Warning: This article contains content that some may find triggering. Most people go by the pronouns ‘he’ or ‘she’ but for me, it’s neither. Instead, like many non-binary individuals, I identify with ‘they’ and ‘them’. Growing up, there were always signs that I wasn’t quite attuned to the nature of a girl. I hated skirts, hated walking along the girls’ aisle, and contrarily, liked dressing up in my dad’s clothes. My aunt told me about how she once heard me screaming my head off from another room when my mum was forcing me to put on a dress — it was that bad. When I was a primary school kid, I stumbled upon photos of this female bodybuilder. She had feminine appearances (long hair) but such a masculine body: she had a male chest and no breast tissues at all. Even at such a young age, I was amazed at how a biological female can have such a masculine body, and I remember wanting to have a body like hers. In secondary school, I realised just how different I was compared to the other girls. I was nothing like the stereotypical female. I had morbid thoughts of self-harm because of how deeply unhappy I was with the way I appeared.

However, I did not understand any part of those feelings back then. Because in the world I grew up in, we lived by the principles of the Bible.

How Can I Be Trans And Christian?

I was born into a devout Christian family. The kind where you will see shelves full of Christian paraphernalia the moment you step into our home. My dad is a pastor, and my four brothers and I pretty much grew up in the church. We saw the world through the lens of Christianity, and only through that — where ‘sex before marriage’ and seeking ‘permission’ from the church elders before dating are very normal. In my religion, there is only male and female, and this gender distinction is stated many times in the Bible. As Christian, the message that it is only right for one to be the gender that one is born as is clear as day. So all through my teenage years, I struggled with my gender identity, because even though I am born a female, I didn’t feel like it at all. I hated the way I looked and I hated the way I sounded. The picture I had of myself in my mind differed so much from how I looked like in reality that I dissociated a lot. The way I felt about my body and identity made me very ashamed of myself. I felt inferior all the time and because I lacked self-confidence, I found it really hard to even interact with people. I also doubted myself a lot. I thought that this was just a phase that everyone will go through. That maybe, I was just super anxious about myself and envisioning delusions to escape. The mix of unhealthy and conflicting feelings manifested itself in the way I socialised - I couldn’t.  I did not know how to, and did not have a lot of close friends. I also hate bothering people with my problems. All through my teenage years up until I was 23 last year, I kept to myself and internalised all of my negativity.

I spiralled into depression. I got into many relationships, even abusive ones, just to fill the void. I sought to self-harm, slashing myself to cope with the intense feelings of sadness and frustration. Back then, those were the only ways I knew how to deal with my emotions. Everytime I thought I had made progress in accepting myself as transgender, I would spiral again. There were many times I contemplated suicide. At one point, I lived everyday thinking that I would just die suddenly, like how a car will come out of nowhere and just hit me and kill me. I felt like there was no meaning to anything. Every day, I was just surviving for tomorrow. Then, in June 2018, I spiralled again and hit rock bottom. At that point, I had been working at a restaurant in a bid to earn some income while figuring out what to do with my life. With guidance from my head chef, I manage to grow in character and confidence, and had risen through the ranks.

I had started to see some sort of purpose in life and I knew that there were only two options for me: Either take the necessary steps to change my life for good, or continue spiralling like what I have been doing for the past 23 years. There were so many times I had wanted to take my own life and I knew that if I continued the way I was, I would go crazy trying to ‘fit in’, and I probably would not survive much longer. However, the steps to changing my life include confronting one of the only two biggest fears I had in my life: coming out to my parents. Coming out to my parents meant going against everything they stood for, and in our church, they believe that queer people are “scum of the earth”.  I took a month to look inwards. To confront all the unpleasant feelings I had buried deep within me. All the painful experiences I have had growing up, the cold exchanges I have had with my parents. All the times where I was struggling inside but they just weren’t there for me. Where I felt so alone. All the emotions that I pushed aside, because it was just so much easier to avoid thinking or feeling. Dealing with all those feelings of sadness, frustration, anger, fear, and isolation that had been bottled up for so many years was very overwhelming. But I knew I had to deal with them to be clear of who I am exactly and who I want to be moving forward. Beyond that, coming to terms with my own gender identity meant that I had to question every single thing that I ever believed in. Having grown up with strong values of Christianity ingrained in me, and then having to go against these values in acceptance of myself, is like being thrown into the wild with no bearings of where I am. I had to relearn about the goings-on of the world and how to survive in this whole new landscape that I never saw and was never taught about growing up.

