The problem is that I can’t get a job with a female marker in my passport and a mismatched name. I can make up stories about a bank account or ask a friend’s mom to rent an apartment in her name, but how do I find work with nothing to show?

I ended up working two years at a cemetery, doing grueling physical labor in extreme weather, isolated from the world, just to afford rent and food. Later, I found work in an underground internet café—low wages, no security, always afraid of being caught or scammed.

I could have pursued an education if I hadn’t been bullied by teachers and faced discrimination. I could have stayed connected with my family and relied on their financial support to get a higher education. But coming out as trans meant losing that safety net—every attempt to reconnect was met with rejection or silence.

Instead, I scrape by without a passport, living in the shadows in my own country. Everyday life means constantly looking over my shoulder, avoiding any interaction with authorities, and struggling to access even basic services like medical care or stable housing. It’s hard and sad.