First off, I'd like to apologize for my amazing failure at maintaining this blog. It turns out that trying to start a blog while simultaneously coping with writing-inhibiting stress and massive amounts of schoolwork is not actually a realistic or even good idea.
As an incentive to myself to keep writing, I'm thinking about broadening my scope a little bit. This is also because I find myself with a number of tangentially related ideas to write about in my head which aren't quite in line with my original intent for this blog, but not too far off. This might include things like gender, non-ace sexuality, queer/LGBT issues, and potentially other topics as they relate to being a teenager. I'll try to stay ace related as best I can, though.
Another thing I'm considering is changing the URL of this blog, because what on earth was I thinking, "asexyback"? Really? I don't even like that song. This will screw up any links, though, so I'm not sure yet.
So, yes. Sorry. I'll try to do better and be a responsible not-adult-yet on my commitments.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
Labels: A Love/Hate Relationship
Well, it's been a crazy...er, month, since I posted here last. But hopefully things are getting somewhat back to...well, manageable. ;)
Thanks to numerous conversations both online and in real life, I've been thinking about labels a lot lately. More specifically, about how I wished they worked differently. And more bluntly, I've spent an amount of time wondering if identifying as asexual is a very wrong thing for me to do at this point. What I concluded is what sparked this post.
There are always a lot of threads on AVEN about people who are wondering if they are ace. There was a discussion about prescriptive/descriptive asexual labels, and there was a brief wave of conversation about being to young to identify as ace. One point that some of these things seem to hinge on is the definition of asexuality (or any sexual identity, for that matter) as something that lasts for one's whole life. This is especially ironic given that the "What if it's just a phase" question in AVEN's FAQ encouraged me to change the way I viewed labels. Actually, I think that in general the ace community is much, MUCH better in its view of labels than the rest of society, which is wonderful.
In my experience, there are two main reasons why I feel labels are helpful: personal understanding, and interpersonal communication. The personal part is the part that makes me feel good to have a word that describes what I am and to know that there is a community of people who feel the same. The interpersonal part is the relief of having a jumping-off point when communicating who I am to others. Asexuality is, unfortunately, a label that usually requires a lot of explanation to other people, but at least it is some sort of start.
When I came out to my mother a month ago, she expressed (well, continues to express) a worry that I would box myself in by calling myself asexual. She insisted that A) I'm too young to know for sure, and B) that I should just say that "I don't know yet." I agree that it is extremely possible that I am too young to know my sexuality "for sure," I don't think that point B would be at all more beneficial. In fact, in the environment of high school, it would almost certainly be more difficult to deal with other students by saying "I just don't know."
Many people, my mom included, dislike labels and wish people could just "be." I sympathize with this, but I also think that it is very very difficult to do this in society. But labels can be helpful. When referring to my sexuality, I could explain that I feel no sexual attraction towards other people, find people of all genders but more often women physically nice to look at, and am possibly pan- or aromantic with a dislike for a platonic/romantic/sexual axis interpretation of sexuality, but it's easier to say I am asexual and let people figure the rest out as they get to know me. Likewise, when talking about my gender identity, I could explain that I identify between female and agendered with aspects of masculinity, but it's easier to tell people to use feminine pronouns and to not refer to me a woman. Similar situations affect my racial and religious labels.
My utopia-vision desire for the world is that we didn't have to use labels, that sexuality, gender, race, religion, and other labelled things wouldn't matter as much and could be accepted as they are without needing "labels." My more realistic wish is that there be more acceptance for a "descriptor" interpretation of labels; that people would accept labels as something that describe how we are, not a box that we must fit into forever.
What I've decided to do is to continue to call myself asexual with the understanding that it is a description of how I am now, and however other people wish to interpret labels is up to them. I'm not particularly interested in finding out who I am "100% for sure" at this point. I'd be curious to hear anyone else's views on labels, if you'd like to share!
