Prologue

This story is purely fictional. The characters, places, events, and situations are created for entertainment purposes. Any similarities to real people or events are purely coincidental.

Please remember that this is a work of fiction, and some parts may not reflect real-life experiences or situations.

TRANSGENDER WOMAN X STRAIGHT MAN STORY

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I swear, the commute from Makati to SoFA is literally testing my remaining sanity today. Naka-stuck ako inside a Grab along Sen. Gil Puyat for like, forty-five minutes! Panood-nood lang ako sa meter habang nag go-up, and my iced Spanish latte from Percent was getting super watery na.

Sobrang sayang, honestly…

My dad—well, the senator, not that he’d ever let his legit family hear that word—keeps promising na bibilhan niya daw ako of a custom Mini Cooper for my second year. But until his shell companies clear the funds, I’m stuck booking GrabCar Six-Seaters just so my plate-sized shoulder pads for our 3D Pattern Making project won’t get crushed, ’di ba?

I finally stepped out at the campus entrance, fixing my Jacquemus bag and checking my drape skirt. I ran my fingers through my hair to check my reflection sa glass door.

You know, just checking the silhouette. Soft features, perfect jawline contour, and absolute precision…

Hormones and pure willpower have been doing all the heavy lifting for now, but my ultimate goal is set: right after graduation, I’m flying straight to Thailand for my Sex Reassignment Surgery.

A full-on graduation gift to myself, funded by Dad’s deep, secret pockets, of course. For now, I still look so divine kaya.

“Babe, you’re so late na!” Carol squeaked the moment I strutted into the student lounge.

She and Bianca were sprawled across the couches, surrounded by swatches of silk organza and half-empty iced matcha lattes.

“Guys, sobrang hassle, I cannot even!” I said, dropping into the armchair and dramatically sliding my Gentle Monster shades up my head. “Like, why is traffic so ungodly? It’s so dugas to my mental health. Plus, Dad’s secretary transferred my allowance late na naman, so I had to use my own credit card for the Grab. Super kainis.”

Bianca rolled her eyes, tapping her acrylic nails against her iPad screen. “Oh, please! We all know your father doubles your budget every time he leaves you on read for a week. But spill muna—did you end up replying to that guy from the Rockwell party, or are we still playing hard to get?”

I leaned back, crossing my legs with total elegance, and let out a tiny sigh. “Okay, so like… I wasn’t going to reply, ’di ba? Because hello, red flag much? But then he sent this super long voice note on IG at 2 AM saying he loved my avant-garde collection draft…”

“Wait, hold up!” Carol cut in, almost dropping her iced matcha latte onto her organza swatches. “What about Juancho? Like, aren’t you guys still together?”

“We are! Nakakainis nga kasi,” I groaned, dramatically leaning my head back against the lounge chair. “Isa pa, Juancho is, like, so inconsistently present in my life, it’s giving bare minimum energy. Super nakakairita talaga!”

I raised my hand, listing my own boyfriend’s offenses on my freshly gelled nails. “One day he’s all lambing, sending me flowers from Te Amo Floristry and texting me good morning, beautiful with endless heart emojis. Then the next three days? Nga-nga. No updates, as in total radio silence! He claims his family’s logistics business is so toxic right now, but hello? It takes like, five seconds to send a text, ’di ba?”

Bianca took a slow sip of her drink, smirking over the rim. “Babe, he’s a high-maintenance frat boy. What do you expect? They’re bred to be emotionally unavailable.”

“Still naman!” I huffed, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “Juancho knows I’m super stressed with my portfolio, plus my mood swings from my HRT schedule this week are no joke. A little consistency won’t hurt him. So when this UST architecture guy DMs me at 2 AM with actual, thoughtful feedback on my draping techniques? Siyempre, my ego was nourished!”

Carol leaned in, her eyes wide. “Omg. Don’t tell me you replied ba?!”

“I mean… I sent a voice note back. Just three seconds long,” I said, playing with the strap of my Jacquemus bag.

“What did you say?!”

I paused for dramatic effect, tilting my head with a wicked smirk. “Awww, thanks, babe. Glad someone appreciates real art. Then I left him on delivered.”

Nakipaghiwalay ako kay Juancho dahil hindi ko na talaga ma-take ang pagiging inconsistent niya. Like, hello? I deserve someone who gives 100% attention, not someone who treats me like an option whenever it’s convenient for him!

Nung nag-pop up ’yung text niya saying na nasa labas daw siya ng SoFA for a quick lunch after three days, hindi na ako nag-abala na bumaba.

