Dear Diary,
I am heartbroken. Again. I know you are tired of my constant musings concerning sex, but I know you would understand me and not shower me with your pity for missing the fun it entails, just like everyone else does.
I want to love and to be loved, but it is not my goal.
And yet again, I had fallen in love. That very brief period for which it lasted was magical. Every time a 2000s Bollywood song played, I couldn’t help but smile when I thought about him and dreamt of the fake scenarios that would make me happier if I fell in love.
I, too, felt the butterflies twittering in my stomach every time our lips met and the electricity that ran through my body every time we hugged. But I didn’t want anything more. I wasn’t looking for sex; he was. And I loved him.
Dear diary, I can’t fake my consent to save myself from losing people that I fall for anymore. Earlier, I was confused. I thought that it is all in my head and that I was immature. I thought that I just had to grow up emotionally and mentally. I feared that my constant disapproval would make me unlovable. And I desperately wanted to be loved by the people I had loved.
And so, faking consent felt right. But every time I went that close to anyone, it didn’t feel right. I wasn’t loving sex, and isn’t that the whole point of it? So, I thought, maybe, I am not with the right person. And this endless overthinking continued for years.
I fell in love…everything was magical…but it didn’t feel right. So, I kept having heartbreaks, consoling myself, saying that I hadn't met the right person.
Deep down, I always knew. All of it was real, and I was in love with each of them. But sex wasn’t right for me. I am tired of faking consent and moans. I want to take a step for myself.
I decided to let go of him.
I loved him dearly, but I love myself a lot more. And I shall accept my own identity as an ace, and ace it.
I don’t need people claiming anymore that I don’t know what I want. I do. There is no guesswork involved when I say that I am asexual. And I know that as I come out to people, I will be met with incredulity, outright denial, and even hostility. They will question me and my identity because for them, sex is what matters most.
But I want them to understand me, not sympathize with me. I want them to celebrate and be an ally as I embark on my journey to find love.
A love that I love.
Though this story is fictional (not the story of the author, nor does it have any personal connection to the author), it might be the story of thousands of other people. We encourage everyone to identify themselves how they want to be!