I seldom say this of any book, but Loren Cameron's Body Alchemy changed the way I viewed the world. I have seen the cover of this book appear on many occasions. I remember sitting in the audience, listening to a lawyer speak about a proposed International Bill of Gender Rights that would protect the human and civil right of any individual to freely express hir gender.

A slide came up: it was the front cover of the book, with Loren Cameron stealthily standing in a slight contortion. His legs faced the right; a trail of dark pubic hair leads up his abdomen and disperses across the spread of his muscled pectorals, which were facing us. His neck was bent the other way so that his face is turned towards the left, eyes slightly downward-looking at the syringe of testosterone about to be injected into his butt-cheek.

While staffing at a library here on campus, I was sorting books when the same captivating cover captured my attention. Body Alchemy: Transsexual Portraits. The book is a collection of self-written anecdotes and photographs taken by Cameron of himself, his friends, and members of the community. The photographs offered a personal view into the life of being a trans man, their transition processes, their jobs, their relationships. The opening page moved me:

"Everytime I tell someone I am a transsexual, I have a tubulent series of emotions. At first, I am afraid that whomever I'm telling will have a negative response, afraid that they will somehow be repelled and become hostile or in some way reject me. As I begin to speak, my heartbeat races a little, and I feel my face flush with the heat of embarassment. I might even stammer as the words fall out of my mouth, failing to consider my nervousness. My stomach tightens in anticipation.

"But then, if I've been given positive reception, I begin to spill it all with myopic enthusiasm, answering every question, which always encourages another. People are naturally curious, and some have a real need to know. By revealing myself, I have consensually invited their voyeurism; they can't help but watch as I make a spectacle of myself....

"In the end, when I have spilled my guts or exhausted their interest, I begin to retreat a little. A grayness falls over me, and I realize that I feel unsafe. I feel naked. Self-doubt starts to poke holes in my ego, and I begin to think I have exploited myself: I am ashamed of my exhibitionism. I promise myself not to tell anyone ever again. -Carney."

His intimate re-telling of his experiences with other people struck a chord with me as an ally. I am always teethering between knowing how much to (not) ask. Over the year, as I become more involved in issues important to the trans community, I have decided that it is not my place and not my experience to determine - dictate - how much I know. I used to feel uncomfortable, not knowing enough, not knowing how much more I should know.

But I have learned that knowing does not equal knowing the person. I have found valuable friendships and support from being an ally, without always fully understanding the specifics. My source of information comes from books and websites, if I do need a little bit more of understanding. But I have also learned that being there is just as important.

How much can you know, and will it ever be the same experiences ze is going through?

Body Alchemy has allowed me to question my position as an ally and to re-view the way I interact, engage, and think about my politics. Most importantly, the collection of photographs and their accompanying stories have touched me in a very human way. For the first time, I can slip out of my shoes and into theirs, if only for a little while.