I just typed back: “Actually, don’t bother waiting. We’re done, Juancho. I don’t do bare minimum energy anymore, goodbye.” Tapos, in-unfriend at ni-block ko siya agad sa lahat! Blocked sa iMessage, blocked sa IG, blocked pati sa Facebook. Total clean slate talaga, no back-up plan necessary.

Hindi naman ako nabakante, ’no. After two months, nagpaligaw ako dun sa architecture guy from UST—his name is Enzo, and omg, the upgrade is so real!

Unlike Juancho who gave me breadcrumbs, Enzo is literally the definition of effort. Nung midterms week namin, while I was literally losing my mind over my avant-garde collection, he drove all the way from España to my condo sa Makati just to bring me warm soup and my favorite Percent coffee. Tapos he even helped me cut fabric swatches pa while studying for his own building technology exams!

I’m not a saint, ’no. Once I get into a relationship, I always give and take. Hindi naman ako ’yung tipong tutunganga lang and expect to be treated like a princess without returning the energy.

I’m no longer a virgin naman—I lost my virginity when I was sixteen to my high school sweetie, so I fully know what I want and how to give that same intensity back when someone actually treats me right.

Ako pa nga ang unang nag-initiate dun sa first boyfriend kong si Josiah. Like, hello? I knew what I wanted back then, and I wasn’t going to just sit there waiting around. So when the vibe is right, I don’t do subtle. I make sure my partner knows exactly how much I appreciate them.

I had four exes, at the age of nineteen, but every single one of those relationships taught me something talaga. Like, Josiah taught me how to take the lead, while Juancho… well, Juancho was just a prime example of what I should never tolerate again. Some people think having four exes at my age is a lot, but I call it research! Experiencing different types of guys helped me realize my worth kaya.

“Pa, gusto ko po sanang bumisita kay Mama sa—”

“I can’t let you do that, Sol. Alam mong delikado at masyadong malayo ang probinsya ng Mama mo,” my dad interrupted immediately. “People are watching my every move, lalo na’t nalalapit na ang election season. An illegitimate child traveling to the province will raise questions.”

Kinagat ko ang aking pang-ibabang labi. Ayaw ko na kasing puro video call na lang kami ni Mama. I wanted to hug her in person, smell her familiar cooking, and just be her child for even a day—away from all the Makati facade, the SoFA pressure, and Dad’s endless political cover-ups.

“Pa, it’s been almost a year!” I pleaded. “I just want to see her man lang. I miss her!”

“I send her more than enough allowance, and I send you yours,” he said firmly, no warmth in his tone. “Stay in Makati, focus on your fashion school, and don’t make things complicated for me. My secretary will wire your money tomorrow for your post-grad SRS savings. Don’t call this number again unless it’s an emergency.”

Then he hung up…

Tumulo ang mga luha sa pisngi ko, nanatili ang phone ko sa tainga ko habang naririnig ang dial tone. Dial tone lang.

Mabilis kong pinunas ’yung tears ko gamit ang sleeve ng designer top ko—careful not to ruin my fresh lash extensions at ’yung perfectly blended contour sa jawline ko. I took a deep breath, fixing my posture instantly.

I promised myself long ago na hinding-hindi ako magmumukhang kawawa, kahit gaano pa kasakit…

Sana hindi na lang niya ako kinuha kung lalaki naman akong mag-isa. I remember my life way before he took me away from the province—back when my life was so simple, and my mom’s laughter was the only thing filling our small house. Hindi man ako spoiled at hindi ko nakukuha ang mga gusto ko noon, pero filled with actual warmth and genuine love naman ’yung buhay ko doon.

Kilala ako ng legitimate family ni Papa. It’s not even a secret behind closed doors anymore—they completely know I exist. His wife knows, his legal kids know, and honestly? They hate my guts. For them, I’m just walking proof of their father’s infidelity, an awkward mistake that their father sweeps under the rug with wire transfers and high-rise condo rentals in Makati.

Hindi naman ako naiinggit sa kanila, ’no. Like, why would I be? I have my own path, my own talent, and a future in fashion design that I’m building with my own hands. Pero kung makatitig kasi ’yung legal daughter niya every time nagkakasabay kami sa Rockwell or BGC—as if I’m some kind of second-class citizen—nakakapang-init talaga ng ulo.

I’d rather be with my mother than deal with all these fake high-society pretenders. Magsama-sama sila sa Manila lifestyle nila na punong-puno naman ng kaplastikan. At least with Mama, kahit payak lang ang buhay sa probinsya, totoo ang lahat.

