Whenever I mention that I’m making a film about a transgender person, people often respond, “Oh, about marginalized groups.” But I have never seen Birdy that way. I see him as radiant, conflicted, stubborn, funny, lonely, and full of desire. Most of all, I see him as someone trying, in his own way, to grow up.

This film began not as an attempt to explain trans identity, but as an effort to accompany one person through a period of profound change. Over four years, I followed Birdy not as a distant observer, but as someone who cared deeply—waiting outside operating rooms, listening to late-night confessions, and witnessing how he slowly learned to live inside a changing body. In this process, I came to understand that documentary is not merely a way to witness, but a way to remain present with someone as they move through time.

One of the central ideas that emerged through filming is that gender identity and sexual orientation are not the same. The common assumption that they are inherently linked often simplifies the complexity of lived experience. Through Birdy’s journey, the film reveals how identity unfolds not as a fixed category, but as an ongoing negotiation between the self, the body, and the expectations of others.

Another key theme of the film is the spectrum of gender expression. Over more than five years of filming and encountering many transgender men, I came to realize that even within this small and often misunderstood group, each individual embodies a distinct relationship to masculinity and femininity. Not all transgender men seek extreme masculinity, just as among cisgender people there are feminine men and masculine women.

By stepping back and observing more closely, the film reveals that this spectrum does not belong only to transgender individuals—it exists within all of us. The binary framework of male and female, masculine and feminine, often fails to capture the fluidity and complexity of human life.​