I slowly walk home, the wind fully taken out of my sails. Everything that I had intended to tell Mom is completely out of my head, since I don’t know how to tell her what I had ‘admitted’ to Miss Karawek, or, even worse, that it was all a lie. I decide to not rock any boats until I find out what Miss Karawek has to say to me tomorrow; another day of ‘bitter pills’ is not going to make a difference at this point. Mom comes home a little later and is in a strange mood. I decide to go outside after I finish my homework just to give her some space; I assume she is just sad about Dad again.

Dao is outside waiting to see if I come out. Her lip is a bit swollen and she is crying. I ask her what is wrong and she tells me that A-Wut had made her steal some pills from his Dad’s clinic. She sniffles and tells me in a shaky voice that he has proof that she did it and he will tell his Dad if I don’t continue to do what he says at that she would then go to a terrible prison. She really starts crying then and tells me that she is so sorry that she got me involved in all of this. I hold her a minute and then tell her that she is not the one that got me into this. If anyone, it was A-Wut.

I am a little surprised to realize that I have been able to keep my emotions better in check as she tells me all of this. A few days ago, I would have been blubbering along with her. I sort through my thoughts and comfort myself that I am not forgetting my Dad–it still hurts a lot to think about him, but it is more of a dull ache right now. I am still nowhere near normal in terms of my emotions, but at least I am not just breaking down and crying–or yelling at someone for no apparent reason.

I look at Dao and wipe the tears from her eyes as I say, “Dao, don’t worry. A-Wut will get what is coming to him. Everyone eventually does, at least that is what my Dad used to say–something about ‘what comes around, goes around…” I talk with Dao for a while longer until she is calmer and then have to go back in for supper.

Mom continues to be quiet the rest of the evening, through supper and until I go to bed. I can’t help but cry a bit after I climb in bed. I don’t know if it is because I am worried about Mom, worried about Dao, worried about myself, or all of the above. I finally quietly cry myself to sleep and am slow to get out of bed when the alarm goes off the next morning. I get ready and find that Mom is not in any better mood, so I quietly finish getting ready and walk to school.

I meet up with A-Wut, something that I had promised myself I would not do today, but with the extra pressure of him being to blackmail Dao, I take the pills without a word. I then meet up with Hom and her posse of girls determined to ‘help’. One of them sets to work on plucking a few more eyebrow hairs, while another puts a little eye shadow and eyeliner on my eyes. I have now ‘graduated’ to pink lip gloss, it seems. They quickly put on some pink fingernail polish to match.

I run into the boy’s room after they are done and look at myself in the mirror. My face is definitely more noticeably made up now. It is still subtle in terms of what the other girls are wearing, but definitely noticeable. My eyebrows are also starting to get visibly more girly, if you pay attention to them. I shudder as I see the flash of pink on my nails as I stroke my brows. I bolt to open the door and exit to the hall in a flood of emotions.

The girls calm me down and we all go to homeroom. About halfway through our first period, Miss Karawek comes in and asks me to accompany her to the front office. Amid a loud chorus of ‘you are in trouble’, I follow her meekly; wondering what she is going to do after our encounter yesterday. She has me sit in a chair in her office and then she asks me, “Kanya; is that what you wish to be called?” I shrug and say, “It has sort of stuck, I guess. I did not choose it, but I doubt I will change what others call me, now. I know how you get stuck with nicknames.” She nods and says, “Well, this is a bit more serious than a nickname, but we will go with it, for now. OK, Kanya, I see you have makeup on again. Would you like to tell me why?”

I almost tell her it is to be treated well in class, but decide that is not a good idea, so I say, “It is like I said yesterday, Ma’am.” I decide to leave it at that. She nods and asks, “So, you still want to know about being a kathoey?” My heart is beating loudly and I want to loudly and emphatically shout ‘no’, but I just nod and start crying–I can’t help it. She gets up and tenderly hugs me. She tells me it will be OK and she will help me. A buzzer sounds at her desk and she goes over and opens the door. My heart skips a couple of beats when Mom comes in…

Mom takes one look at me and then angrily demands from Miss Karawek, “Would you mind telling me what the Hell is going on here? First, I get an email from you yesterday to come here today, but to not say anything about it to Danny. And then I come in here and my son is crying his heart out. And why does he have mascara running down his face?”

Miss Karawek calmly asks my Mom to sit down. She then quietly explains what she knows to be true at this point. Mom gets a more incredulous look on her face with each passing second and just stares at me as Miss Karawek speaks. Then Mom asks me in a scary quiet voice, “Is this true, Daniel? Is Dao a boy and do you want to be a girl like he does?” I look at Mom and my tears start freely flowing again. I so want to tell her the whole truth, but feel I am in way too deep, now. With trembling lips, I say, “Yes, Mom. Dao is a kathoey–she is not a boy, though. At least not in her mind. As for me, I just want to understand…”

Mom visibly deflates and looks back at Miss Karawek as she starts babbling, “I don’t understand. I know that things are more liberal in Thailand when it comes to being transgendered, but I did not think that my eleven year-old son would get caught up in it. Wait, that is not fair. I am sorry, I guess his Dad’s death must have done more than I knew. I will see about making an appointment with a psychiatrist for him. Do you have any suggestions? I guess I can ask at the embassy…” Her voice trails off and Miss Karawek waits quietly.