“Pinadalhan na naman ako ng tatay mo, sinabi ko nang hindi na kailangan…” huminga si Mama nang malalim mula sa kabilang linya.

Nakatitig lang ako sa phone ko habang nakaspeakerphone ito sa kitchen counter ng condo ko rito sa Makati, habang busy ako sa paghalo ng niluluto kong simpleng sabaw.

Sawang-sawa na ako sa mga pagkain na fine dining, catering, at deliver galing sa mga overpriced restaurants sa Makati. Kakain nga ako sa magandang lugar, ka-table ko naman ’yung mga taong pilit lang akong tinitiis o kaya naman mga taong hindi ako totoong kilala. Kaya kahit papaano, gusto ko ring makatikim ng lutong-bahay—kahit ako na lang ang magluluto para sa sarili ko.

I rolled my eyes. “Then gamitin mo, Ma! Perahan mo pa si Papa! Like I always do!” I huffed, aggressively turning off the stove burner. “He owes us big time! Kulang pa nga ’yang ibinibigay niya kumpara sa panggagagong ginawa niya sa ’tin! Standard operating procedure na lang sa kaniya ang pagse-send ng pera para lang pagtakpan ang guilt niya, so why not take advantage of it?”

“Sol…” untag sa akin ni Mama mula sa phone, filled with that gentle, painful sympathy that always makes my throat tight, kahit daan-daang kilometro ang layo ng probinsya sa akin. “Hindi kita pinalaking ganiyan…”

“I know, Ma! Pero hindi na ’to tungkol sa kung paano mo ako pinalaki,” I muttered, my voice cracking a little before I quickly composed myself, grabbing a bowl to transfer what I cooked. “Nagagalit lang ako kasi ayaw niya akong bumisita sa ’yo! My last visit to you was almost a year ago na! Parang ayaw na ayaw niya na pumupunta ako riyan!”

“Hayaan mo na ang tatay mo, Sol,” mahinahong pakiusap ni Mama. “Ang mahalaga, nagkakausap naman tayo. Ayaw ko lang na napapahamak ka o na-i-stress ka riyan sa Maynila nang dahil sa akin.”

“It’s not just about that, Ma,” I sighed, gripping the edge of the granite counter as I stared at the steaming soup I made. “It’s the fact na kinukulong niya ako sa ganitong buhay. Sure, I have this high-rise condo in Makati, unlimited credit cards, and he pays for everything. But every time I ask for something simple—like seeing my own mother—puro bawal. Puro money transfers lang ang sagot niya.”

I bit my lip to stop it from trembling, wiping a stray tear with the back of my hand before it could ruin my makeup.

“Kaya tanggapin mo na lang ’yang pinapadala niya, Ma. Consider it his payment for keeping us apart,” I added, my tone hardening. “I have to go, Ma. Maghahanda pa ako for my SoFA classes. I’ll call you again later, okay? Love you.”

I ended the call and rested both hands on the granite counter, taking a slow, deep breath to pull myself together. But before I could even process the heavy ache in my chest from Mama, my phone buzzed with a text notification.

It was from Enzo.

My heart lifted for a split second—expecting his usual ‘On my way, babe’ or a random picture of my favorite Percent coffee—until I actually opened the message:

‘Can’t make it to Makati today. Busy with plates.’

No babe. No emojis. No effort.

I stared at the screen, my brows furrowing in confusion. Over the past year, Enzo started to get cold, and the change was getting impossible to ignore. The guy who used to drive all the way from España just to hand-deliver warm soup during my midterms was suddenly giving me dry, one-line replies. He stopped tagging me on his IG stories, stopped asking about my SoFA projects, and barely replied to my texts unless I sent a double message.

“I miss you, Noelle!” mahigpit kong niyakap ang kaibigan kong mahinhin at chinita.

Sa sobrang busy ko sa buhay, halos hindi na kami makapagkita.

She’s my best friend since high school, isa ring trans na katulad ko. Siya lang ang nakakaalam ng bawat iyak, bawat injector mark, at bawat laban na pinagdaanan ko bago ko narating ang kung sino ako ngayon. With her, I didn’t need to wear my hyper-polished, unbothered high-fashion mask.

Papunta na sana kami dun sa kapehan na dati naming tinatambayan noong high school pa lang kami, nang paliko pa lang kami sa pasilyo ng mall ay biglang may sumagi sa balikat ni Noelle. Dahil sa gulat at kawalan ng balanse, mabitawan ni Noelle ang maliit na Watsons paper bag niya at gumulong ang mga bagong bili niyang contact lens cases sa sahig.

