Asexual Awareness Week

Asexual Awareness Week

Sam's Words And Worlds

Around my twentieth birthday, I became restless. For the first time in seven years, my age would not spell “teen”. I was gradually turning into a grown-up: I was pursuing my studies, had a steady job on the side, was paying for my horse’s boarding and everything he could possibly need. But still, I could not shake the feeling that there was something wrong with me. Something missing, or something broken perhaps. As if I were missing pieces of a puzzle, unless I had maybe one too many. I spent hours on the web, trying to find answers to a question I did not even know.

I ended up on AVEN somewhat by accident, after having clicked on a bunch of websites on yet another forum that seemed to hold no answer for me. I had long given up browsing French websites and forums, as they had not proved to…

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Six months

Six months

Sam's Words And Worlds

Six months. It’s been six months since you left me. And I have been thinking of you almost every waking moment of every day, and almost every sleeping moment of every night. The pain has not dulled. Time does not heal all wounds. That’s bullshit. Some wounds simply never heal. And this is one of them.

I don’t know what to say, except that I love you. And that I hate you sometimes, for literally dying on me. I hate you so much it feels like my blood has turned to liquid rage. And then I hate myself for hating you, because you never meant to leave me like that. It was an accident. The first thing I told you that day was that it was okay for you to go, that I wouldn’t blame you. And I meant it. But I had no idea it would be this hard…

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Cosmic Dancer

Cosmic Dancer

Sam's Words And Worlds

On Sunday, June 4, 2017, I scattered your ashes. I went to the beach where we had been over five years and a half ago. I will never forget how happy you were that day. More than that, you were ecstatic. In your youth, when you were still a race horse, you used to train on the beach from time to time. There is no doubt in my mind that you loved running as fast as you could on the sand, with the waves roaring and crashing near you, the wind rushing through your mane, free as a bird.

You had galloped fast before. And you galloped fast after that. Faster than any horse I had ever known, and I have met quite a lot of them. But never did you run as fast as you did on that day. You even forgot I was there, on your back, holding…

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The Angel Amongst Us

The Angel Amongst Us

Yet another wonderful tribute. Sam, my friend, you didn’t deserve to have to grieve twice at the same time. But sometimes we don’t get what we deserve. And sometimes we don’t deserve what we get. You are handling it gracefully and selflessly, and I hope writing – so beautifully – about your departed friends brings you some level of comfort.

Sam's Words And Worlds

“He was an angel”.

This is what my father said upon learning that our beloved dog had died. And I sincerely do believe that truer words have never been spoken. Our faithful companion of fourteen years, Ullan de Royal Belgravia, died on May 15, 2017, at around 11:30pm. We took him urgently to the vet after he suffered a stroke, but we decided to let him go, for his own sake. He died in my arms, knowing that he was loved, and that he had fulfilled his purpose as a dog; that is to love with all the might of his heart, that was, quite literally, too big for his own chest.

You found your way to us by accident. When my parents went back to the kennel we had previously visited, a lovely place where the dogs were loved, they had never planned on coming home with a dog…

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So I’ve done something recently that I never thought I’d be doing. To be honest, the back of my mind had timidely been flirting with the idea for a while, but for some not good enough reason, it had felt like too big of a thing to actually go ahead and do. It had felt like I wasn’t allowed.

I bought a chest binder.

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A chest binder is an article of clothing that often looks like a tank top or a crop top, specifically designed to flatten your chest. Like so.


For reference, I am naturally a 32F size. That’s right. I just posted my bra size online. That’s probably a smart thing to do.

Now, why would it take me so long to get myself one of these things? Mainly because binders are traditionally used by the FTM (female to male) trans* community.

All my life I have tiptoed around the edges of transgender, never quite daring to step in. Internalized transphobia, maybe, or simply confusion. If I were completely, definitely, transgender, from one binary to the other, then maybe it wouldn’t have taken me so long, and it wouldn’t have been as daunting.

As it was, though, some part of my brain had to be told I was doing it for practical reasons. Bras my size aren’t cheap, and oftentimes don’t work as well as one would hope. A heavy chest pulls on the skin and causes pains when badly supported. With a binder, the weight would be spread out.

The other part of my brain, the one that knew there were other reasons, was scared. This was a dive head first into my trans-ness, a step off the cliff. What if I couldn’t swim? What if I couldn’t fly?

