Graduation, Pt. 1

Here is the text to the speech that I gave as the Student Speaker at the Commencement Ceremony for the SUNY Purchase Class of 2017. It was such an honor, privilege, and joy to represent my graduating class, and to be recognized by so many wonderful individuals. Congratulations to my fellow graduates.

Thank you, President Schwarz.

Good afternoon and welcome, SUNY Purchase staff, faculty, and administrators… family and loved ones… friends, and fellow graduates of the Class of 2017.

It is an immense honor to be here, sharing this day with all of you.

You know, growing up transgender in a small, conservative upstate New York town taught me at a young age that blending into the crowd was a source of protection – that with conformity comes comfort (or at least safety). I hid a lot when I was younger. I never imagined there would come a day where I could stand in front of such a massive crowd, looking so glamorous (albeit slightly disheveled from the heat), and be accepted without question. I could never have gotten where I am today were it not for Purchase College and the community here.

Like my fellow graduates, I recently completed my senior project. It focused on transformations, both literal and figurative. I worked closely with Professors Catherine Lewis and Elise Lemire, from the Creative Writing and Literature departments, respectively, to create a 150-page collection of poetry, essays, and prose that explores my ongoing transition and experiences as a transgender woman. Since we are living in a time fraught with sociopolitical upheaval (or whatever it is that we are experiencing), the need for transgender visibility, acceptance, and normalization is at an all-time high. According to the Human Rights Campaign, 2016 was the deadliest year on record for transwomen within the United States; at least twenty-seven were the victims of brutal murders. Considering that we make up less than half of one percent of the population, it is clear clear that we are being killed at a rate that puts the very existence of our community in jeopardy. I felt a profound obligation to provide a narrative on what it is like to live as part of such a stigmatized and targeted demographic.

As I wrote – and rewrote – edited – and deleted everything, only to start over at least twice – I realized how deeply connected I felt to the Purchase College community that has nurtured me over the last four years. I also thought of how critical Purchase has been to my process of transformation and self-creation.

I was raised in Gloversville, New York, about an hour north of Albany. It was once the hub of the country’s glove-making industry, but has been in a state of economic decline since the 60s when the factories closed.

As far back as I can remember, I never felt like I truly belonged. In elementary school, I was made fun of by the boys for instinctively playing with the girls. I had endless arguments with the gym teacher, begging to be on the girls’ team during games. While most of the girls in my classes welcomed and accepted me, I knew that we were different. There was no one else in my entire school with whom I could identify, and no one else was so relentlessly teased for not fitting into the mold.

It was painful to have to endure the whispers and stares day after day, along with the constant mockery over how I wore my hair, the way I walked, my dislike of sports, the sound of my voice, and my choice of playmates. By middle school, I began to skip classes regularly to avoid bullies – especially gym, where we were now segregated according to our bodies, and where my differences were the most glaring.

I was an easy target in gym class – shy, effeminate, and awkward. The thought of swimming topless, or of changing around boys, terrified me. The more that puberty ravaged my body, the more I knew that something was off – that I was trapped within an inescapable prison of my own flesh and blood.

Even my home didn’t feel like a refuge; I didn’t want to shame or embarrass my parents, and I knew how difficult it was for them to see their firstborn child going through something so complex. I found comfort in art, in writing, and through theatre, which allowed me to assume other identities, so that I could escape into fabricated worlds and try to ignore my depression and loneliness.

That’s when I made some of the best friends of my life. In ninth grade, I befriended two girls who were in my art class, who I have since come to consider my sisters. With them, I began to experiment with makeup and express my latent femininity. We made our own costumes and staged elaborate photo shoots in their living room. When I was 15, I came out as transgender to them, and they acted as though I was telling them that the sky is blue: “We knew,” my friend said, “we were just waiting for you to be comfortable enough to tell us.”

When it came time to look at colleges, my friend’s older sister suggested Purchase, her alma mater. When I got accepted to the Creative Writing program in the Fall of 2013, I took the opportunity to recreate myself. I was going to Purchase after all – a place lauded for being so inclusive and accepting.

When I packed, I left the boring, shapeless boy clothes upstate, opting instead for thrifted couture and hand-me-downs from the girls and their mother. It was an exhilarating time, but also bittersweet and frightening.

