I'm alive.
I'm a human being.
I can wake up every morning and see the sun rise.
And I know the world is beautiful.

And maybe that's why they don't write my story.
Maybe that's why our lives aren't documented and shared.
Maybe that's why the only stories you hear about people like me are the tragic ones.

Because I'm not so unlike you.
And what kind of a story is that?




I am Anakin.

No. Hear me out. Please.
This isn't one of those metaphors where I compare myself to a Star Wars character and everybody rolls their eyes. It isn't a metaphor at all.
This is my life, and I want you all to understand it because you are part of my life.


Transgender.

It doesn't mean I want to become a boy. I don't want to, I am.
It's not about how I may or may not have a sex change operation. That's none of your business anyway.
It's not penis envy, whatever the hell that is.

And it doesn't mean I'm a different person than I was.

It just means that I'm coming to that realization and conclusion that we all subconsciously understood for a long time.
I'm not female. I'm not a girl. Never have been. My body may appear that way, but my mind and soul do not match it.
Simply put, it's the idea that I am a guy, trapped, in a woman's body.

Looking back, it explains a lot.
It explains why, recently, I never identified as a lesbian. I didn't like the word. Makes sense. It defined me as female, which I was uncomfortable with. It's why I always considered myself queer, genderless, odd.
It explains why I fought so hard against uniforms and dress code policies. I'm just not wearing a skirt. I don't do it.
It explains why locker rooms and public restrooms were so awkward. Which one am I supposed to go in? Where can I be comfortable, my body or my soul?
It explains why I avoided the stage so much, and when forced upon it, played male characters.
It explains why I tried so hard for so long to be just like my brother.

I'm coming to this realization and conclusion, and in doing so, the way I define myself and am defined by the world needs to evolve.
I am not a different person.
I am the same person I always was:
The techie that works too hard; the black belt who probably shouldn't be; the classmate who always ruins the curve; the blogger whose entries are usually a little over your head; the child who draws in the dirt instead of playing soccer.

The same life, the same person, defined slightly differently.
It's a pronoun. And it's a name.
That's all.
I am still Anna K. Morris, in a sense. It just changes a little. She becomes he. Her becomes him. I become me, as I should be, as I am.
Anakin Morris. Anna K. Anakin.
Me.

Seriously, you say. Anakin. Come on.
Yes.
Anakin.
Anakin Solo. Third child of Han and Leia Organa Solo. Named after his grandfather, Skywalker. He's a kid. He's young and rash and doesn't always know the ways of the world. He's scared of what he might become, because of where he came from. He has incredible power, and doesn't necessarily know how best to use it. He emerges from a darkness, an ignorance and a hatred, steps into the light, and redeems a name, which was for so long evil and now needs not be. He is the transition, from dark to light. He is redemption. He is the embodiment of self-discovery and living on.
He's not perfect. He's just human.
He's like me. And his name is like mine.
And it is a name. Different, yes, but a name nonetheless. Scoff, laugh, tell me I won't be taken seriously, and get it out of your system. Be done. It's the name I choose to live with, for better and for worse. It is not your choice to make. It is mine. I want you all behind me, but I'm willing to do it on my own. That is your choice.
This way I do not lose my initials, I do not lose my name. I always know from where I come and that grounds me to the person I am. Anna K. evolves. Anakin comes forth.

This is hard.
I know.
And it's just as hard for you to redefine the narrative you have of those in your life as it is for me to change mine.
I don't want to lose the person I was or the relationships I had with the people I knew.
I don't want to stop and start over.
I want to pick up, right here, where we all are, and move forward.

I don't expect you all to understand it completely. I don't expect you all to be ready to change one hundred percent just yet. I don't expect you all to switch pronouns and names seamlessly.
I just want you to be aware.
I want you go get to a point in your lives, eventually, where you can accept this and we can just be. Be open to the ideas of a world outside of binary gender roles. It is not one or the other; it is a spectrum, a continuum in which we all search for a place to be safe. You all were born into yours. I now come upon mine consciously.
I don't expect you to have it down perfectly. It's okay if you mess up. Just notice it, and know that I notice it too. Correct it, when you're ready. And move on.

And you all will have questions. I know.
I'm here with what answers I have stumbled across in my journey.
I'm willing to share them.
I'm willing to listen.
I'm willing to be the person I always have been.
If you're willing to recognize him.


May the Force be with you all. Amen.
And thank you.