Thanks to numerous conversations both online and in real life, I've been thinking about labels a lot lately. More specifically, about how I wished they worked differently. And more bluntly, I've spent an amount of time wondering if identifying as asexual is a very wrong thing for me to do at this point. What I concluded is what sparked this post.
There are always a lot of threads on AVEN about people who are wondering if they are ace. There was a discussion about prescriptive/descriptive asexual labels, and there was a brief wave of conversation about being to young to identify as ace. One point that some of these things seem to hinge on is the definition of asexuality (or any sexual identity, for that matter) as something that lasts for one's whole life. This is especially ironic given that the "What if it's just a phase" question in AVEN's FAQ encouraged me to change the way I viewed labels. Actually, I think that in general the ace community is much, MUCH better in its view of labels than the rest of society, which is wonderful.
In my experience, there are two main reasons why I feel labels are helpful: personal understanding, and interpersonal communication. The personal part is the part that makes me feel good to have a word that describes what I am and to know that there is a community of people who feel the same. The interpersonal part is the relief of having a jumping-off point when communicating who I am to others. Asexuality is, unfortunately, a label that usually requires a lot of explanation to other people, but at least it is some sort of start.
When I came out to my mother a month ago, she expressed (well, continues to express) a worry that I would box myself in by calling myself asexual. She insisted that A) I'm too young to know for sure, and B) that I should just say that "I don't know yet." I agree that it is extremely possible that I am too young to know my sexuality "for sure," I don't think that point B would be at all more beneficial. In fact, in the environment of high school, it would almost certainly be more difficult to deal with other students by saying "I just don't know."
Many people, my mom included, dislike labels and wish people could just "be." I sympathize with this, but I also think that it is very very difficult to do this in society. But labels can be helpful. When referring to my sexuality, I could explain that I feel no sexual attraction towards other people, find people of all genders but more often women physically nice to look at, and am possibly pan- or aromantic with a dislike for a platonic/romantic/sexual axis interpretation of sexuality, but it's easier to say I am asexual and let people figure the rest out as they get to know me. Likewise, when talking about my gender identity, I could explain that I identify between female and agendered with aspects of masculinity, but it's easier to tell people to use feminine pronouns and to not refer to me a woman. Similar situations affect my racial and religious labels.
My utopia-vision desire for the world is that we didn't have to use labels, that sexuality, gender, race, religion, and other labelled things wouldn't matter as much and could be accepted as they are without needing "labels." My more realistic wish is that there be more acceptance for a "descriptor" interpretation of labels; that people would accept labels as something that describe how we are, not a box that we must fit into forever.
What I've decided to do is to continue to call myself asexual with the understanding that it is a description of how I am now, and however other people wish to interpret labels is up to them. I'm not particularly interested in finding out who I am "100% for sure" at this point. I'd be curious to hear anyone else's views on labels, if you'd like to share!
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Out.
Today I came out to my mom. On the whole, the situation is going moderately well. There is a lot of crap going on in my life. More details tomorrow, after I've slept a bit.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Figuring Myself Out, Part 2: Questioning
Okay, having gotten the "era" terminology out of the way, I'm going to examine the role questioning played in the changes between them and how it's perceived in society at large vs. among other queer people vs. among asexuals. Hopefully. To be honest, I'm not always sure what I'm going to get when I blog. It's new to me. (And I feel really pretentious referring to these "eras." I hope I don't come across as a self-absorbed snoot, it's just easier to explain everything like that.)
Starting with my personal experience, I was definitely not questioning my sexuality until the OMGWTFBBQ stage, and I'm not sure you could exactly call what I did questioning. It was more of a freak-out-and-reaffirm-my-heterosexuality-and-then-stop-thinking-about-it sort of thing. Most of my actual questioning came during the Bisexual and Schrodinger eras, which is the time period in which I seriously considered using the monicker "Questioning." The main thing that catapulted me into the Bisexual stage, I think, was starting to actually question my sexuality truthfully. I can pinpoint the exact date, more or less, that I moved into the Schrodinger stage, but I'm not sure exactly what caused it. I strongly suspect that it may have had something to do with my friend Eddie outing herself as bisexual, though.
