The Ghost of Tomorrow

Foreword

I’m a trans woman who came late to the realization that I was a
woman, due to a number of factors—not the least being that society’s
views towards trans people at the time I was growing up were so warped
and divorced from reality that I had absolutely no context for what
transition actually was. So it took until Covid-19 forced all of us
indoors with nothing but our thoughts and social media for me to finally
begin to realize there was more to my peculiarities than just being
deeply neurodivergent. And another several years before I could go on
HRT and finally start to truly feel like a woman.

Like many trans people, I asked myself the question: What if I
had known from the start and didn’t have to experience cis puberty?
But I went deeper, and asked myself what I think is the more important
question: What if I grew up fully supported in my whole identity?
What changes?

Because I have seen and spoken with so many trans and non-binary
people whose transitions would be so much easier and more pleasant if
their immediate environment believed in them and supported them instead
of pushing back or actively being hurtful. The amount of trauma and
clinical anxiety disorders I’ve seen among my trans and non-binary
siblings is heartbreaking.

There are many stories out there about the effects of these traumas
and the struggles of transition. This story is not one of them. It’s a
story of what happens when a deeply neurodivergent trans girl is given a
leg up in her transition by her future self, and what happens when the
reactions of the people who care for her are supportive, and she gets
what is now seen as the baseline for trans healthcare for youth. It’s
not a story without challenges, but it is a story where the protagonist
is almost never alone in facing them.

I wrote this story as a love letter to the childhood I wish I had,
and the childhood every single one of my trans brothers and sisters
deserved to have. It is a deliberate, speculative blueprint of what
fierce community, relational shielding, and systemic family care
actually look like. If your own journey has been defined by isolation, I
hope this story can help you recognize what safety looks like, and how
to find the family you deserve.

The story is deeply grounded in the landscapes of my youth. Names of
people have been changed to protect both the innocent and the guilty,
but many of the characters are based on real people I’ve known, and I’ve
tried to stay true to what I experienced of their natures.

That said, this work is not autobiographical. Despite sharing my
name, Natalie Romana Plasbeek is not me. She’s very much her own person,
something I discover every time I’m writing down her story and she comes
out of left field and surprises me. The same goes for her friends and
family. If any of the people who are the inspirations for the characters
are reading this, I hope they forgive me for the liberties I’ve taken
with their personalities. It’s all in good fun. Really. Please don’t
kill me.

The one exception to the fictionality of characters is the presence
of the real life people who had a massive role in shaping the
development of the Christchurch music scene in the decade this story is
set in and for decades afterwards. People like Ellen Doyle, Francis da
Gouldie, and the teachers and conductors of the then Christchurch School
of Instrumental Music (CSIM) are real and had a role in the shaping of
careers of generations of Christchurch musicians, many of whom went on
to illustrious international careers. They were exactly the kind,
exacting and driven people I’ve portrayed them as, and this story is a
celebration of their work, in the hope that it is never forgotten.

If you find yourself thinking that the level of interconnectedness of
the characters in this story with others in the various communities in
Christchurch is deeply improbable and contrived? Oh boy, I have news for
you. I’m actually downplaying reality here a bit. The communities in
Christchurch of the day turned a city of 300,000 plus people into a
village where everyone in these communities knew everyone else. And
often knew others in adjacent communities. Looking back now I’m still
wondering how on earth I grew up thinking this was totally normal. I
really did have cello lessons with local celebrity David McPhail’s
daughter, and he did startle me one evening when he loomed out of the
shadows unexpectedly wearing his signature hat. This was Christchurch in
the 80s and I share it with you with affection.

So I hope you take this to heart as we accompany Natalie in her
journey towards adulthood in a city I left with regret and remember with
great fondness.

Natalie