I was shaking when I clicked “confirm order”.

The binder arrived a few days ago and I was rather excited about trying it out. It’s tight, obviously, but not uncomfortable. Certainly more comfortable than high heels and mini-skirts. It’s a bit tricky to put on, a bit tricky to take off, but I seem to be managing better than some other people out there so… sorry guys. Guess I’m lucky. It also led me to notice things I had never paid attention to before. Like my left breast being just a tad bigger than the right. Ah, fun times!

The day went fine. I felt like myself. I felt comfortable. I could look down and see my feet – I have big feet!

When I took the thing off in the evening though, I experienced a slight gender shift, feeling more like the girl me, and I had a pinch of vulnerability. It felt a bit like I’d betrayed or abandoned that feminine part of me. Which is silly but I suppose it’s the lot of genderfluid people.


I think this moment of distress came from the huge importance I had placed on the binder. Building it up in my mind, like it was something that had the power to change me. It’s not, and I don’t think it’s quite healthy – for me at least – to think of it that way. It’s just cloth. It’s comfortable and it allows me to wear shirts that were designed for male bodies. I genuinely like it. But it does nothing to impact my gender identity. You are not your clothes, surprisingly enough.

Now I’m getting used to thinking of this as just another addition to my wardrobe. Some days I’ll wear a bra, some days I’ll wear a binder. It will depend on the clothes I’ve decided to wear that day, and on my mood. It means I can now feel right and comfortable in clothes from both sides of the shop.

The most important thing is that wearing a binder does not make me any more transgender. Just like wearing a bra does not make me any less transgender. And that is quite a freeing thought, don’t you think?



Goodnight, sweet Prince

Goodnight, sweet Prince

A beautiful tribute by my good friend Sam, to her amazing companion Alex and the relationship they shared for seven years and will always continue to share.
My deepest sympathies.

Sam's Words And Worlds

It’s never easy, telling the end of a story. Saying goodbye, or even worse, farewell. As a writer, I have always hated that moment when I inevitably have to tell how the story ends. That inescapable final point. I was never good at finding, or getting, closure. Not just in my stories, and my writings, but in everything that I do as well. Endings are incredibly arduous. Very rarely has an ending left me with a sense of completion, of ease, or of acceptance. I crave for more, and I doubt that I am the only one to be burdened so. I know that nothing is infinite, that nothing is forever, nothing is eternal. That, in time, everything will end. In the behemothic scale of the cosmos, of everything in creation, we are but a blink. A moment in time, a sporadic heartbeat, a long forgotten echo. Even the star…

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Breathe. And write.

Wonderful first blog from my very good friend Sam. Enjoy and be sure to follow Sam’s blog for more beautiful words and worlds!

Sam's Words And Worlds

So. Here I am.

Facing my computer, my hands on the keyboard, trying to figure out what to say, and what to write, and how to write it. It used to be so easy. Words flowing out of me, pouring under my fingers, in a chaotic yet sublime whirlwind. A magnificent maelstrom of feelings, swirling and frothing deep within me. And it was so glorious.

It was a drug, an addiction, but more than that, it was a need. A most basic, instinctual need. As critical as breathing. As vital as the beating of my heart. I had to write. I simply had to. Because an absurd part of me was afraid that I would die if I didn’t. But it never felt absurd, or wrong. It felt safe, and wondrous, but most importantly, it felt right. So I would write. Anything, and everything. So long as I could write…

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A first post

A first post

So here we are.

This is not the first blog I’ve started, but hopefully it will be the first one that doesn’t end.

My plan for this new one, as I create it tonight while sipping chai tea from my Elmo mug, is to give it a slightly more professional writer, slightly less adolescent ramblings vibe. Is that coming across yet?

Fair enough.

Bear with me, though, because I have a lot of exciting content coming your way. There will be fiction, non-fiction, thoughts and a bit of rambling – can’t get rid of it completely, where’s the fun in a completely serious blog?

We will talk about writing, reading, travels, people, identity, food, music, video games, and whatever tickles my fancy because, well, it’s my blog. It will be funny, sad, enthusiastic, nostalgic, life-affirming, creative and all sorts of good things that make writing the most wonderful solitary activity in the world.

Brace yourselves for some epic blogging!

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