For about a year before I began calling myself asexual, I had no word to describe my sexual orientation. I became very conscious of this during the conversation in which Eddie came out, which was prompted by another friend declaring herself straight and then asking us to declare ourselves. I am still thanking Eddie for taking the reigns, because while she was freaking out about telling us she was bi, I was freaking out for another reason: having no label. At which point I buckled down and said, "I need to figure out what to call myself."
Also around this time, I told someone (Eddie) about my internal struggle for the first time. Rereading what I said, it was pretty clear that although I knew the word asexual, I still felt not that I was ace but that I just didn't know my orientation yet. But I had a serious problem with saying I was "questioning." While earlier I refused to say I was questioning my sexuality more or less because of internalized homophobia, I now had different issues. I felt that questioning, as often included in the Alphabet Soup Queer Acronym, refers mostly to what I called "straight people questioning possible gayness." I'm sure it's meant to and should encompass more than that, but I didn't feel comfortable applying that to myself when I was really questioning whether or not I was sexual at all.
Questioning is not a comfortable thing, and it's not something easily understood by those who have never experienced it. Because my early discussions about questioning were with someone who had gone through something similar, I wasn't particularly conscious of it. Discussing it with heterosexual people made me rather keenly aware of how uncomfortable I am showing that I still question parts of my identity. I wonder if this may have to do with the "ideal asexual" idea floating around, as the ideal asexual apparently is very secure in their identity. The fear is, however, at least a partially legitimate feeling, because revealing questioning to the unaware leaves you rather open to queries. Not that queries are a bad thing. But it can be tiring to have to counter the "right person" argument while you're still trying to figure out everything for yourself.
If it makes a person insecure to express questioning among mostly enlightened friends, society is outright terrifying. Outside of queer circles, uncertain identity isn't something that is expressed. Ever. Which is sad, because I think it's more common than people realize. Among asexuals, questioning seems to be universally expected. Observe the number of "Am I asexual" posts at AVEN. In the LGBT community, there is an accepted space for questioning, and like for aces there is an expectation that most queer people were questioning at some point. In sexualnormative, heteronormative, cisnormative society at large, it's assumed that you know exactly what your identity is, and if you don't, you should keep quiet about it. If we ever manage to change that, I think it would vastly improve many people's lives.
Starting with my personal experience, I was definitely not questioning my sexuality until the OMGWTFBBQ stage, and I'm not sure you could exactly call what I did questioning. It was more of a freak-out-and-reaffirm-my-heterosexuality-and-then-stop-thinking-about-it sort of thing. Most of my actual questioning came during the Bisexual and Schrodinger eras, which is the time period in which I seriously considered using the monicker "Questioning." The main thing that catapulted me into the Bisexual stage, I think, was starting to actually question my sexuality truthfully. I can pinpoint the exact date, more or less, that I moved into the Schrodinger stage, but I'm not sure exactly what caused it. I strongly suspect that it may have had something to do with my friend Eddie outing herself as bisexual, though.
For about a year before I began calling myself asexual, I had no word to describe my sexual orientation. I became very conscious of this during the conversation in which Eddie came out, which was prompted by another friend declaring herself straight and then asking us to declare ourselves. I am still thanking Eddie for taking the reigns, because while she was freaking out about telling us she was bi, I was freaking out for another reason: having no label. At which point I buckled down and said, "I need to figure out what to call myself."
Also around this time, I told someone (Eddie) about my internal struggle for the first time. Rereading what I said, it was pretty clear that although I knew the word asexual, I still felt not that I was ace but that I just didn't know my orientation yet. But I had a serious problem with saying I was "questioning." While earlier I refused to say I was questioning my sexuality more or less because of internalized homophobia, I now had different issues. I felt that questioning, as often included in the Alphabet Soup Queer Acronym, refers mostly to what I called "straight people questioning possible gayness." I'm sure it's meant to and should encompass more than that, but I didn't feel comfortable applying that to myself when I was really questioning whether or not I was sexual at all.