Then, I Came Out To My Parents

My mum was the first to find out. She got very emotional and over our first dinner together after she found out, she kept saying things like “the Bible is my standard, is it yours?” And, “I have a conscience, I hope you do too.” She made it clear that I am someone with no morals if I choose to be this way. That really broke my heart, because I was trying to be truthful and honest with them. I was really hoping to communicate with them, instead of us shutting each other out. When I told her about how I felt, about how I never had feelings for guys, and about all the painful struggles I had internally growing up, all she said was, “are you being honest right now? Why are you lying?”

She also once said to me, “people like you never [use to] exist,” and, “people like you put us through so much pain and shame.”

My dad told me that he was not going to judge me but God will, and reiterated that he will never ever change his mind on marriage being only between a male and female. I used to be suicidal. Coming out was my way of preserving my life and to respect the life that my parents have given me. Yet, my parents can only see this as my greed — that I am being selfish and trying to hurt them by being transgender. It really breaks my heart to be rejected by the people who brought me up, and whom I still love dearly. It is the very reason why I feared coming out to them in the first place. It is also disappointing that none of my brothers (except for one) ever acknowledged me for who I am either, or to be there for me.

Relearning How To Live Life

I am still trying to come to terms that my family will never accept me for who I am. The rejection still hurts, but I remind myself that it is equally hard for them to process the shock because of the many emotions involved. And I try not to let their rejection get to me. I understand that if i didn’t change my way of thinking, I would have felt the way that they are feeling now — it took me a long time to understand that they are not out to be negative towards me, it is just what they were taught to do. However, I live with guilt every single day knowing that my parents still love me. I see it through their littlest actions: when they ask me if I have eaten yet or when I will be reaching home. This guilt has often made me feel that I am not deserving of all the efforts they have put into raising me. But I know that I want to live true to how I feel. With that conviction, I also know that I have to overlook my parents’ expectations and the expectations that I put on myself. When I made the decision to be openly transgender, my whole belief system was turned upside down. But being forced out of what I am familiar with helped me get out of the pit that I had put myself into all those years. I don’t know if I can ever truly be the person I want to be — someone who is kind, and all the positives — but I think my suffering has really opened my eyes. The rate of suicide among transgender individuals is very high. Being able to confront my denial and feelings has helped to phase out the many suicidal thoughts I use to have, because I now know who I want to be and how I want to live. Because of what I went through, I am able to persevere. However, there are many, many people who do not have the resources or support they need, and it is very hard for them to break out. Being able to look inward and confront myself has changed my life, and it is the one thing I hope for those who are going through similar situations: Look within yourself, and learn to be vulnerable. This story is written by Millennials of Singapore, as told to us by the featured individual. - Editor's note: This is a personal story and not a generalisation of the community. We have included specific mentions of a religion in this article solely for context purposes, the Millennials of Singapore team does not condone religious discrimination and persecution. Also read: My Sexuality, My Right: “A Stranger Wanted Me To Apologise For My ‘Lesbian Appearance'".

