I’m queer, I’m here and so is the existential fear
“I don’t want a physical relationship with anyone because it disgusts me.”
In a nutshell, that’s pretty much how I came out as asexual to my parents. I did not want to. I was not ready. I believe that every person should be able to pick the moment they want to come out and I can’t help but feel like I was robbed of that.
Two words that prompted this moment: arranged marriage.
The discussions were ongoing, and it was getting serious. The pressure grew each day. They had to know, right? I couldn’t have them wondering why I was set in my mind to turn down potential partners. And so, in a split second, I uttered the truth.
No matter how mentally prepared I was for the hurtful comments, they still hurt. For a moment, it became too much. They were confused. In denial. Not willing to fully understand the nature of my statement. How could they? It took me so long to comprehend it myself and keeping the generational gap in mind, here I was asking them to try to see it my way.
I’ve heard the stories. I’ve read the articles. The struggle of being a queer person-of-colour is an all-too familiar theme. Sometimes the feelings of being an outcast loom over me longer than I’m accustomed to. I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I should be so proud of who I am, especially when I know that I am not alone.
According to my parents, it was the internet research and soul-searching that had tricked me into thinking I fit into this uncommon label. I wish I could tell them that it was this so-called reading that helped me define such an important part of me.
It was easy to guess their other immediate concern: what would people think? How do we explain this? Truth be told, I didn’t know either. I could see the disappointment in their faces. I had let them down with my identity. And for the first time ever, I strongly wished I wasn’t asexual.
I used to feel lost, juggling between labels, unable to feel content that there was no term to describe my exact emotions. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that this world is not designed for asexual, aromantic and agender people. It’s not ideal that each of our coming out moments involves giving a crash course the definition of these labels. It’s not ideal that we have to defend our identity and convince the people we care about that there’s nothing wrong with us.
As weird as it may sound, I didn’t have it in myself to be angry or upset with them. Before they are my parents, they are human beings. I like to think that we are all in the same boat when it comes to learning new things and unlearning toxic ones. Even if it means having to hear things like, “You need to visit a doctor so this problem can be fixed.”
I’ve been told by people, “Just give them some time, they’ll come around.” A part of me certainly believes that. But the threat of cultural stigma seems to be an everlasting one, at least for the time being.
Glossary:
agender: someone who does not identify with any particular gender.
aromantic: someone who experiences a lack of romantic attraction towards a person.
asexual: someone who experiences a lack of sexual attraction towards a person.
Revathy Rajan 