Questioning is not a comfortable thing, and it's not something easily understood by those who have never experienced it. Because my early discussions about questioning were with someone who had gone through something similar, I wasn't particularly conscious of it. Discussing it with heterosexual people made me rather keenly aware of how uncomfortable I am showing that I still question parts of my identity. I wonder if this may have to do with the "ideal asexual" idea floating around, as the ideal asexual apparently is very secure in their identity. The fear is, however, at least a partially legitimate feeling, because revealing questioning to the unaware leaves you rather open to queries. Not that queries are a bad thing. But it can be tiring to have to counter the "right person" argument while you're still trying to figure out everything for yourself.
If it makes a person insecure to express questioning among mostly enlightened friends, society is outright terrifying. Outside of queer circles, uncertain identity isn't something that is expressed. Ever. Which is sad, because I think it's more common than people realize. Among asexuals, questioning seems to be universally expected. Observe the number of "Am I asexual" posts at AVEN. In the LGBT community, there is an accepted space for questioning, and like for aces there is an expectation that most queer people were questioning at some point. In sexualnormative, heteronormative, cisnormative society at large, it's assumed that you know exactly what your identity is, and if you don't, you should keep quiet about it. If we ever manage to change that, I think it would vastly improve many people's lives.
Figuring Myself Out, Part 1: Eras of Identity
(My dad just had surgery, and it's not going the best, so I'll probably be a bit hard to find for a while. I may or may not have internet access for a couple of days. I guess I could always work from my phone.)
I'm now officially out to all of my friends (yay!), though the out-to-my-family thing is probably going to have to wait until my dad gets better. I've been talking to some of my friends, who are awesome, and decided that now would probably be a good time to document how I figured myself out, so I don't forget it. This, paired with the recent discussions on Apositive and the blogs about "real asexuals" and identification, led to some thinky thoughts on how I came to call myself ace, and how weirdly the progression of my identity fits into nice little eras.
The Huhwha...? Era- This was my whole life until I was fifteen or so. I'd never really thought about sexuality or knew it existed. The concept of sexual orientations was more or less beyond me. Through literature and movies I'd seen that people could like people of any sex or gender, but I didn't consider myself straight or anything else in particular. Around ages 14 and 15 I began to understand orientations but for some reason never considered my own. I had vague ideas about growing up and getting married, but hadn't really thought about it.
The Heterosexual Era- This lasted for about a month in my second year of high school. The transition occurred suddenly when, during a heated conversation with a bigotted student, I said frustratedly, "You don't have to be gay to support gay people! I support them, and I'm straight!" The next month was spent going, "Huh, I guess I am straight."
The OMGWTFBBQ Era- Not exactly sure how long this lasted, but it consisted of me wondering, "Am I straight? I think so. Actually, I think that gender and/or sex shouldn't matter about loving a person, theoretically. I'd be honest if I liked girls, right? Yeah, yeah. Okay. I got it." This was followed by a lot of Not Thinking About It.
The Bisexual Era - This was another few months of my second year of high school. More realistically, it was less of a bisexual era and more of an "I'm not straight" era. It was a combination of the theory from the Hetero Era and my figuring that if I wasn't straight and wasn't lesbian, then I had to be bi. It was pretty quickly overtaken by......
The Schrodinger Era - Most of the second half of my second year of high school was filled by various levels of what I call "Schrodinger's sexuality." After conducting a statistical analysis on my history of attraction to people (not even kidding about the statistical analysis), I came to the the conclusion that I was some sort of Schrodinger's cat, being unable to know my orientation without having had any experience. At the end of the analysis I added, "in effect asexual." Though I was familiar with AVEN (vaguely), it wasn't meant in the actual Ace-identified Asexual way as much as a descriptor of my current sexual practices.
