Lighting Candles, Giving Voices

Every November 20, candles are lit for lives that ended too soon, lives that were silenced not by time, but by hate.

For some, Transgender Day of Remembrance is just a date on the calendar, but for the trans community, it’s a day that hurts, heals, and demands to be heard.

The Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDoR) began in 1999, founded by Gwendolyn Ann Smith to honor the memory of Rita Hester, a Black transgender woman murdered in 1998. What started as a small vigil has become a global observance every November 20, dedicated to mourning those lost to transphobic violence and advocating for justice.

Behind the event are faces, names, and stories—each one carrying the weight of what it means to live, or not live, as yourself.

One of those living that truth is Jerson “Jers” Solon, a 20-year-old Sociology student from the Polytechnic University of the Philippines, who continues to navigate a world still learning what respect and acceptance truly mean.

For Jers, being true to herself wasn’t always as simple as it sounds.

“Nung hindi pa ‘ko naga-undergo ng journey ko as a trans, may parts sa’kin na parang pilit o tinatago ko pa kung ano ba talaga ako,” she shared. “’Di ko ma-fully express yung sarili ko.”

Back then, fear was louder than freedom. “Takot ako kaya tinatago ko yung sarili ko,” she admitted. “Takot akong ma-bully, ma-discriminate.” To blend in, she wore men’s clothes not for comfort, but to make others feel at ease. “[I wore] panlalaki na clothes para ’di ma-uncomfortable yung mga friends ko na lalaki,” she said, adding that the sad truth is how society still sees clothing that reflects her true self as something ‘not normal.’ But that hiding didn’t last forever. When Jers finally chose to live as her authentic self, she described the feeling as liberating. “Para akong butterfly na nafu-fully express na yung sarili ko sa paraan na gusto ko, at sa paraan na comfortable ako.”

And that comfort extends beyond clothing. It’s in the small, everyday moments, like being called ‘ma’am’ or ‘miss.’ “When people acknowledge me by my pronouns, I feel seen and respected,” she said. “May part sa’kin na halimbawa, may nag-approach na [ina-address ako as] ‘miss’ or ‘ma’am’, sobrang saya sa loob kasi acknowledged [ako] e.”

What seems like a small gesture to others carries deep meaning for her and many in the community. “It may sound simple, pero malaki ang bagay ‘yun,” she explained. “Malaking bagay na ma-acknowledge tayo sa pronouns na gusto natin because it means people value who we truly are… being recognized by your identity is the beacon of love and acceptance.”

For Jers, respect begins with words. “Dito tayo magsisimula sa pagiging inclusive natin, dito magsisimula yung pagtanggap sa community natin,” she said. “Kapag vinavalue natin yung pronouns ng kasama natin, it’s a form of respect dahil ‘di naman natin alam kung ano ang naging journey ng isang tao.”

However, even with self-acceptance, challenges remain. “As a transgender woman, although na-express ko na naman yung self ko, hindi pa rin mawawala yung discrimination,” she said. One of the hardest moments came in something as ordinary as using the restroom.

“As a trans, I still experience subtle forms of discrimination, especially when using the comfort room,” she shared. “Isang beses sa mall, need ko mag-CR at mag-ayos… ‘di naman ako papasok sa CR ng panlalaki kasi natatakot talaga ako. Mas comfortable ako sa female comfort room.”

But comfort isn’t always guaranteed. “Do’n may group of girls na nagbubulungan sila, ‘bakit dito s’ya nag-CR,’ ‘dapat do’n s’ya sa panlalaki,’” Jers recalled. “Medyo nahurt ako kasi sinabi ko sa sarili ko, ‘okay, ‘di pa rin pala tapos yung laban ng community namin about discrimination.’”

Jers believes that respect comes in different forms. Though it starts with words, it shouldn’t stop there. Actions are manifestations of what we believe in. Respecting trans people, for Jers, is not just seen by referring to their preferred pronouns but also by accepting them fully in all places, especially in the comfort room where they usually face discrimination. 

“CR is not a privilege,” she added. Her words say that dignity isn’t a luxury, it’s a right.

Jers’ story is just one among many, and not everyone in the community gets the same chance to tell theirs. For every trans person who finds the courage to live openly, countless others are still silenced by fear, stigma, or violence. The candles lit every Transgender Day of Remembrance stand for them, for those who never got the chance to live freely, and for those still fighting to be seen.

TDoR isn’t just about remembering the dead; it’s about protecting the living. 

It’s a reminder that remembrance means nothing without action, without policies that protect trans rights, without safe spaces in schools, workplaces, and communities.

In the Philippines, where discrimination continues in subtle and visible ways, visibility itself is an act of resistance. For people like Jers, every “ma’am,” every respectful look, every moment of safety in a comfort room, is a quiet victory in a long, unfinished fight.

Honoring the lives lost to hate means standing up for those still here, speaking out, correcting others when they misgender someone, and creating spaces where people can exist without apology because remembrance should move us, from mourning to movement, from grief to change.

Transgender Day of Remembrance is not only a day to light candles. It’s a day to look around and ask: what are we doing to make sure no more names are added to that list next year?

Article: Jeserie Joy Ilao

Graphics: Queen Mharifher Aranaz