"Remember Sodom and Gomorrah? And how they were punished because the people were so sinful?" "Of course. Cities of gays and fags. The result of Pink Dot succeeding." There is some laughter around the table. This is during a cell group meeting. I attempt to interject. "Well, they were rapists. You cannot overlook the fact that they wanted to gang rape the two visitors - who were actually angels - in Lot's house." "Yeah, but the rape is secondary. The angels were disguised as men and they wanted to rape the men. So the main reason is because they were a bunch of homos." Another cell member adds, "Actually, I think the real issue here is why Lot offered his two daughters to the gang-rapists..." and the discussion shifts towards this statement in which it is much more obvious why it is problematic. I am still listening, but I sigh inwardly. Such an episode is just one of the many instances in which I've come face-to-face with the hidden strand of virulent homophobia running within my church. I say hidden because my church does not openly promote an anti-LGBT campaign like Pastor Lawrence Khong of Faith Community Baptist Church; rather, LGBT issues are rarely spoken of in my church. Nevertheless, it occasionally bubbles up, revealing an image of simmering, virulent hate. Now and then, there are those few sentences in the sermon where LGBT rights gets lumped in with ISIS and Syria as the moral challenges faced by Christians today. There are the moments during cell group or Bible Study where homosexuals are unanimously denounced as those who will "go to hell" because "it is stated as a sin in the Bible". There are the snatches of gossip among my peers in church about finding the son of a prominent church member on Jack'd (a dating app for gays) while they were browsing it to see "how f***ed up it was". And inevitably, whenever Pink Dot rolls around for its weekend in June, half the church shows up on Sunday dressed like MPs, with the affirmation by the worship leader that "it is good to see where our church stands". It goes without saying that such moments make me uncomfortable. Not because I am a deviant destined for hell, but because of the ease with which a community of otherwise friendly people can turn into furious church militants, baying for condemnation, just on the subject of a person's sexual orientation. There are fellow church-goers I have talked to whom, for all of their dedication organizing church activities and running Sunday School for children, have spoken unblinkingly about playing a part in bullying classmates who were perceived as gay back in school - and who could laugh about it. One of them even declared, "If I found out my son was gay, I would beat the gay out of him. Seriously, having a gay son means you have completely failed as a parent." I tried asking one of the pastors later, "Surely there are LGBT people who are Christian too. Isn't it unfair to think that they will be condemned for it?" To which he replied, "If they are Christian, they must give up their deviant lifestyle and be straight again. If not, they cannot have their salvation." I still go to church. It is difficult to stop when your family attends it as well, and your father holds a prominent position within it to boot. Tongues will wag and gossip about a family member is by far one of the most damaging things for someone working in the church. Given that my father is the sole breadwinner of the family, the general anti-LGBT stance of the church, and the fact that I am the eldest son, there is a real fear that there will be disastrous consequences for my family if I come out or am ever discovered. Still, I consider myself fortunate. I have a handful of friends outside of church whom I've opened up to regarding my sexuality, and who give me great support and the space to really be myself. But the main reason, I suppose, for why I have managed to escape the more serious discrimination my gay friends face, is because I am bi.

Why being bi comes with a set of privileges in Singapore

At this point, it is essential to point out the differences between being gay and being bi. Much of the LGBT discourse here often conflates both sexualities and this often leads to misconceptions, even among the LGBT community. Some bizarre questions I have been asked by the friends I've come out to include: "How can you want to f**k a girl yet also wanna f**k a guy? Is that even possible?" "Does this mean your ideal sex is a threesome with a guy and a girl?" "So you can like, choose who you wanna get turned on by?" "Will you eventually decide on a single gender?" "Are you sure you're not just going through a 'gay' phase?" For a while, while I was still unsure, I said yes to that last question. But eventually, I realised that it was difficult to call it a "phase" since it's been going on since I reached adolescence a decade ago. I am attracted to both guys and girls. What else can I say? I exist in the spheres of heterosexuality and homosexuality simultaneously. And because of this, I have the privilege of being able to have a normative heterosexual relationship, while my gay peers are denied legality and status in their relationships. I will admit, there has been more than one occasion where I would use the hetero aspect of my sexuality to hide the homosexual aspect - i.e. putting on a "straight" front while catching up with my male friends, talking about a girl I genuinely found attractive, while appreciating how one of the guys served as great eye candy. The same goes for when I am in church. Some days, I feel my bisexuality is a blessing, but there are also days when I feel embarrassed and like I'm a sham. Sometimes, I wonder if it is even accurate to say that I can identify with the LGBT crowd. As one of my gay friends bluntly put it, I have an "escape option" within our conservative society, and it wasn't without a tinge of envy that he said it. "You can choose not to come out you know? Especially if you get into a relationship with a girl." It was a statement that made me very uncomfortable. For in a sense, it was true; on the surface, everything would look normal. Everything would be socially acceptable. My family and church would never have to know. I suppose it would save me and my family from an ugly fallout.