The Asexual Era and The Ace Era - these two are similar enough to combine. During the Schrodinger and Asexual Era, I became more comfortable with calling myself asexual, but still was fairly unconnected with the asexual community. This changed, for some reason, during a conversation about sexuality and the media, and I made a conscious decision to explore my identity and become more aware of the community, thus leading into the modern Ace Era.
So I took a rather weird, complicated journey to identify as asexual. I've seen other people with even more confusing stories. Ily, on her blog here, mentions that she went from identifying as "totally straight" to "totally asexual." I find it interesting that everyone seems to have a unique story as to how they figured out they were ace. Part 2, up as soon as I finish it, will delve into more detail about the questioning part of asexual identification.
I'm now officially out to all of my friends (yay!), though the out-to-my-family thing is probably going to have to wait until my dad gets better. I've been talking to some of my friends, who are awesome, and decided that now would probably be a good time to document how I figured myself out, so I don't forget it. This, paired with the recent discussions on Apositive and the blogs about "real asexuals" and identification, led to some thinky thoughts on how I came to call myself ace, and how weirdly the progression of my identity fits into nice little eras.
The Huhwha...? Era- This was my whole life until I was fifteen or so. I'd never really thought about sexuality or knew it existed. The concept of sexual orientations was more or less beyond me. Through literature and movies I'd seen that people could like people of any sex or gender, but I didn't consider myself straight or anything else in particular. Around ages 14 and 15 I began to understand orientations but for some reason never considered my own. I had vague ideas about growing up and getting married, but hadn't really thought about it.
The Heterosexual Era- This lasted for about a month in my second year of high school. The transition occurred suddenly when, during a heated conversation with a bigotted student, I said frustratedly, "You don't have to be gay to support gay people! I support them, and I'm straight!" The next month was spent going, "Huh, I guess I am straight."
The OMGWTFBBQ Era- Not exactly sure how long this lasted, but it consisted of me wondering, "Am I straight? I think so. Actually, I think that gender and/or sex shouldn't matter about loving a person, theoretically. I'd be honest if I liked girls, right? Yeah, yeah. Okay. I got it." This was followed by a lot of Not Thinking About It.
The Bisexual Era - This was another few months of my second year of high school. More realistically, it was less of a bisexual era and more of an "I'm not straight" era. It was a combination of the theory from the Hetero Era and my figuring that if I wasn't straight and wasn't lesbian, then I had to be bi. It was pretty quickly overtaken by......
The Schrodinger Era - Most of the second half of my second year of high school was filled by various levels of what I call "Schrodinger's sexuality." After conducting a statistical analysis on my history of attraction to people (not even kidding about the statistical analysis), I came to the the conclusion that I was some sort of Schrodinger's cat, being unable to know my orientation without having had any experience. At the end of the analysis I added, "in effect asexual." Though I was familiar with AVEN (vaguely), it wasn't meant in the actual Ace-identified Asexual way as much as a descriptor of my current sexual practices.
The Asexual Era and The Ace Era - these two are similar enough to combine. During the Schrodinger and Asexual Era, I became more comfortable with calling myself asexual, but still was fairly unconnected with the asexual community. This changed, for some reason, during a conversation about sexuality and the media, and I made a conscious decision to explore my identity and become more aware of the community, thus leading into the modern Ace Era.
So I took a rather weird, complicated journey to identify as asexual. I've seen other people with even more confusing stories. Ily, on her blog here, mentions that she went from identifying as "totally straight" to "totally asexual." I find it interesting that everyone seems to have a unique story as to how they figured out they were ace. Part 2, up as soon as I finish it, will delve into more detail about the questioning part of asexual identification.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
To My Friends
(A pre-warning: this is probably going to be a very long and personal post. Those who are not my real-life friends may want to just sit this one out. To Lissa: if you know how to cut this behind a "read more" link, I'd love to know.)
Dear friends,
Welcome to my blog, guys. A few of you expressed interest in seeing it, and a few of you already know about it, so I thought I'd give an explanation. And what better place than my blog itself? I hope I'm not being too cowardly by doing this online rather than telling you face to face. I can sure say that I feel bad about doing this way.
