It was just like any other Sunday. Despite cleaning up my apartment and doing laundry on Sunday (I prefer to get through all of that on Saturdays), the day included a morning jaunt with the dog, a light breakfast of eggs, toast, and coffee, and thinking about the iconic Charli XCX's performance from Coachella and Troye Sivan's appearance, wearing the popular "Protect the Dolls" shirt.Though Connor Ives made the shirt fashionable, the phrase is credited to ballroom culture. As one of the few safe spaces for trans folks, especially Black trans women, "Protect the Dolls" was a verbal statement, a call to action, for the need to safeguard trans bodies. The phrase stayed with me mid-afternoon as I finished putting myself together. With ten minutes to spare, I was briefly elated that I would make it in timeonly to look into my purse and realize the final version of a speech I was about to give was still on my desk. I kicked off my shoes, ran down the hallway to grab the speech, and returned to the elevators.Miraculously, I made it into the car in the nick of time.I exhaled and took several deep breaths after getting into the car. With my pulse returned to normal, I took out the speech and reviewed it again. Somewhere along the middle of the expressway, the phrase "Protect the Dolls" gave way to another internal thought: This is the third time in less than four months that I've attended a vigil or reacted to a death of a queer person in Upstate New York.The self-immolation of a trans veteran, the gruesome murder of a trans man, the murder of a gay couple, and now this. I felt anxious as the car slowly stopped at the church's entrance. I was about to give a speech at a memorial service for this community member. This time, a trans youth.Kat was only fifteen when she took her life.I didn't know what to expect. Actually, no, I did. I didn't expect anyone to pay attention to the plight of our trans bodies and expected few in numbers. But when I arrived, the parking lot was filling up. I smiled and nodded as I exited the car and hugged Mickey, the event organizer while speaking with the local news outlets.I can't describe my reaction when I walked into the church then. But days later, a word continues to pop up: euphoric.There was an abundance of warmth, love, and respect. Members of the communityteacher and neighbor, ally and siblingcame to pay respects to a young community member. I waited for my trans siblings to arrive: Javannah and Brittan, two leaders of one of the few trans-led and trans-centered organizations here. Sometimes, the room can feel somewhat empty when remembering trans lives. In the past, I've seen more folks attend a Drag Race viewing at a local bar than the community memorial service. But to my surprise, I observed filled seats.People paid respects by laying flowers and candles before Kat's image, like a shrine of a revered saint or martyr. And, in some ways, she was the latter; her body was sacrificed on the pyre of transphobia. Kat was one of many trans youth who suffered in silence, harassed, and bullied just for desiring to be their most authentic selves.I had flashbacks to my freshman days. When I was kicked or pushed while grabbing books from my locker and yelled at for refusing to go into the boys' locker room. And the moment a guidance counselor told my mother that this was "just a phase" while I sat there, my shirt tattered after defending myself against a bully.My quenched thirst brought me back to the present, and I sipped on a bottle as the program began. I felt ready and walked to the podium as the first speaker. Sadly, my contacts weren't, and at the start of the third paragraph, my eyes dried up out of nowhere. the words and sentences crafted were becoming difficult to read. I pressed on, taking my time to read through the haze, and semi-improvised where possible.Then I realized I was tearing up.Not only because I was at yet another memorial within the span of a few months, but I was giving a speech at a memorial for a trans teen. Someone who had yet to understand the pains in our journey, but also one who had yet to see the joy of living your authentic life. A teen who didn't yet experience the joys of first love and success. Someone who didn't have the chance to mature into a trans adult.I teared up because I saw parts of my own trans journey in that trans youth.Kat's mother spoke to an outlet days before the service, hoping to raise awareness of the need for more support in schools. She highlighted how Kat enjoyed fashion and looking polished. I was the same way back then and even more now. As a fashionista, I'm sure Kat would have loved seeing the growing popularity of the "Protect the Dolls" shirt, especially after Troye Sivan wore the shirt at Coachella. 100% of the funds used from the purchase go to Trans Lifeline. This trans-led and centered organization offers support for trans folks in crisis. As of date, the shirt has raised more than $100,000.But protecting the dolls is more than just a phrase or a trendy shirt. It's a promise we must maintain to honor Kat and all those who deserve to live in safety and dignity. We must act, we must protect, and we must love each other fiercely. And we must constantly remind trans and queer youths that they are a wonder, not a problem; a promise, not a peril.I have great sorrow for a life cut short, but I hope that the love and support we showed for Kat on Sunday will continue to grow and protect the community. Kat deserves that, and so does every trans youth.Protect the dolls, forever and always. With care,Your Lovable Trans AuntieYour Lovable Trans Auntie is our go-to advice column for lifes biggest (and messiest) questionslove, work, identity, and everything in between. With a signature blend of warmth, wit, and just the right amount of sass, Auntie offers readers a uniquely trans perspective thats as affirming as it is entertaining. Whether dishing out heartfelt wisdom, practical advice, or a little tough love, Auntie is here to remind everyone that theyre never alone on this journeyGot a crush but dont know how to tell them youre trans? Wondering how to deal with that coworker who still forgets your pronouns? Trying to navigate family drama, dating dilemmas, or just figuring out who you are? Aunties got you. Submit your questions to voices@equalpride.com.