I want it to be that transgender is normal. Let us live our

Host: The rain had stopped just before dusk, leaving the city glowing — streets slick, lamps reflected in puddles like galaxies that had fallen to earth. Inside a small community café, the smell of cinnamon, ink, and coffee hung in the air. A rainbow flag drooped lazily in the corner window, the colors dim in the fading light but still defiantly visible.

Jack and Jeeny sat at a small round table, tucked near the back where the hum of conversation softened into background warmth. Steam curled from their mugs. On the wall behind them, hand-painted in bold, uneven letters, was a quote that someone had brushed with care:
“I want it to be that transgender is normal. Let us live our lives. Let us be happy. The world will be a better place when we have that freedom. I think I'm going to be alive to see it.” — Jazz Jennings.

Jeeny: softly, tracing her finger along the rim of her cup “You know, there’s something breathtakingly simple about that — wanting normalcy. Not attention, not argument — just space to breathe.”

Jack: nodding slowly “Yeah. It’s wild how the most human requests sound like revolutions to those who’ve never been denied them.”

Jeeny: glancing at him “That’s exactly it. Freedom’s quiet when you have it. Deafening when you don’t.”

Host: The lights from passing cars rippled across the café windows, like brief flashes of other worlds moving past. A couple laughed softly at another table. The barista hummed while wiping down the counter. The night felt gentle — fragile but hopeful, like a song just beginning.

Jack: “You know, when I first read that quote, I thought — that’s the definition of optimism. To believe the world can change fast enough for you to see it.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “That’s what courage looks like. Hope that doesn’t whisper. Hope that stakes a claim on the future.”

Jack: after a pause “It’s strange, isn’t it? How we call things ‘normal’ only after they’ve stopped frightening us.”

Jeeny: “Normal is just another word for accepted. The question is — who gets to define it?”

Jack: “Usually the people who never had to fight for their own reflection.”

Host: The rainwater outside shimmered in the streetlights, reflecting fragments of color — red, blue, green, gold — the flag echoed in every droplet.

Jeeny: “I think that’s why visibility matters so much. It’s not about spectacle — it’s about survival. When you’re unseen, you start believing you’re invisible.”

Jack: softly “And when you’re invisible, people can pretend you don’t hurt.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s why voices like Jazz’s matter. They remind the world that existence itself is resistance.”

Jack: “You sound like you’ve thought about this a lot.”

Jeeny: smiling sadly “You don’t have to be trans to understand what it’s like to live in a world that keeps asking you to explain yourself.”

Jack: quietly “Yeah. Everyone’s fighting to belong somewhere, to someone, even to themselves.”

Host: The steam from their coffee twisted upward, catching the low light — fragile, fleeting, but undeniably real.

Jack: “You know, I grew up in a place where difference wasn’t hated, just… avoided. Nobody said cruel things. They just said nothing.”

Jeeny: nodding “Silence is a slow cruelty. It doesn’t wound, it erases.”

Jack: “It’s easier to fight hate than apathy.”

Jeeny: “Because apathy pretends to be peace.”

Host: A moment passed — the kind of quiet that doesn’t demand words, but builds understanding. The city outside pulsed with life, the sound of tires against wet pavement like a heartbeat keeping tempo for the conversation.

Jeeny: “What gets me about her words is the confidence — ‘I think I’m going to be alive to see it.’ She’s not hoping. She’s expecting.”

Jack: “Yeah. That’s what revolution looks like when it’s done right — not anger, but certainty. The belief that justice isn’t a miracle; it’s overdue.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And it’s not just about one community. It’s about the human condition — learning to love without conditions.”

Jack: “And unlearn the fear that built all the walls in the first place.”

Host: The café lights dimmed slightly as the barista began stacking chairs. The murmur of conversation grew thinner, but the weight of their words remained thick in the air.

Jeeny: leaning back, reflective “You know, sometimes I think empathy is the most radical thing we have left. Just looking at someone and saying, ‘You deserve joy.’”

Jack: “And meaning it.”

Jeeny: “And meaning it.”

Jack: after a pause “You ever think we’ll get there? To the world she’s describing?”

Jeeny: “We’ll get closer. Maybe not perfect, but kinder. And that’s worth fighting for.”

Jack: softly “Kindness as progress.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The quiet revolutions always start that way — with empathy disguised as everyday acts.”

Host: The neon sign above the café flickered once, twice, then steadied — OPEN, glowing defiantly against the dark street.

Jack: “You know, what she’s asking for isn’t change in laws. It’s change in hearts.”

Jeeny: “And hearts are stubborn. But they’re also contagious.”

Jack: smiling faintly “Yeah. One heart at a time. One conversation at a time.”

Jeeny: “One safe space at a time. Like this.”

Jack: “Like this.”

Host: The camera would linger on them — two people sharing warmth in the dim light, surrounded by rain-streaked windows and quiet music that no one noticed but everyone felt.

Outside, the world kept moving — slow, uneven, but forward.

Jeeny: softly, with a kind of reverence “She’s right, you know. The world will be better. Because freedom doesn’t subtract — it multiplies.”

Jack: “Yeah. Every person who lives authentically gives everyone else permission to be real.”

Jeeny: “And that’s the surprise — we don’t lose anything by letting others be free. We gain humanity back.”

Jack: “So maybe that’s what she’ll live to see — not perfection, but peace.”

Jeeny: smiling “And maybe that’s enough.”

Host: The rain began again — gentle this time, almost melodic, tapping against the glass like applause from the heavens. The café was closing, but the light stayed on just a little longer, as if reluctant to end the conversation.

And as the camera faded to black, Jazz Jennings’ words would remain, luminous and alive:

“I want it to be that transgender is normal. Let us live our lives. Let us be happy. The world will be a better place when we have that freedom. I think I'm going to be alive to see it.”

Because freedom isn’t noise —
it’s quiet belonging.

And the measure of progress
is not tolerance,
but tenderness —
the moment when someone’s truth
no longer needs
to explain itself
to be seen
as human.