So here are the facts. I am asexual. Asexual people are a varied lot, but what it basically comes down to is this: asexuals are people who do not feel sexually attracted to other people. Some of them may feel romantically attracted to other people, and some of them may not feel romantic attraction at all. At this point, I'm not sure which of those two categories I fall into, but as I've never felt a desire to have a romantic relationship with anyone, I categorize myself as aromantic.
I don't feel attracted to anyone, guys or girls. I can appreciate people's appearance on an aesthetic level, but it's not something that usually jumps out at me. That's why I've always felt alienated by my sister's rating system. But I never feel like I'd like to have a romantic or sexual relationship with the people I think look good. (Hooboy, does it feel awkward in here to you?)
Obviously, we are not exactly what most might call "normal teenagers," and you may be thinking, "Well, I don't feel like I want to have a relationship with someone either," or "It's normal not to want sex at our age." (Or you may not be. I don't want to presume your thoughts, I'm just trying to explain my perspective.) But do you remember back in middle school, when we actually discussed "crushes?" Here's the thing: I've never actually had a crush on someone. Some of you may remember a certain boy by the initials of TB. But you also may remember that I had a "crush" on him for three years. I made it up because everyone else had someone they liked.
Please don't think that I don't trust you. I made it up because in elementary school I'd been made fun of for saying I didn't like-like anyone, and I didn't know that you guys would be so awesome and understanding when I told you. But you all had crushes, too, and so I kept saying it to keep seeming normal.
I hadn't figured all of this out yet, on that fateful day when Nikki declared her straightness. Luckily Eddie saved me from having to answer, but I spent a lot of time trying to figure it out. At first I thought I was bi, because I couldn't understand why a person's sex would matter for having a relationship, and that instead their personality would be more important. I vaguely remembered a website I'd read once called the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network, or AVEN, and started thinking that I was "in effect asexual," because I had no idea how to figure out my sexuality when I'd never been attracted to anyone. It didn't really affect my life, so I just didn't think about it.
But as you may have noticed, in the past year I've become incredibly more focused on queer rights and issues, and now I want to join the GSA. It's hard to do this without being fully aware of my own (a)sexuality. While having a conversation with someone about my disappointment about the complete lack of happy characters who are not in a relationship, my identity kind of solidified suddenly. I'm still not entirely sure why, but I have to say that feeling like I'm part of a community where there are other people like myself is a really wonderful sensation.
One of the results of this was that I became more immediately aware of being "in the closet." This feeling, for those who don't know, really rather sucks when you want to be out. I've spent way too much time trying to figure out how to tell you guys, and it makes me feel miserable. Honestly, I have no fear that you'll be hateful or anything, I'm just a chicken. It's really very difficult, because most people have never heard of asexuality. And plus, I'm more comfortable writing than speaking. But you already knew that.
I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to tell my parents this. As George Washington didn't say, "I cannot tell a lie," and I'm not sure how the whole GSA conversation is going to go. But I wanted you all to know, preferably before school started, because it feels terrible to keep you in the dark, and because I want to be able to talk about it. So that's the crux of it. I'm ace (asexual), and I don't want be silent about it, because it's part of who I am.
So feel free to hang around this blog, ask me any questions, or share any feelings. Check out some of the links on the side of my blog, and the AVEN link above. I'd like it if you could give me some indication that you've read this post, even if you'd rather not comment on its contents. And thanks for being great friends to me, as always. :)
Dear friends,
Welcome to my blog, guys. A few of you expressed interest in seeing it, and a few of you already know about it, so I thought I'd give an explanation. And what better place than my blog itself? I hope I'm not being too cowardly by doing this online rather than telling you face to face. I can sure say that I feel bad about doing this way.
So here are the facts. I am asexual. Asexual people are a varied lot, but what it basically comes down to is this: asexuals are people who do not feel sexually attracted to other people. Some of them may feel romantically attracted to other people, and some of them may not feel romantic attraction at all. At this point, I'm not sure which of those two categories I fall into, but as I've never felt a desire to have a romantic relationship with anyone, I categorize myself as aromantic.
