“Man, this feels so weird,” Josh mutters on the morning of the Identity Exchange Ceremony, right there in the ceremony hall. The sky above is crystal clear, not a cloud in sight. “I still can’t believe you’re officially becoming a woman. A whole year’s about to pass since this all started, and I still can’t wrap my head around it.”
“Yeah, I get it,” I reply. “I never imagined things would turn out this way, either. But we’ll still be friends, no matter what. Right, Josh?”
“Sure, but from now on, you’ll be living in a woman’s world—officially recognized as a woman. It’s not like I can just casually call you up and say, ‘Hey, let’s go grab a drink,’ you know? Besides, you’ve got a boyfriend. David.”
“David, huh.”
I repeat my own name after hearing Josh call it out.
“This is the last day I’ll be called by that name.”
“Tomorrow, I’ll have to call you Monica, right?”
“Yeah. That’s what society requires.”
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Ten years ago, a strange new disease began to spread. It caused one in every 500,000 people to swap personalities with another human being. It first appeared in people all over the world when they turned twenty, setting off a global uproar.
However, eight years ago, a new medication was invented that allowed people to return to their original bodies. Seven years ago, Congress passed a bill mandating that those who had swapped bodies must return to their original selves.
But because the new drug places such a heavy burden on the mind and body, patients must live in the swapped body for one full year before safely returning. That’s how it’s done.
As a result, countless “body refugees”—people who lived from age twenty to twenty-one as someone else—suddenly appeared across society. Some found themselves swapping between male and female bodies. I happen to be one of them.
Plenty of people started petitioning the government with pleas like:
> “I don’t want to go back. I want to continue living my life in this new body.”
With the topic discussed at length in Congress and in the media, the decision was finally made: after the one-year period in another body, if both parties and their families agreed, then with government approval, a mountain of paperwork, and strict review by the family court, you could choose to stay in your new body for good.
The requirements are daunting, and the standards are high. But after many consultations with our attorney, both I and the person who ended up in my original body were finally granted that right.
The Identity Exchange Ceremony is a religious-style rite given to people who have earned the right to remain in their swapped bodies. It was proposed by a prominent spiritual leader whose influence reaches worldwide, and soon became widely known.
That said, it’s not like there’s any magic or curse involved, as you’d see in a fantasy. It’s simply a public declaration—before God and everyone—that you accept your new self. It’s a lot like a wedding ceremony: you stand in front of an officiant, exchange vows, and announce yourselves as partners. Except here, you’re committing to a new identity rather than a new spouse.
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I step into a waiting room in the ceremony hall, where a female dresser greets me with a bow.
“You really want to wear a dress, sir?” she asks.
“Well, I heard you wanted to live as a woman from now on?”
Oof. Hearing it put so plainly still makes me blush. Even though I’ve been in Monica’s female body for a year, I’ve mostly stuck to jeans or pants. I haven’t even worn a skirt, much less a dress. But here I am, on my big day, about to put on a dress as a symbolic step toward living as a woman for real.
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In my mind, I’m still David. Yet after today, I’ll officially be Monica. I still haven’t quite processed that.
After I’ve gotten all dressed up, I go to greet Monica—the woman who’s been living in my old body as David.
“Wow,” she says with a mischievous grin. “That dress looks great on you, David. Guess that’s my body for you!”
“Don’t tease me, Monica.”
She lets out a gentle laugh. “After this ceremony, I guess it’ll be my last time cracking jokes in a woman’s voice. From tomorrow on, I’ll be a man through and through, officially recognized as David. Be a wonderful woman in my place, okay? I hope you’ll find happiness as Monica.”
“And I hope you find happiness too, Monica.”
Just then, our coordinator comes to fetch us for the ceremony.
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They’ve converted what used to be a wedding chapel, and inside are our friends and relatives, all clapping and cheering as we make our entrance.
The ceremony begins. The officiant leads us to the altar, and we speak our vows before God and everyone.
“David Matthews,” he addresses the person who’s now in my old body, “do you hereby vow to begin a new life as David?”
“I do!” she—no, he—declares loudly. He stands up so straight, so confident. He looks terrific.
Then it’s my turn.
“Monica Newman,” the officiant says, “do you hereby vow to begin a new life as Monica?”
“I do!”
My heart pounds. Receiving a brand-new social role and a new name, formally and publicly, makes my chest tighten with anticipation.
The officiant turns to David, continuing the ritual. “Who are you?”
A staff member hands David a piece of paper. He reads from it:
“My name is David Matthews. I am twenty-one years old. I am male. I was born in Madison, Wisconsin, to my father, Robert, and my mother, Linda. I played on the soccer team in middle and high school. I grew up surrounded by great friends. This is the new story of my past. From now on, I will be David. I will live as a man and take on my responsibilities in society.”
Each word he speaks feels like it erases a piece of my old identity. Of course, he’s simply reciting what we agreed on ahead of time. There’s no physical change. But still, it marks the moment I’m socially no longer David.
Then the officiant turns to me.
“And who are you?”
I feel my voice shaking, but I steady myself. Following the plan, I read out my lines loud and clear.
“My name is Monica Newman. I am twenty years old. I am female. I was born in Aurora, Colorado, to my father, Thomas, and my mother, Karen. I went to an all-girls high school and played in the school band, making wonderful memories with my girlfriends. This is the new story of my past. From now on, I will be Monica. I will live as a woman and take on my responsibilities in society.”
Surprisingly, I manage to keep calm. With every word, I feel my old history being overwritten, replaced by this new identity. A slight thrill—a strange, exhilarating sense of transgression—runs down my spine.
The officiant continues. “Now, please call each other by your new names.”
Following the script, David addresses me.
“Monica, I wish you all the happiness in the world. I’ll be moving forward as David.”
“David,” I respond, deliberately putting on my best feminine lilt, “I wish you happiness, too. I’ll be moving forward as Monica.”
Up until yesterday, my friends and relatives—even with me in a woman’s body—always called me David. That was simply the norm. But starting now, everyone in my life will formally call me Monica. That’s what this ceremony is all about.
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Suddenly, the officiant announces a surprise. “We have a special guest! Please come on in.”
A man I recognize steps forward.
“Kent!”
He’s the guy Monica—back when she was in her original body—used to date. Ever since the disease took hold, he’d kept his distance, unsure of how to handle it all.
“I’ve been struggling with this for a long time,” he says. “But I finally know how I feel. I still love you, Monica. I don’t care that your soul’s in someone else’s body. Please—be my girlfriend again!”
Everything goes quiet in my head. I instinctively glance toward David, who meets my look with a supportive nod, as if to say he’s happy for me, for the birth of a new couple.
Everyone in the hall starts whistling and cheering. Me—well, I—realize that if I accept Kent’s proposal, I’m taking a huge step into womanhood. Part of me wonders if this is my final rite of passage into a new life.
“All right,” I say, my voice trembling.
Applause fills the room.
“How about a kiss for our new couple?” the officiant coaxes.
I close my eyes, and I feel Kent’s warm lips on mine.
What’s Josh thinking, I wonder? And what do the others see right now?
When we pull away, I spot Josh standing in the back, looking sad. Then he turns around and quietly leaves the hall.
Only then does it hit me: he must have had feelings for me. I assumed our friendship would stay the same, even if I was physically a woman now. But maybe that ended a long time ago, no matter how normal we tried to act on the surface. All this time, he was seeing me as a woman.
Dark, tangled emotions swirl inside me. In that moment, I realize, truly and deeply, that I’m now living as a woman.
“Hey, Kent,” I whisper.
“Yeah, Monica?”
“Kiss me again.”
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The End