“Fuck!” a baritone voice grunted sharply as a tall figure stumbled back from the impact, almost losing his balance as well.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” matapang at mabilis na sita ko habang agad kong hinawakan ang braso ni Noelle para alalayan siya.

“Sol, okay lang…” mahinang pakiusap sa akin ni Noelle sa aking malumanay na boses, dahan-dahang yumuyuko para pulutin ang mga gamit niyang kumalat sa malamig na sahig.

“Shit! Ang lagkit nung kape!” reklamo nung lalaking nakabangga sa kaniya habang mabilis nitong itinataas ang kaniyang baso.

Inangat ni Noelle ang mga mata niya sa mukha nito, at bigla na lang siyang natulala at tila nalagutan ng hininga.

“Primo…” pabulong na banggit ni Noelle.

The second that name left her lips, my blood immediately ran cold. Primo Constantino. The arrogant bully from Grade 7 who tormented Noelle for years.

Hindi man kami magkakilala ni Noelle noong taon na ’yon, dahil Grade 8 na kami nagkakilala at naging magkaibigan nang lumipat siya sa eskuwela ko, kabisado ko ang bawat kuwento ng sakit na ipinaranas ng lalaking ’to sa kaniya.

Noelle poured her heart out to me so many times back in high school. I knew how much love, support, and therapy it took for my best friend to rebuild her confidence and step into the woman she is today—and there was no way in hell I was going to let this guy shake her up again.

Bago pa man matulala si Noelle nang matagal ay hinigit ko na siya papalayo. I quickly scooped up her scattered lens cases from the floor, shoved them into her Watsons paper bag, and pulled her behind my back with one swift movement.

I stood tall in my kitten heels, blocking Primo’s view of her completely.

“Hey! Saan kayo—”

Hindi na niya natuloy ang kaniyang sasabihin nang may mga grupong lalaki ang lumapit sa kaniya. One of them looked at me and then at Primo’s coffee-stained hoodie, before his gaze shifted intently to Noelle.

Kunot at salubong ang kilay nitong makakapal habang nakatitig sa kaniya, a deep, intense scowl on his handsome face, and he didn’t utter a single word.

“Bro, Primo, ano’ng nangyari diyan?” singit ng isa sa mga kasama nila, tinitingnan ang natapon na kape ni Primo. “Tara na, naghihintay na sila sa taas.”

Hindi na namin narinig ang kanilang usapan dahil nakalayo na kami ni Noelle. I glanced at her and she was biting her bottom lip, visibly trembling as she gripped her tote bag against her chest. Her skin was paler than usual, and those chinita eyes were fixed straight ahead, as if she was trying so hard not to look back or break down right in the middle of the crowded mall.

“Gutom na ako! Let’s eat somewhere else!” masaya kong sabi para lang gumaan ang pakiramdam niya at maagaw ang atensyon niya mula sa nangyari. I flashed her a bright, dramatic smile, slinging my arm around hers a little tighter. “Ayoko na roon sa café natin dati, baka malapit pa sa area ng mga mukhang ’yon. Let’s go somewhere fancy where we can drink wine or eat over-the-top pasta, my treat!”

Dinala ko siya sa isang fine dining Italian restaurant sa kabilang wing ng mall—malayo sa pasilyo kung saan namin nakasalubong ang grupo nila Primo.

I’m just glad that seeing him again didn’t completely derail her day, kahit matagal ko nang alam ang itsura ni Primo Constantino. High school pa lang kami, naipakita na sa akin ni Noelle ang mga lumang yearbook at Facebook posts nito, kaya kabisado ko na ang mukha ng nambully sa kaniya. Seeing him in person today just made my blood boil all over again.

We enjoyed our hangout and it felt like we were back in high school—laughing over inside jokes, dissecting our busy college routines, and forgetting the outside world for a couple of hours.

“Hello?”

“Sasama ka sa akin sa welcome party, Sol.” Agad na sinabi ni Papa nang sagutin ko ang tawag niya, habang nag-e-sketch ako ng bagong dress design para sa SoFA project ko pagkauwi ko galing sa mall.

I paused my mechanical pencil mid-stroke, staring at the half-drawn silhouette on my paper as his voice came through the speaker.

“May welcome party si Gov. Sa susunod na linggo na ’to. Make sure you dress appropriately. Walang masyadong pasabog na damit, Sol. Ayokong makakuha ng anumang pansin mula sa mga kasamahan ko sa pulitika.”

