Then my boyfriend came out of his transsexual closet, showcasing so many pairs of stilettos, giving my heels-wearing self a run for my money.  Hmm…so you want to be a woman.  And you want to stay with me.  AND we’re moving to fucking Tokyo in like, five months.

Okay…actually, NOT okay.

He came out as a transsexual around March 2012 and we were set to move that August. We’d been planning the move for a year, by the way.

I’m intellectually supportive, emotionally wrecked.  My former lesbian self, chock full of rainbow pride and many collegiate LGBTQ/marginalized peoples classes is incredibly proud of his courage to come out, to be who he needs to be.  My current self- his girlfriend- is shocked.  I’m already in shifted identity crisis: my stomach is in free-fall and my heart is cracking, bleeding, crying.  This might sound melodramatic but the thing is, I’m a supreme realist.  I didn’t know exactly what would happen but I knew his coming out would involve a future of constant change and adjustment.  And as much as I love a grand adventure, I prefer my romantic relationships on the un-rocky side; we all know that life deals enough challenges, no?

So I grieved the end of our two-year relationship as I knew it.  DAMN.  That really sucked as it was an awesome two years.

And here we are, in Tokyo, girlfriend and girlfriend.

After some reflection, recording the constant and hilarious assortment of cultural, relationship and sexual identity changes and hijinks seems the path of least regret.  I mean, who doesn’t enjoy a run-on story about a transsexual in transition and her moody girlfriend moving across the globe whilst learning Japanese, finding employment, eating the crap out of Japanese food etc. etc.?

We sure as hell jumped and she was right…the net appeared.