Let me introduce myself: I am Andrea's queer self between 25 and 35 years old.

17 September 2000: "It's funny what you can do with a PC. It's so easy to change sex (gender), and I don't even look bad as a woman (...) A gender change is an interesting thing, and maybe I should try it once in reality (I have this desire to dress in women's clothes anyway, and maybe at least once I should give in to that)".

This is what Andrea wrote in their diary on 17 September 2000. I made them write this. There is nothing else. This was my attempt to reach Andrea's consciousness - unfortunately without success.

I am Andrea's queer self and I am between 25 and 35 years old. I don't have a name yet, because of this: I am the queer self. In these years - and possibly already before - I tried many times to break through Andrea's armour so that they would have become aware of my existence. Perhaps this drawing above a picture of them, and the accompanying diary entry, was my most aggressive attempt, but there were more attempts. But at least on this day Andrea was writing about trying to change gender, to give in to the desire to dress in women's clothes. But then nothing more. Their fears were quickly closing the crack I had managed to open.

Andrea had begun to define themselves as gay, albeit at a great distance from the various gay masculinities. I made them write in an article on anarchism and homosexuality in the magazine Graswurzelrevolution in the summer of 1997, well hidden in a footnote: “It is significant, by the way, that "cross-dressing" is less accepted for men than for women. While there are hardly any clothes left that women cannot wear but which are clearly reserved for men, i.e. typical male clothing is disappearing, a man dressed as a woman is still considered a curiosity or a transvestite. Perhaps an indication that, despite the feminist movement, men still represent the norm, which women can approach but not vice versa? Perhaps an indication that a pluralisation of women's possible roles has already taken place (without patriarchy having disappeared), but that the pluralisation of men's roles is still a long way off?”

But nothing. Andrea didn't want to see me, didn't want to notice. There is nothing else in their diary before or after the entry of 17 September. There is no reflection on me, on their gender identity, beyond a critique of all masculinities and gender binarism. But from theory to self-reflection it was a long way.

And I did what I could do. I was trying to break through their armour when we passed a mainly women's underwear stall, making them imagine putting on a pair of thong panties... For a while I made them give up jeans and wear leggings. Then I made them buy some tights, but they only wore them when no one would notice. What else could I have done to make them notice my existence?

Last weekend they finally realised that I exist - or did exist. I don't know what to make of this. I was hiding, as I had been doing most of the time, but the truth is that I wished they would discover me. And they did. They saw me. For the first time.

Andrea was afraid to come close to me, to give me a hug. They cried. And they cried a lot. I don't know how to cry, but the truth is that I also felt like approaching them and hugging them. I wanted to and I was afraid at the same time. In the end we did it on Sunday. We hugged, with Andrea crying. I remained silent. I don't know what to do with Andrea crying.

Now I see Andrea living openly as queer, or genderqueer, or as a non-binary person. Why not before? Why couldn't they see me 25 years ago? And I'm not even talking about publicly coming out, I'm talking about realising my existence, their queer self, their gender identity. We have lost many years, years of life with the mask of masculinity on, albeit with a lot of discomfort and a lot of criticism of masculinity. But Andrea didn't stop calling themself a man (gay or queer) until much later. I stayed hidden, invisible.

These years of living in hiding hurt me, and I know that this unlived queer life hurts Andrea too. I am not even able to cry, to mourn these lost years, this unlived life. I still remain silent when Andrea hugs me, when they talk to me. I don't cry. I can't cry. But I should do my mourning, as Andrea tries to do theirs.

I know Andrea loves me. I know there are other selves of them - Alex, Rigby, Zora - who live their gender in other, queerer ways. I know Andrea does. It should make me happy. But I still feel incapable of sadness and incapable of feeling happy. Unable to feel. I have hidden myself, and I have hidden from my emotions. This is why I remain silent when Andrea hugs me. When will I be able to cry? When will I be able to feel happy about the queer life Andrea is living now?