Finally, Miss Karawek says, “I would urge you not to go that route just yet. As you mentioned, Thailand, in many respects, is much more open to these things than your home country. As a matter of fact, in your country I would be considered a post-operative transgendered woman. Here, I am just considered a kathoey. There is really no harm in letting Daniel, or Kanya, explore his or her feelings on this. I can help with this; trust me, I understand these feelings and issues quite well. If this is just a phase, then there is no harm done to Daniel, right? If it is more serious, then I can help you better navigate what needs to be done for Kanya.” Mom visibly pales and sends me to sit outside the office while they talk further.

After what seems like forever, Mom comes out. She does not storm out, which is a good sign, I think, but she is visibly upset. She firmly takes my hand and says, “Come on, Kanya! It seems that I won’t be going to work any today.” She nearly pulls my arm out of its socket, she is walking so fast, as she drags me to the house. She doesn’t say another word the whole way; all I hear is the fast ‘click click’ of her heels.

We make it home in about half the time it normally takes. Mom closes the door behind us and makes me sit on the couch. She slowly makes herself a cup of some herbal tea and by the time she sits down with me, she seems calmer. Finally, she speaks, “Danny, Sweetie, do you want to tell me what is really going on? Is this just you lashing out at your father’s death? Do I need to make an appointment with a psychiatrist? Miss Karawek thinks not, but I don’t know. The customs here are strange for us and I just don’t know…” The last thing I want right now is to see a shrink, so I emphatically shake my head no.

I look at Mom and fight back an onslaught of tears, proud that I am getting better at controlling them. I say with a shaky voice, “No, Mom. I miss Dad. I really do. But, that is not what this is about.” I sigh as I think of another weird saying Dad had always used, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’. I continue, my voice still shaky, keeping to the storyline that I have been thrust into, “You are right, they do things weird around here. We could be here a long time, actually I hope we are, that we don’t move again anytime soon, before I can make friends again. I am trying to understand how to fit in; how to make friends. I like Dao–I don’t care what others think. I know that she would be really hated at home, but I don’t care. We are here. Hom, at school, said she could help me understand her better. She told me that no one would care here at school. Some of the teachers are even supportive of me doing this. Miss Karawek seems to be, too.”

Mom sits quietly and listens. After wordlessly finishing another cup of tea, she finally says, “OK, let’s say I go along with this–Miss Karawek insists that you need to do it all or nothing, so that we know for sure what is going on in your head. She says this could be your latent desire to be a girl–that many boys don’t realize they want that until they are your age. She says that was how it was with her. You are sure it is not that?” I shake my head and say, “No, Mom, I don’t want to turn into a girl if that is what you mean.” She shakes her head and says, “OK, if I get that feeling at any point, then I have to get you to a shrink straight away; no matter what they say…”

She is quiet a while longer, stirring another cup of tea. Finally, she continues, “For now, I think that Miss Karawek’s plan is likely best, given that we are here and the customs are what they are. I am still not sure about it all, but realize that I have a lot of stigmas from back home, too. Maybe this will be good for both of us.” She shakes her head and stirs some more in the now cold tea. Then her tone softens and she asks, ”So, Kanya? How did you come up with that name?” I shrug and tell her that it just sort of happened…

Mom looks at me and asks me one more time, “Are you sure? If we go through with this, I will insist that you follow through until the end of the school-year. This is going to cost me quite a pretty penny–and it will take some effort on Miss Karawek’s behalf at school, too.” With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I nod and say, “Yes, Mom, I am sure.” She shakes her head again and says, “OK, Dan…Kanya, come on then. Let’s go in.” We had taken a taxi to a store in a part of town that we have not been to before. Mom does not seem too comfortable in the neighborhood, but Miss Karawek suggested that we come here.

A really pretty woman comes up to us as soon as the bell rings on the door and asks us how she can help us. Mom nervously clears her throat and says, “Miss Karawek referred us to you and said you could help. This is Da…Kanya. He…she wants to be a…kathoey… I am his…her Mom and, as you can tell, from the States and have no idea where to begin…” The woman has a surprised look on her face. She looks us over critically and asks my Mom, “And you are OK with her wanting this?” Mom just nervously nods.

The lady then looks at me and asks, “Is this true, Kanya? That is a pretty name, by the way.” I nod my head in the most assuring manner I can and say, “Yes Ma’am.” She says, “OK, I am Malee. Let me take a look at you–I think you will make a very pretty girl. Are you going to start hormones right away? You don’t want those pesky boy hormones messing up your pretty body and face.” Mom gasps and says, “No, we are…not there quite yet.” I just shake my head, not really fully understanding the question. Malee smiles and says, “OK, but don’t wait too long. The earlier you start, the better. I started when I was about your age, maybe a little younger.” Mom gasps again and Malee continues, “How old are you, Kanya?” I tell her I am eleven, almost twelve, and she nods.

