No One Knew I Was Trans In College. Then I Joined A Fraternity – And It Taught Me How To Be A Man

Molly (right) and me (center), with our "Little," Christien (left).My transgender tale is as old as time, opening with the devastation brought by puberty upon turning 11, as my mother gleefully delivered the horrifying news that I was finally “becoming a woman”.I started going to bed every night with crippling anxiety that I was slowly turning into something I couldn’t fathom myself as, and one day I would wake up as someone I couldn’t recognise. The disconnect between my body and self-image begot disbelief, then disappointment, which then transformed into shame. When I searched my symptoms on the Korean version of Google, I came across the concept of “ gender dysphoria” and discovered that I might be a “transgender” who would have to endure all the surgeries and social stigma that come with that identity. I hastily decided that wasn’t the right fit – I’d already lived so long as a woman “successfully”.Besides, don’t all women feel ashamed of their bodies? I couldn’t imagine I was anything other than a closeted queer woman. When I arrived at Brown University – the tree-hugging, activist Ivy League sibling – fresh from South Korea, I was still a closeted queer. My first semester was supposed to liberate me from all those years of lying and hiding. Students were openly queer. Drag Race had a weekly screening. A classroom discussion wasn’t complete without someone commenting, “You know, gender is a spectrum.” But of course, even at the most liberal of institutions, the international Korean and Korean American students held Valentine’s Day parties only meant for Adam and Eve. It was as though a piece of the Korean peninsula itself had been transplanted here – bringing with it the familiar pressure of heteronormativity, which I had long since mastered conforming to. I breezily talked about “the type of boys I liked,” laughing when someone joked, “Oh, you have so many traits girls would like if you were a guy.”Dunked in hot and cold waters simultaneously, I didn’t know which temperature to adjust to. Some days, I felt euphoria, as if I’d finally found my true home. Others, I broke down, still trapped in the same closet I thought I’d left at the border. One day the following spring, I found a Zeta Delta Xi Rush Calendar leaflet slipped under my door. Describing Zeta Delta Xi as “Brown’s one and only queer co-ed fraternity,” the flier listed events with crude yet mysterious names such as “Porn and Milkshakes,” “Fuckboi Healing Circle,” and “W(h)ine about Yoga.” Fraternities typically bring to mind hegemonic white jock-bros chugging beer kegs. So I had no way of knowing that an inclusive version of the institution was about to launch my transition journey and ultimately help me find my own version of manhood and happiness.I was nervous tugging on Zete’s heavy door for the first time. I apprehensively approached a room across the hallway with the sign “Campy Movie Night.” Inside, the projector was screening But I’m a Cheerleader.My only previous experience of queer “community” was in online forums. I’d never been surrounded by so many queer people my age, much less laughing at a classic queer film together. I’d made queer friends, but this was my first time setting foot in a queer space. Feeling out of place and unsure how to act without the mask of straightness I wore in Korean circles, I scribbled my name in the rush book and left. That feeling of alienation kept me from attending more events. To my surprise, I still received a “bid,” a formal invitation to join the fraternity. I was still hesitant, but joining Zete meant avoiding the housing lottery, so I decided, why not? Fraternities typically bring to mind hegemonic white jock-bros chugging beer kegs. So I had no way of knowing that an inclusive version of the institution was about to launch my transition journey. Yet even after joining, I remained aloof. I didn’t spend much time at the frat or try to make friends with other Zete members. I refused to wear the fraternity bandana because I didn’t want to bring attention to my queerness. It wasn’t until sophomore fall that I was coerced deeper into fraternity life. I was required to “pledge” for three entire months before I could be officially accepted as a “Brother” (a gender-neutral term in this co-ed household). If I decided not to pledge, I couldn’t be part of Zete any longer. Andrew, an overachieving bisexual fintech bro triple-majoring in biology, computer science and gender studies, was appointed as my “Big,” a mentor fraternities assign to help guide new members through the process. Alongside 13 other pledges, I participated in traditions passed down for decades and learned about Zete’s rebellious history – including how it seceded from its original all-male organisation, Zeta Psi, when the board refused to recognise women as official members in 1987.In response, the Epsilon chapter unanimously voted itself out of the national organisation so that women could be full members and officers, and Zeta Delta Xi was born. Since then, Zete has symbolised inclusion and nonconformity as an independent Greek Life organisation at Brown. While never officially labelled “the queer fraternity,” its history naturally drew people from diverse backgrounds – including queer and gender-nonconforming students – who became the majority of the community over time.It was that same fall that gender dysphoria finally split me open, and I fell into a deep depression. The dean referred me to therapy, during which I finally acknowledged that transitioning was the only way out. However, I still had so much uncertainty. How would I tell my parents? How was I going to let people know I had switched pronouns? Could I still date straight women? I’d always identified with a more masculine physique, but I wasn’t comfortable in male-dominated spaces. Surely, I wasn’t “man” enough? Fortuitously, toward the end of pledging, I discovered Andrew was trans – he’d already transitioned in high school. Witnessing his trans existence showed me a shimmering glimpse of what I could be. Bubble tea trembling in my hands, I voiced my hopes and doubts