It's not a choice

Even so, I cannot hide the homosexual side of me, and neither can I deny it. People may disagree and I am perfectly fine with that; I just do not see self-denial or self-effacement as the solution. As cheesy as it sounds, I believe I must be true to myself. I simply cannot fathom pretending this side of me does not exist. The same goes for my attraction to women, despite my friend's insistence that "you'll eventually choose once you have had enough sex." I just happen to be wired this way. Perhaps it is in part because of my resolve not to be pressured into fitting in a "gay" or "straight" box, and in part, a fear of being discovered that I haven't been able to commit to any kind of relationship so far, be it with a guy or girl. What we really need is acceptance - acceptance of who we truly are. Privately, I support the Pink Dot movement, but with so much social pressure and religious intolerance working against us, I am pessimistic about anything concrete being achieved. For now, I shall just have to be content with that small freedom I have among my closest friends, for I am not strong enough to face the consequences of coming out yet. <a href=" Image Credit

I was born Muslim. I grew up in a Muslim family. While my parents weren’t the most religious of people, my upbringing was very much Muslim. I went for Friday prayers at the neighbourhood mosques, was taught to read the Quran, and would visit the mosque during Hari Raya Puasa and Haji. As a young boy, I went to religious classes every Sunday morning, where we would learn about the different aspects of the religion- it’s history, the five pillars and how to speak Arabic. I attended all my religious classes diligently and even got a certification of completion by the end of it. Religion for me at the time wasn’t so much about belief as it was about following my parents, because that’s just how it is. You follow the religion of your parents, because they’re your parents and you’re just a child. I did as I was told; No more, no less.

Losing my religion

When I was 14 years old, a friend invited me to a Christmas party. I had no idea it was an evangelistic event until we were an hour in. The pastor was speaking about the death of Christ and its significance. It was only then that I realized I was actually sitting in a sermon. At first I thought, “Shoot, I’m trapped.”, but since I was already there, I listened as the pastor preached about the essence of Christmas. Maybe it was the music, the melody or the words of the worship songs, but somehow that all got me questioning things—questioning if there truly existed a god, because before then, even though I was Muslim, I’d never believed in a higher being; as far as I was concerned, God didn’t exist. Eventually, my beliefs shifted to the point that I started believing in an actual god – the Christian god. I had been converted.

Secrets at home, judgement outside

My conversion to Christianity came with no small amount of fear. I had no idea what would become of me if my family were to find out. I was terrified, so I tried my best to keep a low profile. Among my friends, I was Christian—I even ate pork. But when I was home, I was a whole other person. I had to act the part of a Muslim. I couldn’t eat pork. When it was time to fast, I fasted at home but as soon as I was out of my parents’ sight, I broke fast. Part of the act was out of fear, but a big part of it was also out of respect for my parents and what they believed. For about 5 years, I had to lie every Saturday in order to go to church. My mum would always ask me, “why you always go out on Saturdays?” It was lie after lie, last week it was, “I’m going out to study with my friends,” this week it’s, “I’m going shopping for new clothes.” There was always this paranoia that they would find out, and I was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. All my friends knew I was a Christian, but not all of them responded positively to this. While most of them accepted it, there were a handful that didn’t, and who would ask me why I converted just so they could shoot me down and rain criticism on me. In school, some of my closest Malay friends would keep their distance from me. They wouldn’t talk to me, which is why I have a lot more Chinese friends now than Malay ones. About 6 years after I converted, when I was in NS, some of the people I knew would attack me because of my beliefs. One of my instructors that found out dragged me to one side after breakfast one day, while we were waiting to go back to our dormitory, and said to me, “Wah, if we’re not in Singapore, I would have killed you already. It would have been my duty to kill you.” I knew he couldn’t do anything, so I retorted, saying, “Yeah, lucky we’re in Singapore. You can’t do anything to me.” Muslims judged me, Christians judged me, even friends I knew who were neither Muslim nor Christian had something to say about it. They would say things like “Eh, like that, aren’t you betraying your own family?” or, “Don’t you think your family will be upset?” This is because there is a Muslim law that holds your family responsible for your faith. If you betray the faith, it’s on your family as well, because it means they haven’t brought you up well.