Malee sits me down in a chair in front of a mirror with lots of makeup and stuff around it. She says, “You are still young, Kanya, but girls wear more makeup at your age than you have on. You are being too conservative.” I shrug and Malee continues, “We need to get you looking more like a girl your age. I am going to wipe this off and then show you how to do it right after I finish fixing your eyebrows.” She then wipes off all of the makeup that Hom and the girls had put on me. She takes out a pair of tweezers and attacks my brows, with no regard to ‘subtle’ this time. When she is done, I have very girly-looking eyebrows–all thin and pointed and arched up high on my forehead.

After she puts away the tweezers, she gathers up a bunch of sponges and brushes and stuff and starts making up my face, explaining each step of the way. It feels and smells really funny, but when she is done, I look like a really pretty girl; I look a lot like an American version of Hom and the other girls at school. Mom, once again, gasps when she sees me. Malee explains that this is the ‘appropriate’ level of makeup for my age and school. I nod to Mom when she asks if this is what the girls look like at school. Malee tells me that my nails look pretty with the pink polish on them, but that it is too sloppy, so she redoes them in bright metallic pink. She then says she needs to take me in back to get some measurements.

Malee has Mom sit down to wait, takes my hand, leads me through a doorway into a small room, and closes a curtain. She tells me to undress, down to my underwear, which I do. She starts measuring my chest with a tape measure and when she brushes up against my nipples I jump a bit. She looks at me and gently squeezes them a bit. I flinch and she asks me, “Does that hurt, Hon?” I tell her, “I don’t know; not really hurt. The last couple of days they seem to be sort of really sore, though.” She smiles at me and winks; I have no idea why. She says, “Well, maybe we should get you a nice padded bra to go with your outfit. All girls your age wear one–you will especially need one when you start your hormones.” She winks big again; I am still clueless as to why.

After she finishes measuring me, she pulls out some girl’s pink panties and a matching padded bra. They are lacy and girly and I stop myself from groaning as she tells me to put them on while she goes out to talk to my Mom. I look at the panties and bra in my hand and shudder, once again mentally kicking myself for getting into this situation. I remove my undies and pull on the panties and wait; I have no idea what to do with the bra.

Malee comes back in carrying a pale pink dress. Before she helps me into it, she smiles and takes the bra from me. First, she gently rubs some cream into my boobs from a tube. She tells me, “Shh, this is our little secret. You keep putting this on your boobies and they will feel better soon. Just a little, like the size of the pea on each, is all it takes. Don’t tell anyone that I gave it to you, though. You could get me in trouble with your Mom.” She winks, then she helps me into the bra, showing me how to clasp it in the furthest hook in front of my body and then spin it around so that the cups are in front and I can put my arms in. She makes some adjustments to the straps, so that it pulls my shoulders back some and then inserts some cold, heavy, jiggly things into the cups. She makes a final adjustment and then helps me into the dress.

After she has zipped the dress up in the back, she hands me some white, short, girly socks with lace and tells me to put them on, followed by a pair of black, shiny girl’s shoes that she calls ‘ballet flats’. She spins me around and seems happy. Finally, she picks up a long wig, the same color of my hair, and securely fastens it to my head. She says, “Your hair is not quite long enough for extensions, yet. In a few weeks it should be, though. Then we can do better than this old wig.” She brushes it for a while, then turns me to look in the mirror. I am surprised to find a really pretty young girl looking back at me. Mom really gasps when she sees me. Malee just smiles.

Malee gets all of the ‘teenie’ makeup that I will need, panties and padded bras, and several more dresses, and starts ringing things up. Mom asks why I need the bras and Malee just shrugs and says that the girls my age will be getting curves and I need to fit in. She winks at me again when Mom can’t see it and I roll my eyes in exasperation, although Malee does not see that. She adds some makeup remover pads, facial cleansers, and moisturizers to the pile as she explains that she has prepared many kathoey to become beauty queens in national competitions. Malee emphasizes the importance of me getting into the routine of using the moisturizers and lotions and Mom promises she will make me do it. She then makes Mom promise to bring me back in a week for a ‘progress check’.

As we are leaving, Malee slips the tube of cream to me and whispers, “Just a little before you go to bed and in the morning after your shower. You will see that they will feel better soon. This is normal and there is nothing to worry about, I promise. Remember, though, this is just between us.” She winks and I hide the tube as I run behind Mom to get into the taxi that is waiting for us, still not sure what that was all about.

It feels really weird to run in the stiff girl’s shoes that want to flop off my feet–and in a dress… After I jump in the taxi, Mom makes me get back out and shows me how to get in properly; by sweeping my dress under me and pivoting in with my legs tightly closed and keeping my dress pulled down over my legs. The twenty minute ride home is filled with Mom lecturing me that I can’t ‘flash’ my panties to the world. If I thought Hom was hard on me, Mom is a hundred time worse. She slaps or pinches my thigh every time there is the slightest gap between my legs.

To be continued in Part 4.