“Okay,” walang gana kong sagot at itinuloy ang pag-drawing sa aking sketchpad.

“I’m serious, Solana. I don’t want any drama. Just wear something simple, greet the guests, and stay out of the spotlight,” dagdag pa niya, as if my very presence was a scandal waiting to break out.

“Narinig ko, Pa. Makakaasa ka,” malamig kong patuloy habang mas binabaan ko pa ang aking boses para hindi niya maramdaman ang inis na dahan-dahang kumukulo sa dibdib ko.

He told me the details and one of his bodyguards will fetch me next weekend, sa Sabado nang gabi. Binaba rin niya agad ang tawag matapos niyang sabihin ’yon.

I picked up my graphite pencil again, pressing the tip onto the heavy paper. My strokes became faster, bolder, and far more deliberate. I added a sweeping, high-slung slit to the skirt, structured shoulders that demanded attention, and a razor-sharp neckline that radiated pure power.

Alam kong… hindi naman talaga inaasahan ni Papa na maging trans ako.

He expected a son who would follow in his political footsteps, someone who would shake hands in barong tagalog and carry on the family legacy.

Nagbago ang trato niya sa akin nang malaman niyang bakla ako noon, or so he thought back then. Noong mga panahon na ’yon, akala niya ay lilipas din ang lahat—na phase lang ang lahat ng ito. But when I finally transitioned and stood my ground as Solana, his disappointment morphed into something cold, distant, and deeply ashamed.

I pressed the lead of my pencil harder onto the paper, shading the crisp, dramatic lines of the dress.

Hindi niya ako matanggap, pero kailangan niya akong iharap sa mga tao paminsan-minsan para magmukhang buo at disenteng pamilya sa harap ng media at ng mga botante niya.

Kaya ginagawa ko ang lahat para ipakita sa kaniyang hindi ako kailanman magiging bagay na dapat niyang ikahiya.

His family thinks I’m too much. Too loud, too bold, too unapologetically myself. Every dinner table glance, every passive-aggressive comment about my clothes, my hair, or my voice always boiled down to the same unwritten rule: Solana is taking up too much space.

At sa tuwing sinasabi nila ’yon, ay mas lalo ko pang pinapalaki ang espasyong kinukuha ko.

If they thought I was taking up too much space, I was going to take over the whole damn room. I refused to shrink myself down into a digestible bite just to make it easier for their fragile, narrow minds to swallow me.

Ayaw nilang matanggap na mas makapangyarihan ang pagiging totoo kaysa sa lahat ng peke at pinag-aralang imahe nila sa lipunan. Habang pilit nilang ibinabaon sa limot ang pagkatao ko para lang maging angkop sa malinis nilang pangalan, mas lalo ko namang pinanghahawakan at ipinagmamalaki ang bawat bahagi ng pagiging ako.

Hindi naman ako itinatago ni Papa—mas malala pa roon. He parades me around, pero sa paraang gusto niya lang…

I graduated Valedictorian when I was in high school, yet he managed to turn my hard-earned spotlight into a PR move for his campaign. Pinagmalaki niya ako sa stage, holding my hand high for the cameras, purely to show the voters what a supportive, high-achieving patriarch he was.

But the second the flashbulbs stopped and we stepped off the stage, his grip loosened, and he went right back to keeping me at an arm’s length.

Para sa kaniya, trophy lang ako na ilalabas kapag kailangang magpa-impress, at itatago sa bodega kapag masyado nang kumikinang.

His wife and kids didn’t want me to call my own father Papa whenever we were out in public.

It was insulting, but I learned long ago not to let their fragile egos dictate my worth. Every glare from his wife, every entitled smirk from my half-siblings, only fueled my fire.

Palagi rin akong napapagalitan dahil lumalabag ako sa mga patakaran nilang walang kuwenta. Wear modest clothes, don’t talk too loudly, stay close to the back, don’t embarrass the family—mga utos na tila ba binuo lang para dahan-dahan akong burahin.

But every restriction they threw at me, I treated like a challenge. The more they told me to blend in, the bolder my style became. The more they tried to hush me, the sharper my voice grew.

Tumayo ako matapos kong ilapag ang lapis sa tabi ng aking sketchpad. Walking over to the full-length mirror in the corner of my room, I crossed my arms and stared at my own reflection.

“Almost too much…” bulong ko sa sarili ko habang nakatitig sa sarili kong repleksyon sa salamin.