I don't feel attracted to anyone, guys or girls. I can appreciate people's appearance on an aesthetic level, but it's not something that usually jumps out at me. That's why I've always felt alienated by my sister's rating system. But I never feel like I'd like to have a romantic or sexual relationship with the people I think look good. (Hooboy, does it feel awkward in here to you?)
Obviously, we are not exactly what most might call "normal teenagers," and you may be thinking, "Well, I don't feel like I want to have a relationship with someone either," or "It's normal not to want sex at our age." (Or you may not be. I don't want to presume your thoughts, I'm just trying to explain my perspective.) But do you remember back in middle school, when we actually discussed "crushes?" Here's the thing: I've never actually had a crush on someone. Some of you may remember a certain boy by the initials of TB. But you also may remember that I had a "crush" on him for three years. I made it up because everyone else had someone they liked.
Please don't think that I don't trust you. I made it up because in elementary school I'd been made fun of for saying I didn't like-like anyone, and I didn't know that you guys would be so awesome and understanding when I told you. But you all had crushes, too, and so I kept saying it to keep seeming normal.
I hadn't figured all of this out yet, on that fateful day when Nikki declared her straightness. Luckily Eddie saved me from having to answer, but I spent a lot of time trying to figure it out. At first I thought I was bi, because I couldn't understand why a person's sex would matter for having a relationship, and that instead their personality would be more important. I vaguely remembered a website I'd read once called the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network, or AVEN, and started thinking that I was "in effect asexual," because I had no idea how to figure out my sexuality when I'd never been attracted to anyone. It didn't really affect my life, so I just didn't think about it.
But as you may have noticed, in the past year I've become incredibly more focused on queer rights and issues, and now I want to join the GSA. It's hard to do this without being fully aware of my own (a)sexuality. While having a conversation with someone about my disappointment about the complete lack of happy characters who are not in a relationship, my identity kind of solidified suddenly. I'm still not entirely sure why, but I have to say that feeling like I'm part of a community where there are other people like myself is a really wonderful sensation.
One of the results of this was that I became more immediately aware of being "in the closet." This feeling, for those who don't know, really rather sucks when you want to be out. I've spent way too much time trying to figure out how to tell you guys, and it makes me feel miserable. Honestly, I have no fear that you'll be hateful or anything, I'm just a chicken. It's really very difficult, because most people have never heard of asexuality. And plus, I'm more comfortable writing than speaking. But you already knew that.
I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to tell my parents this. As George Washington didn't say, "I cannot tell a lie," and I'm not sure how the whole GSA conversation is going to go. But I wanted you all to know, preferably before school started, because it feels terrible to keep you in the dark, and because I want to be able to talk about it. So that's the crux of it. I'm ace (asexual), and I don't want be silent about it, because it's part of who I am.
So feel free to hang around this blog, ask me any questions, or share any feelings. Check out some of the links on the side of my blog, and the AVEN link above. I'd like it if you could give me some indication that you've read this post, even if you'd rather not comment on its contents. And thanks for being great friends to me, as always. :)
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Poor Lonely Mark Cohen
Last night my friends had a dinner party as a sort of end-of-summer-start-of-school celebration, and I managed to do a lot of avoiding of issues that I should have mentioned. (My friend Aicha* is slowly finding about my asexuality through osmosis or something, as she read a mention of this blog on my personal blog, and then watched me check the ace blogs I follow. I probably should send her a link or explain.) The event of the evening, however, was watching the movie Rent. What struck me about this was a comment someone made during the "La Vie Boheme" scene, saying that she felt bad for Mark, who was all by himself.
I found this interesting mainly because every time I have watched Rent with other people, someone invariably mentions "poor Mark" who doesn't end up paired with anyone. It's really bizarre how it gets mentioned literally every time. Back when I was 13 years old, the first time I saw Rent, a friend said it, and I remember wondering, "Why? Why is it so sad that he isn't paired up?" but I said nothing. This time, I had the courage to question it out loud.
