I will never forget that question—a question that crashed into my heart like a wave on a rock. I am Rica. But before I was Rica, I was Richard.
When I was a child, I sensed something different about me. While my male cousins were playing gunfights and basketball, I was busy cooking and curling my female cousin's doll's hair.
No sermons. No restraint. At home, my parents welcomed me. Mom, once even changed my skirt while whispering, “This is yours, just don’t wear it outside.”
College. I became more courageous. I chose to groom myself, grow eyebrows, and show who I really was. That's where I met Kenji—a Japanese man who visited our partner company in Manila. Kind. Quiet. Observant.
He didn't ask why I was like this. He accepted me. He looked me in the eyes, not at my body. With him I felt my first true love.
One day, while we were having coffee in Makati, he asked me:
“If you want to fully become who you are, I’ll support you. Let me help you become... her.”
My world stopped. That was the dream I had been saving for for a long time but couldn't reach. We went to Thailand. There I underwent sex reassignment surgery.
After I got home from the hospital, I looked in the mirror. "This is me... Rica."
But just a few months after that, Kenji changed. He stopped calling. He never returned to Manila. Last I heard, he had a new girlfriend—a woman. A real woman.
I don't know what hurts more—being left behind, or feeling like I don't even know you anymore.
I cry every night. I look for Richard. I look for Kenji. But they're both gone.
There are nights when I can't eat. I'll stare in the mirror, and what I see is a look that I should have chosen, but it doesn't feel like mine.
I went to an LGBTQ+ support group in Shinjuku, where I was temporarily living. That's where I first said: “I guess I made a mistake.” And for the first time, someone hugged me without asking any questions.
One said: “You don't always have to be sure. But you can be true.”
I'm currently working at a small café in Tokyo. That's where I met Tori—also a Filipina barista, quiet but with tenderness in her eyes.
He didn't ask about my past. He didn't care what I was like. What I wanted, what I wanted to be. As long as it mattered, I smiled.
Isang gabi, habang naglalakad kami sa tabi ng ilaw ng lungsod, tinanong ko siya:
“Kung mahal mo ang isang taong may binabalikang sakit, tatanggapin mo pa rin ba siya?”
He smiled and said:
“If you can love yourself even when you're so broken... I'll love you more easily.”
Today, I'm still Rica. There are still days of questions, of fear, of doubt. But I've learned that happiness is not measured by the size of the change in your body—it's measured by how little you hate yourself.
I can't bring Richard back. I can't bring Kenji back. But I found myself. And most of all, I learned to rebuild. Not from the outside, but from the inside.