about transitioning for the first time outside of the therapist’s office. He replied, “Cool. Start recording your voice. You’ll want to hear it drop.” My transmasculine journey began sophomore spring with a pair of silver-banded, black-lettered Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Then came a few injections, followed by a change of name and pronouns. Some of the signs along the bar inside the fraternity house where the author lived.I had expected testosterone to alleviate my pain once and for all, but unfortunately, no fairy trans-mother was going to eradicate others’ pre-transition memories and tagged Facebook photos.As the only “out” Korean queer person on campus, gossip plagued me. I couldn’t wait to see the bodily changes, but I didn’t want others, especially fellow Koreans, to notice them. Questions like, “So... do I call you oppa?” – a Korean term women use to address older men – nearly triggered a cardiac arrest.The sentence “Hi, my name is Aster, and I use he/him pronouns,” remained hard to vocalise. For the first three months, I let people believe I had a “sore throat.” But as my voice deepened further, I had to publicly come out as trans, ready or not. The dichotomy of my feelings made me feel like a hypocrite whenever people called me “brave”. I felt obligated to project a proud facade, even when pride didn’t resonate within. I wrote Instagram posts flaunting my trans pride, then was tempted to transfer schools whenever I heard someone refer to me as “the trans one.” The tug-of-war between desire and dread tore me up. As much as I wished to become the representation I needed when I was growing up, I wished many times more that I were someone else. It didn’t help that I was doing my best to keep my transphobic family unaware of my transition.Zete constituted an alternate universe where I’d always been “Aster, he/him,” and I’d been the only person unaware. I misgendered myself more than any Brother. In the rare instance that someone else did it, they’d correct themselves quickly. Once, Edward, a biracial, bisexual taekwondo athlete, had to call my new name three times before I responded.The colder it felt outside, the more I relied on Zeta’s warmth. Within its walls, I could catch my breath. As the only ‘out’ Korean queer person on campus, gossip plagued me. I couldn’t wait to see the bodily changes, but I didn’t want others, especially fellow Koreans, to notice them. Weeks before my junior fall, my parents found out that I had started testosterone and cut me off. Conveniently, Zete already had contingency plans for family estrangement – it was, after all, a house full of gays. I was able to continue my education after a former Zete elder paid my tuition. Simon, a nonbinary Brother who worked as a camp counsellor for trans kids, housed me over summer break. In those seemingly endless days of isolation and turbulence, Andrew – the trans fintech bro – was my rock. I consulted him about what levels of testosterone could alter mood or physical appearance, and we bonded over how much we secretly enjoyed making period jokes to faze people. On days when depression hit especially hard, we didn’t have to do anything in particular. His presence alone was enough reassurance that, eventually, everything would be OK. Molly, a cynical ex-Mormon lesbian, became my new best friend as we co-Bigged for the next pledge class. Her insane stories served as the perfect distraction from my pain. Molly joked that she left the church because, as a lesbian, she’d never be able to get her own planet in Mormon afterlife heaven, which women could only access via their husbands. Zeta’s body-positive and sex-positive environment was the perfect recipe for a tangled web of hookups, heartbreaks and “Wait, aren’t you two exes?” moments that made “The L Word” look emotionally stable.On Topless Bar Nights, we’d dance topless – consensually – while precariously holding onto our red Solo cups. On rare occasions, we hosted a (sex-free) Zete sauna in the first-floor bathroom, where comfortable individuals stripped naked. Prior to this, I’d thoroughly internalised the message that my trans body was incomplete by any standard: too scrawny for a guy, too brawny for a girl. No amount of testosterone had changed the feeling. However, in Zete, there was no right or wrong notion of a body. Through exposure to diverse body types, I realised that bodies aren’t tied to moral values. They simply exist, and mine does, too. The casualness of sex and the celebration of bodies within Zete helped me unravel sexual and bodily shame I’d carried since puberty. After graduation, when I moved to New York City to pursue my master’s at New York University, Andrew had already been settled there for several years, and he took me to Brooklyn Drag Nights and circuit parties that essentially felt like Zete events expanded to city scale.Left: October 2017, pre-transition. Right: August 2025, almost eight years later.After five years of intermittent no-contact and tearful conversations, my family and I are in a much better place, thanks to that former Zete elder, who helped mediate conversations. My parents even met Andrew when he visited Korea and thanked him for supporting me during their absence. To say I’m now completely free of dissonance would be a lie. Instead of bathing in guilt, however, I’ve learned to live with ambivalence. Thanks to Zete, I have the courage to live openly as a queer and trans guy, not only in explicitly queer spaces, but also in heteronormative ones. I now know that I have nothing to be ashamed of, even when shame and anxiety creep in. Zete is where I put together my transgender peace. And while that peace still sometimes gets interrupted, I have learned from my Zete community that it is resilient – and it will always persevere.Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at [email protected] Took My Appearance For Granted. Then My Face Changed And My Life Transformed OvernightI'm The 65-Year-Old Parent Of A Transgender Daughter. This Is 1 Thing I Never Thought I'd Have To DoMy Sister Became My Brother 50 Years Ago, Before Many Knew What 'Transgender' Meant

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