One point brought up was that the film seems to be highlighting Mark's solitude in the slow-motion camera pan near the end of the scene, where he's dancing by himself as his friends are embracing their loved ones. I agree that it's pretty obvious, but I interpret it as showing that Mark is completely happy by himself. It's not as if he's completely alone; at the end he turns and hugs Roger, and there's no hints of "Oh, must wait for Roger to finish hugging his girlfriend." There's no implication of Mark feeling alone.
That was the other main point, that it was hinted that Mark felt lonely or sad about being alone, since Maureen dumped him. I don't see this at all in the movie. Near the beginning, Mark is still getting over being dumped, in some respects, but after "The Tango Maureen" and her protest, all seems to be more or less okay with him. There are no hints in the later portions that Mark is jealous of Joanne, or that he feels lonely.
I'm not trying to argue that Mark is asexual, and I don't think that's what the movie is portraying. I do think that the movie is showing, subtly, that you don't need a lover to have a fulfilled life. I love Rent because of how it shows such a wide spectrum of life in an unconditionally uncritical way, and it had a huge influence on me for that. Because there are fairytale relationships in Rent, and there are gritty realistic relationships, but there's also someone in there that says that you can have a happy ending without the swooning romance.
Every time I watch Rent, I learn something new from it. There are so many threads in it to follow, it's hard to pay attention to everyone's story at once. But I'd love for more attention to be paid to Mark's story in the same uncritical way that the film looks at all the other characters. Poor lonely Mark Cohen isn't so poor and lonely as you might think.
*Aicha is not her real name. Also, I'm not trying to rag on my friends, as I actually had a good discussion with some of them about this later. I just wanted to explore an interesting phenomenon that I had noticed. Also, thanks to Lissa for making my pretty new layout!
I found this interesting mainly because every time I have watched Rent with other people, someone invariably mentions "poor Mark" who doesn't end up paired with anyone. It's really bizarre how it gets mentioned literally every time. Back when I was 13 years old, the first time I saw Rent, a friend said it, and I remember wondering, "Why? Why is it so sad that he isn't paired up?" but I said nothing. This time, I had the courage to question it out loud.
One point brought up was that the film seems to be highlighting Mark's solitude in the slow-motion camera pan near the end of the scene, where he's dancing by himself as his friends are embracing their loved ones. I agree that it's pretty obvious, but I interpret it as showing that Mark is completely happy by himself. It's not as if he's completely alone; at the end he turns and hugs Roger, and there's no hints of "Oh, must wait for Roger to finish hugging his girlfriend." There's no implication of Mark feeling alone.
That was the other main point, that it was hinted that Mark felt lonely or sad about being alone, since Maureen dumped him. I don't see this at all in the movie. Near the beginning, Mark is still getting over being dumped, in some respects, but after "The Tango Maureen" and her protest, all seems to be more or less okay with him. There are no hints in the later portions that Mark is jealous of Joanne, or that he feels lonely.
I'm not trying to argue that Mark is asexual, and I don't think that's what the movie is portraying. I do think that the movie is showing, subtly, that you don't need a lover to have a fulfilled life. I love Rent because of how it shows such a wide spectrum of life in an unconditionally uncritical way, and it had a huge influence on me for that. Because there are fairytale relationships in Rent, and there are gritty realistic relationships, but there's also someone in there that says that you can have a happy ending without the swooning romance.
Every time I watch Rent, I learn something new from it. There are so many threads in it to follow, it's hard to pay attention to everyone's story at once. But I'd love for more attention to be paid to Mark's story in the same uncritical way that the film looks at all the other characters. Poor lonely Mark Cohen isn't so poor and lonely as you might think.
*Aicha is not her real name. Also, I'm not trying to rag on my friends, as I actually had a good discussion with some of them about this later. I just wanted to explore an interesting phenomenon that I had noticed. Also, thanks to Lissa for making my pretty new layout!
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