we start coming out to everyone. But there was one thing I didn't count on: I now love my girlfriend more than ever before. I find myself closer to her than I ever imagined, and her courage in going about life in the way she knows is best for her inspired me to throw aside previous fears.

Because of this, on Wednesday I submitted a transfer to a University she's doing her graduate work at, a University with an International Law program I have been dreaming of being accepted into for the longest time. A University in a town where my late father came from in order to travel to Hawaii, where I grew up.

Having the courage to live life on your own terms, with your desires and dreams firmly planted in your mind as you go forward is never easy. But my beautiful girlfriend and I are learning that it is worth every little heartache.

If I get accepted, the first thing I am going to do when I enter the city of this University is hug my girlfriend, because she will be the reason I'll be there. If there's one lesson of many I'm sure will come along from my girlfriend's transition, it's that you can't afford to spend life trapped in other people's ideas of who you are. Whether that's your birth-assigned gender or others' ideas on the limits of your intellectual and creative abilities.

Letter to D

This was inspired in part by my talk at the Children's Development Center. In the interest of safety, I will not reveal who D is, but I will say that he was there when I was talking to parents like his about autism, which D has.

Hello D,

A couple of nights ago, I was talking to moms and dads like your very own mom and dad. They were asking me all about people like you and I: My hobbies, my favourite foods, my dislikes, my favourite thing about myself, and what I think is the best possible path for them to take to raise kids like you, kids who are like I was at your age. You were off in the corner with your legos, and I felt like joining you and answering their questions while building a totally awesome fortress. But I sat at the table and just talked, while clicking my tongue occasionally, sighing, and rocking gently back and forth in my chair. Occasionally I cracked a joke.

When I was talking with them, I saw them smiling, laughing, and there was something in them that I was able to faintly detect, though I'm not so good at this type of thing: A mixture of relief and gratitude.

I think I know why they're grateful, D, but I can't be sure. I think they were glad to see me. See me there, dressed nicely, hair combed, but still wearing my totally comfy old scruffy black addidas shoes, mismatched socks, and rocking back and forth like I do. I was clearly like their own kids, but I was happy, content, and at ease (somewhat) in the world of adult conversation and adult responsibility. I had goals, dreams, and a tangible type of happiness, the kind that playing with those legos used to give me.

I think, more than anything, that's what they want for you, and their own kids. That happiness. For a long time now, they've been told that that's beyond your grasp, that your autism means that there's no hope, no future for you beyond living at home in your own filth and their shattered dreams. That's the image the media and not-so savoury folk have fed them about our autism. But that night, I could practically feel it break away. There was something different taking root there, and it was this idea that not only was happiness possible for you and I, it was all possible without having to force us into a way of life we were never meant to adhere to.

It's important that people like those parents know I exist, that others like me exist. When I was your age, I didn't know there was anyone like me out there. When I was your age, what I "was", would often be dubbed a mystery, a puzzle, or unsolvable. I had people call me horrible names and tell me horrible things. I've never managed to shake it off, and it forms a weight on me that sometimes makes my words, thoughts, and deeds drag along the ground, like a ball and chain. I know that this still goes on, and it makes me shudder and wince with a pain you'll grow familiar with as you age.

But I want a better future for you. Both myself and my parents want it. If the world took off its pity-tinted glasses and saw you do what I see you do, they'd be amazed. I love your intricate lego designs, towering high. I marvel at how you, like me,love to blow on cold glass and trace along letters and numbers in them. I'm amazed at your prowess with your finger as you write out these sums and words. But most of all, I love seeing you stimming quietly or not-so-quietly in the corner of the room uninterrupted. No attempts to jerk you out of it, no worries about how weird you look.

I love it because it's the world you created for yourself, and now, nobody wants to intrude in and deflate it. Never lose that world, D, it's your safe haven.

I promise you, I am going to do everything in my power to make sure that safe haven is yours to keep. I was luckier than others yesterday and today, and I want the very best of luck for you and all your friends. There's a little bit of me in all of you, and you all have something you share with me. Treasure it. And I'll make sure that it is seen for the precious gift it is, until you're old enough to protect it yourself.

Hopefully by then, nobody will be fighting to rob you of it though.

Leah Jane