I identified as a “transgender woman” in Malaysia for 18 years. I began to feel like I was a girl at a young age as a result of frequent sexual abuse, which began when I was nine years old. I was molested secretly by trusted adults, but I was too afraid to tell my family. As a result of the abuse, I became uncomfortable around men, assuming they were all sexual predators. I felt safer with my mother and my aunts and began to identify more closely with them. When I looked in the mirror, I always saw myself as a girl, and as a result, I began to develop a feminine-like shyness, as well as girlish mannerisms. As I developed same-sex attraction (SSA), I wanted men to notice me more. My parents, however, did not approve of my effeminate behavior, so I was frequently scolded and beaten and was often the subject of their arguments.  

Then, when I was 13, my male cousin, who had already begun identifying as a woman, took me to a brothel to meet the oldest trans-identifying person in Malaysia. The place was filled with “transgender women,” who, to me, looked very beautiful. Because I had been experiencing dysphoria as well as SSA, I was drawn to their lifestyle. This is who I’m meant to be, I thought to myself. After returning home, I started to steal my mother’s makeup. I also fantasized about piercing my nose and ears to wear long earrings.

Within a year, I ran away to visit the brothel again and to further explore the idea of trying to identify a woman. As I watched and listened to these “trans women,” I became even more interested in adopting their lifestyle. They coached me on how to make changes and even suggested surgeries to help me manifest feminine-like features. Honestly, it was an exciting journey for me, as I was able to embrace a feminized identity without fear. One transgender friend, in particular, became my mentor. In retrospect, I believe she actually brainwashed me to go through with surgeries. Unfortunately, I did not know enough to question her advice. There was no education about masculinity offered anywhere and no understanding counselors who could help me make sense of my feelings. If I had been given the motivation to build my life and carry on as a man, I would likely have chosen a different path.

Without proper guidance, however, at age 20, I started consuming hormone pills and performing laser hair removal on my face. At first, the pills made me feel sick, so I tried injections instead. As my skin started getting tighter and softer, I told myself, “The man is gone, and the woman is here.” After that, I started waxing my legs and growing out my hair. Because I needed money to buy more girly stuff, I began working in a nightclub as a dancer. I knew that the curvier I looked, the more money I would make, so I decided to have breast augmentation and silicone injections in my hips. I felt victorious once the surgery was completed! It was an amazing feeling to look at myself and seem to see a “real” woman. However, after two years, I started feeling dissatisfied with my lower body. I told myself it was not enough to have breasts, but I also needed to have a vagina if I truly wanted to please a man. So, I went through with my bottom operation. Although the surgery was extremely painful, I felt it would be worth it in the end. By age 25, I was ”fully transitioned,” and though I was satisfied with my looks, my lower body remained numb for almost two years.

At first, I felt very happy with my new life. People praised my beauty everywhere I went, and I felt like I was living a dream. Many men pursued me, and I was often the center of attention. To solidify my new identity further, I got a doctor’s letter confirming that I was a woman despite my male name on my identity card. I had a job as well as a bunch of girlfriends; no one knew I was actually a man unless I told them. Life was amazing.

During this time, I had one long-term relationship that lasted for five years. I loved this man from the bottom of my heart, but I felt used by him for sex and money. Eventually, he took all my money and left me. I was so broken-hearted that I wanted to end my life, and in fact, I attempted suicide by hanging myself from the ceiling fan. At that moment, I literally felt my spirit leave my body and float above me, but the very next second, I rapidly dropped back onto earth and was revived as the ceiling broke down. Somehow, I knew that God was giving me a second chance.

After this incident, my mother started meeting with me and speaking with me about God. Before, I would get irritated whenever she mentioned Jesus because I had been worshiping idols even though I was born into a Christian home. But this time was different. Something inside of me was ready to listen. Simultaneously, the trans-identifying friend who persuaded me to have surgery insisted that I go to Indonesia as a prostitute, but this time, I refused.

At a loss for what to do, I called my mother and asked if she would accept me back; I was 28 years old when I moved home. My mother then invited me to church with her, and slowly, I started pursuing the Lord. I left all of my bad habits behind, like drinking, smoking, drugs, and pubs. But I was still living and dressing as a woman. Then, one day, my pastor, who knew I was trying to straighten out my life, asked me if I would counsel a “trans man” who was considering surgery. I wasn’t really ready to engage or counsel others since I still looked like a woman, but because the pastor had asked me to, I agreed. I was shocked as this “man” entered the room. It was love at first sight, and I had to tell the pastor I couldn’t counsel this “man.” It was too much for me. Smitten with one another, we were both thrown out of the church when we began a relationship. That is when we found Kingdomcity, the church we still attend today.  

In the early days of our relationship, we (my, now, wife Ruth and I) were both still embracing our transgender identities. Then, one Sunday our pastor preached about healthy relationships. As he talked about God’s design for marriage and His creation of male and female, we both fell under the conviction of the Holy Spirit. Immediately, I sensed that the life I was living was not right. Ruth felt exactly the same! At that moment, we both knew we needed to repent. Once back home, I decided to cut my hair and desist back to male. My family, who had been praying for me for years, greatly rejoiced. Miraculously, the moment I determined to desist, my beard and mustache started growing again. Then, within two months, I underwent surgery for the removal of my breast implants. To my surprise, the same doctor who performed my initial augmentation was now helping me to desist. Remembering me, he apologized for doing my augmentation in the first place. A year after desisting, Ruth and I were married, and today, we lead a ministry group at our church.

It has been six years since I stopped identifying as a woman, and ever since I surrendered to the Lord, He has walked with me through every phase of reclaiming my true identity. In my brokenness, I had been seeking a worldly love that I thought would satisfy. But after the Lord set me free, I experienced a greater love. Sometimes, I cannot believe that I am actually living as a man and doing those things that men do. Even so, I still battle the side effects of the surgeries and cross-sex hormones I subjected myself to. The silicone has damaged the nerves in my thighs, making it difficult to walk long distances or perform strenuous activities, and weight gain in the absence of hormone supplements has also been an issue. Desisting has been something of a battle, especially since I cannot reverse my bottom surgery. And despite removing my implants, I still have a bumpy chest, so I sometimes struggle with dysphoria because I don’t exactly look like a normal man. Nonetheless, God has assured me that despite the physical damage done to my body, I am still a man, and He loves me just the same. I know He will continue to mold me to become the man He created me to be. It helps when I remember that it’s the condition of my heart, and not my body that is of utmost importance to God.