And then my parents found out

Eventually, my parents found out because they found a bible in my room and that’s when all our problems began. I tried reasoning with my dad, explaining that he couldn’t force me to believe in something I didn’t believe in, and that even if I did follow him and “behaved” like a Muslim, he and I both knew that in my heart, I wouldn’t be one. But still, he would keep saying, “cannot”, “cannot”, “cannot”. Things didn’t progress and it came to a point when things became violent. I didn’t want to fight back because my dad was already getting old, so all I could do was block him as he beat me. That day, I ran out of the house half-naked, with not even shoes on; all I had on were my shorts because my shirt had torn from the beating. I didn’t know what to do because I didn’t want to fight back, but at the same time, I was about to explode, so I ran. My pastor—a Malay pastor who has also been through a similar experience—came down to talk to me and comfort me. He offered to open his home to me if things got worse, but he made it very clear that I should try all ways and means to make things right with my parents. I was prepared to run away. I told my mother that if my dad beat me up one more time, I was gone. She told me to come back, to not talk about religion for the time being and promised to make sure my dad didn’t hit me again. From that point on, my family didn’t speak openly to me about religion anymore. Neither did my dad and I speak. That went on for about 2 years.

What now?

Today, 8 years on, I’ve made good with my family. They still refuse to accept the fact that I’m Christian, and from time to time, they still try to change my mind about Christianity. When news comes up on Pastor Kong Hee, they make a big deal of it, saying, “see, Christians are like that.” They raise the issue of rich pastors, and they do little things here and there to put down Christianity and lift up the name of Muslims. The more I’ve grown in my faith as a Christian, the more they’ve seemed to grow in theirs as Muslims—my mum, my dad, and my sister. While I’ve been serving and being more active in church, my mum’s started to pray 5 times a day; my dad’s been going to the mosque every day; and my sister’s been going for more advanced religious classes. This year, my parents are going on a pilgrimage to the Middle East. While there is not a war right now, I am fearful that it’s only right around the corner, like when I marry my Christian girlfriend. She might need to convert — at least according to Muslim customs — and I know for a fact that she won’t. Neither of us can fathom being of a religion we don’t believe in. Other people may disagree with me, and they are free to do so. Maybe they’ll say, “I’d rather things be peaceful within my family, and I’ll give up my belief if that’s what threatens to tear us apart.” But for me, belief matters and I cannot easily give that up.

Religion in Singapore

No matter what happens in the future, I know I will stand by my beliefs. After all, I’ve already gone through so much to defend my right to believe it. Stories like mine are not all that rare. The details are different, but the struggle is the same. We face condemnation from all sides—those of the same faith as us, those of a different faith, those who know us, those who don’t, friends and family. In Singapore, by right, no one can do anything to you based on what you believe. But there are still many ways people can hurt you. Your friends can ostracize you. Your family can beat you. Everyone is free to judge you. From all I’ve heard and experienced, racial tolerance and religious tolerance are just how things appear on the surface. Sure, we can all live together, but if you strike out on your own and believe something different from everyone else—especially everyone else in your family—that’s when you realize how ugly things are, or how ugly things can get when religious differences are in the picture. At the end of the day, religion and what you believe is a highly personal matter. It is not for others to decide for you, and it is surely not something you believe simply because your parents do. The best I can do is stand by my religious beliefs while respecting those of others, whether they be family, friend or stranger. Top Image Credit