Falling in Love or Not

This was prompted by Gabe, an unflinching romantic who thinks anyone can fall in love. A few people have asked me about this over the course of this blog but I either ignored them or never really addressed it. This is kind of personal and I don’t really know who reads this or what, so I’ll probably delete this soon. Get it while it’s hot.

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I spent most of my adolescent years trying to convince myself that I could learn how to become infatuated with someone. I guess it didn’t help that I had many friends who tagged me as the love cynic of our entourage, and made fun of me for wearing dark clothes and pretending to shop at Hot Topic. But really, neither of us knew about the real issue at the time.

When most boys were busy talking about how this particular popular girl was undeniably the most beautiful, I was trying to come up with someone that no one really talked about. I said who it was, I was given a look, and the issue was dropped. I mentioned other names in high school too, and word didn’t seem to get around. I probably should’ve just nodded and agreed so no one would even think of questioning me, but I wanted to convince myself that I was trying to at least be more honest. I was still Catholic. Eventually though, I also had to reject some girls’ advances. And ignore a few hints being dropped here and there. Becoming increasingly frustrated, I decided to ask a friend of mine out. She liked writing too and had big eyes like me. It could work out, right? But since I couldn’t properly communicate my feelings in real life ever, I wrote her a letter instead making my confession. She rejected me in just a few sentences, and I sighed with relief.

Wait, what? Relief. That’s exactly what I felt at the time. But why? Shouldn’t I be upset? Shouldn’t I be writing poems late at night about my unrequited love for her? How I hate her but I love her but I hate her? No, none of that happened. I started to realize that maybe I never had those butterflies to begin with. All of this was just trouble for me; it was knots in my guts. And I had to practically turn myself inside-out in order to realize this.

In my confusion, I thought maybe I would like boys instead. If not one thing, it must be the other, right? At the time, I really hoped this wasn’t true. But it would help explain things. I looked online, I looked at school. I had some friends that were boys. But I just didn’t feel anything.

I started to dissect things more. At first I thought it was just the lack of a desire for a relationship. But then I realized that it seemed to be the genuine lack of desire itself. I didn’t understand romance or sex or attraction or relationships because these things didn’t seem to come natural to me. I looked online again and found things like “asexual” and “aromantic” and these terms stuck with me mentally until I started being more open about it in college. I admitted these feelings to a few of my friends, most of whom seemed to accept it, although I was sure they remained unconvinced.

I’ve gotten told that I just haven’t met the right person. To which I say: how long must you wait? I feel kind of insulted by this, simply because it assumes I haven’t actually examined my own feelings countless times before. I know myself better than anyone else. I’m pretty sure of that. And I’m pretty sure I’ve never been in love, nor will I ever be.

It’s not sad either, necessarily. A lot of people have told me that. There are other ways to be happy though—lots of other ways. It’s just what it is.