The day that changed everything started like any other. I was bathing when my cousin burst into the bathroom, his eyes wide with shock at what he saw. He couldn't believe his eyes - my breasts, a visible sign of my transition. He ran to tell my mom, who demanded that I see a doctor, convinced that something was wrong with me. But I knew the truth, and I finally found the courage to share it with them: I am transgender. I had been taking hormones to align my body with my identity, and I couldn't go back. But my truth was met with rejection and anger. My mom gave me an ultimatum: stop taking the hormones or leave the house. I felt like my world was crumbling around me, like I was being forced to choose between my identity and my family.
Feeling trapped and helpless, I agreed to Henry's proposal. He showered me with gifts - beautiful female clothes and accessories - and I threw myself into transforming my appearance. I spent hours watching YouTube makeup tutorials, practicing until I could do my own makeup with ease. The result was stunning, even to myself. I left my old home behind, moving into a new apartment paid for by Henry, all the way from the United States. As I walked out into the world, dressed in my new identity, people on the streets did double takes. They couldn't believe their eyes - I was unrecognizable. My makeup was flawless, my breasts, although small, were a welcome addition to my body. I didn't mind that they were only a cup A - just having them made me feel whole. I finally felt like me, like I was living in my own skin. This was a blessing in disguised.
As the wedding preparations got underway, a major obstacle emerged: my visa approval was contingent on my passport matching my male identity. But I had no intention of reverting back to my old identity. Henry and I knew we had to act fast to avoid exposure. So, I came up with a plan to register for a new ID as a female. When the authorities asked why I wasn't already in the system, I spun a tale of being an orphan who grew up on the streets with my grandmother, who had since passed away. I told them I needed an ID to secure formal employment, and the sympathetic police officer bought my story hook, line, and sinker. With my new ID in hand, I applied for a passport, one that would finally reflect my true identity. It was a nerve-wracking process, but I knew it was essential to securing my future with Henry and starting my new life.
I thought I'd cleared the hardest hurdle, but obtaining a migration visa proved to be a daunting task. So, I regrouped and refocused on a simpler plan - acquiring a tourist visa. I reapplied, and this time, my application was successful. It felt like a second chance at a new life. I kept the news to myself, hesitant to share it with my family, fearing they might expose my true intentions. With my tourist visa in hand, I felt a sense of liberation, like I was turning the page to a fresh new chapter. I was ready to start anew, free from the burdens of my past.