Daniela Lourdes Falanga

Daniela Lourdes Falanga was the first trans woman to be elected president of a section of Arcigay, an Italian group defending LGBT + rights (Instagram / @ danylourdes)

The eldest child of a mafia boss overcame his strict family education to become a transgender woman and one of the main LGBT + activists in Italy.

When Daniela Lourdes Falanga was born, it was believed that she was the first male heir to the Camorra clan and was to take over “the family business”.

She proved them wrong!

What's Next?

Seemingly, the more I think about my past, the more I consider the future. Realistically speaking, most of my life lies behind me and I have written many times here in Cyrsti's Condo concerning my fear of being "cared" for in a nursing home with a very transphobic staff. Hopefully society will continue to inch forward in it's knowledge and support of transgender women and men.

Then quickly my mind returns to thinking about my past experiences I can put in the book. Many are buried deeply in my mind to a point where I can barely remember them.

Currently, I am writing about the very few men in my life including the first one. My meeting with him was brief and happened the night of my first professional make over at one of the transvestite mixers I went to. I guess I could say I had interactions with two guys that night since the make up expert who worked his magic on me was the first. Indirectly leading to the second.

During these mixers, I loosely tagged along with the "A" crowd or as I also called them, "The Mean Girls."  Approximately five or six of them always formed a clique which very few others were ever welcomed into. It turned out on that magical night, not even did I tag along, I crashed the clique.

Perhaps you noticed I said "crashed" and not joined. No matter how popular I became for one night, there was no way I ever wanted to become a permanent part of their exclusive group.

Now, back to the evening.  As I said, the make up expert did a wonderful job on me and even I was amazed. It was my first experience with someone else (who knew what they were doing) doing my makeup.

As I have written about before, the clique of the most attractive cross dressers or transgender women (before there was such a word) went out to party at gay venues after the mixer. Early in the evening I had the usual unremarkable time tagging along. It was later on when I was approached by a guy in the last venue we went to. He asked me to stay and he would by me a drink. Since I was dependent on the clique to get me back to the hotel, I declined.

More importantly though, the clique was dazzled I was approached and none of them were.

Sadly, the next day I had to go back to my usual male boring existence.

Mixed Emotions

Thanks to the wonderful people at Facebook, recently they pulled up this ancient picture of me in the summer of 2014.

I like the picture on a few levels and on the other hand don't like.

In many ways I consider this a transition photo. I was moving away from being a blond and closer to wearing my own hair.

What you may not see in the picture is the torment I suffered from the wig's hairline. It's one of the few wigs I ever owned I even took a pair of scissors to. It's a wig though which brings back fond memories.

I wore it to my first "girl's night out" when I was invited by a group of young women I had met at one of the venues I frequented many times. Even though I was scared to go, I also was excited to tag along also. I put together one of my black outfits with a tank top and a long black skirt with a slit up the side. It turned out not to matter much as the younger more attractive women received most of the attention anyhow.

I had more luck when I wore the same outfit (and wig) to a big gay venue one night to meet a couple of friends. One was a trans man and the other a lesbian. I ended up having a fun evening and asking them to accompany me to my car when I was leaving. I had learned the hard way not to walk around the venue by myself.

Now, back to the picture. What I do like is my expression. I feel as if it gave me an impression of strength. The breasts of course were not natural. They were mine only in a sense they were given to me as a gift years earlier from a cross dresser who was purging his storage shed. Plus the way I was sitting only gives a slight indication of how over weight I was at the time.

I am sure you have to be transgender to put so much effort into breaking down an old picture.