I don’t need to explain the anxiety that starting college can cause, but, for me, starting at Purchase was an experience full of paradoxes. Despite my excitement of finally being away from my hometown, I was initially placed in Big Haus, on an all-male floor with communal bathrooms. I was forced to deal with the humiliation and shame of using these facilities for about a week, until I worked up the courage to request better, more appropriate accommodations that respected my gender. I learned how to cultivate my courage, self-respect, and dignity. I began publicly expressing my gender openly and authentically: on October 7th, 2015, I started hormone replacement therapy, and took my first pill surrounded by friends in Alumni Village, indelibly linking my transition with my time at Purchase.

With my new-found confidence, I began to advocate for myself and others on a wider scale: I worked with fellow students and the Office of Community Engagements to change the housing intake survey, so that in-coming trans students could be housed in safe and accommodating spaces.

I began work with GLSEN – the Gay, Lesbian, Straight Education Network - last year and appeared as Keynote Speaker at their Annual Leadership Awards Ceremony earlier this week. Through GLSEN, I lecture at various schools and mental health clinics to spread awareness of the problems faced by trans youth in both public and private life. I have found my calling, and all because of this courage I developed while being at Purchase.

While Purchase certainly fostered confidence in me, my grandmother also played a pivotal role, though I was too young at the time to really appreciate her wisdom.

It was an early evening in late spring and my grandmother and I were on our back patio. She was showing me the flowers that separated our lawn from the neighbors’ when she pointed to a bush that was filled with greenish-white capsules. Some were broken apart and hollow. I touched one and it was so delicate that it collapsed in on itself. Others were filled with wiggling, segmented legs and folds of colorful wings.

My grandmother explained that they were butterflies coming out of their cocoons. I had kept a caterpillar in a terrarium once, to watch it transform – but it had taken too long. I got tired of waiting and, after a day or two, I stopped feeding it. I didn’t realize back then that transformation takes time.

I reached out a hand and tried to help a butterfly escape from its chrysalis; the flailing legs and helpless gestures reminded me of the awkward entrapment that I always experienced in gym class – feeling stuck where I didn’t belong, but not knowing how to navigate my way out. My grandmother took my shoulder gently and led me away from the bush.

Now, I know what everyone much be thinking – how my Creative Writing professors must be questioning where I was during all those lectures about clichés – after all, an anecdote about a butterfly to symbolize change is far from revolutionary – but, it is what my grandmother said next that turns this cliché on its head:

“You can’t help them,” she told me. “They have to come out on their own. If they don’t struggle against their cocoons, their wings won’t develop and grow strong, and they’ll never be able to fly away.”

Roughly twenty years later, and with a BA in Creative Writing about to be placed in my hand, I look back on this moment and see it for what it was: a bit of foreshadowing of the future – not only my future, but all of ours. College is a frightening whirlwind of emotions, new experiences, and opportunities.

At times, for me, as for many of us, it has felt isolating, desolate, and uncertain – but, through these struggles, we lay the foundations for a path to a brighter tomorrow, where our suffering is transfigured into success – as long as it isn’t left in a terrarium with no holes for air.

I also owe a great deal of my success to my professors, who have inspired and guided me from the beginning.

I would like to thank the Creative Writing Department, which has helped me to develop my voice and style – to show, and not to tell – to kill my darlings, and to stop ripping off Sylvia Plath. Thank you Professors Catherine Lewis, Monica Ferrell, and Medhi Okasi – as well as my mentor, Professor Theresa Benaquist and therapist, Meg Sussman. Thanks in large part to their invaluable support and encouragement, I was recently accepted to join Teach for America; I will begin working as an elementary school teacher this summer. I intend to continue educating, promoting awareness, and advocating for inclusivity and the freedom of safe self-expression for all young people.

Thank you to the friends I have made, too numerous to single out, but especially Dinae and Dianne who are in attendance today – and to my family and loved ones who have been there for me throughout my journey. I couldn’t have lasted this long without you.

To my incredibly talented peers – the Class of 2017: I wish you all the best of luck in your futures.

We each serve as testaments to the way that this institution can inspire positive change within its community. As we stand at this precipice and prepare for the next stage in our journey, I urge you all to consider the changes that you have undergone since being accepted at Purchase – and realize that we are all our own greatest work of art, constantly changing.

We are our own magnum opus.