A few letters to my former past, present, and future who struggle to understand herself and continue this weird and confusing path as an asexual. Here is my open letter to my first journey and awakening.

College was my everything back then, a paradox between freedom for exploration and feeling prisoner of my unapproved skills. While getting excited about all the stuff I could do and the people I met during different periods, at times I had a hard time fitting in the Graphic Design department. I was always told to “tone it down” and “you are not an artist, you are a designer, act like one…”. After many workloads, a shitty job, and hanging out with friends, there was something that lingered in my head. Most people talked about sex experiences and how commonly they were attracted to others. Even in the lodging, the girls talked about their boyfriends and crushes, yet I kept asking myself why I couldn’t say the same. I just couldn’t understand this new foreign language, especially how easily people would get laid constantly.

Almost near the summer, I was introduced to the term “asexual” and its definition. I was uninterested in the “label” and carry-on as usual. My mind was busy between college, dreams, a stable job, and a place to move. Then, one day, it happened unexpectedly inside my job. A big guy walked in, his deep voice was enchanting, his big arms and neck irresistible, chill and humorous posture, square face with a beautiful smile, and most importantly, his laughter. It was a sweet, repetitive harmony that echoed in my head non-stop. He checked the list of the things I liked, but something was missing, my curiosity to sex.

You see, I did find him attractive, and he did all the moves, including the risqué ones, and every time he pushed I would recoil. “You are too slow…you need to relax” (again this shit where people made me feel I was wrong or an outcast). I found myself trying to understand if these abrupt and aggressive moves were normal because they did not compare to that time I took refuge in his chest while listening to his heartbeat. To conclude nothing came of it, the dude disappeared, and I was an emotional mess. I kept replaying memories, grieving, and searching for an answer.

You only desire him, but not experienced the urge to be sexually intimate.

I could, back then, daydream about a life with him and how I wanted to be treated, but when it came to sexual scenarios it felt out of place and forced, so I role-played them miserably in my head. What society taught me about sex was a grandiose, impulsive, and uncontrollable urge that can’t be missed, and I must comply with the request. Nonetheless, I wished I had never gotten involved with him in the first place, but I was on a dark path seeking safety and love, 2 things that were never his intentions. I cried for almost 3 years, and I felt miserable while missing other valuable experiences that needed me emotionally present.

PS. I’m over it a long time ago, I got better shit to do (:

Thank You For Reading!

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