A work by Aleeza Noor
Previllage always doesn’t always look like luxury, it often looks like a not so fancy desk job
My exhaustion at work often carries guilt as I know my trans sisters on the streets might have given everything for the same chance I have been given.
There are evenings where the final rays of the setting sun washes my desk in a hue of tired orange through the window where my mind often drifts outside the office walls into the street right opposite where my trans sisters stand, where the world happily offers them alms but rarely presents them with the opportunity they deserve. I can not help but wonder, if they had been given the same opportunity would they have done better than me ? The quiet thought lingers through the half empty corridors of my office where I sip my cup of the most bitter green tea ever known to the world.
Some days the pressure feels endless – targets, short deadlines, long working hours and the insatiable need to prove myself again and again reminding me that my presence here is not just for me, it is for every single person who wasn’t allowed through these doors. My exhaustion never feels like weakness anymore. I see it as a reminder of responsibility. I feel accountable to the sisters who never had a chance to sit where I sit today.
For many from my community even the idea of getting exhausted after a long day of work at a steady job is still a dream. The dignity and the peace in this oh so noisy world it brings is what many of my trans-sisters are denied. To be tired of work is a privilege – it means I am seen, included and trusted with responsibility. It means I get to go home with the quiet assurance that I earned my place, not by begging for acceptance, but by contributing as an equal
And yet this awareness is heavy too – I know my exhaustion is not just mine, it carries the hopes of those who still wait outside the fancy walls, those who may even never be allowed to step in.
Every time I feel like giving up, I get reminded that my presence here matters and I must lead as an example to everyone around me as someone in power will think differently the next time they see a trans candidate. My efforts should be able to open doors for others in the upcoming time
I sit at my desk surrounded my screens and endless deadlines I borrow strength from the countless stories of resilience that echo within my community, I find myself in a position where i have an organisation which is inclusive is not just a word written on a wall for special occasions, it is something which i feel everyday in the way people treat me every single day
There are mornings where I walk into the office and feel an unfamiliar sense of belonging where I don’t have to fight to prove my right to be here, it reminds me what true inclusivity feels like: not grand gestures but everyday that allows me to thrive.
Each task I complete and every small step I take, feels like a quiet resistance against the idea that people like me don’t belong here and to break the mirage that has been harboured in people’s minds for decades. Equality has never been about being treated special—it is about the chance to live ordinary lives. To be tired after a long day, to go home with dignity, to wake up knowing tomorrow has work waiting. My sisters deserve this as much as I do, and until more of us are allowed in, the work remains incomplete.
I have a dream of a future, where I don’t see any of my trans sisters standing on the streets for survival, but walking into offices, classrooms, and boardrooms with their heads held high.
A future where exhaustion sets in not from rejection, but from all the possibilities fulfilled. A future where dignity is no longer a privilege, but a moral right that is shared by all. Until then, every tired step I take at work is also a step forward for them.
Peaceful Living in a Noisy World was born out of the quiet moments at my desk—moments when exhaustion after long hours of work reminded me of something deeper: that even being tired from a steady job is a privilege not many in my community have.
I often think of my trans sisters who are denied opportunities, and how my presence in these spaces must count for something larger than myself. This piece reflects both my gratitude and my responsibility—to honor those before me, to open doors for those after me, and to keep dreaming of a more dignified future.
About the author
I’m Aleeza, a software professional from Chennai. For me, technology and art are both ways of making sense of the world. My days are often spent building and solving through code, but I find my truest expression in sketching, contemporary art, and poetry—quiet spaces where I can breathe, reflect, and create.
My journey has been about seeking dignity in this sometimes unforgiving world, and embracing the gentle possibility of living a soft, peaceful life. I believe our stories carry power—the power to break stereotypes, to open hearts, and to build safe spaces where every trans person is seen with love and respect.
