On the Subject of Friendship

[This post is for the 4th Carnival of Aces.]

I’m asexual. From the first moment I read a description of asexuality, I was certain of my asexual identity. However, I have no freaking idea what my romantic orientation is. This used to bother me somewhat, but now it doesn’t. I don’t feel the need to have that aspect of my identity set in stone. I know for certain that I have no interest in romantic relationships, and that’s enough to function with.

But just because I don’t want romance in my life, that doesn’t mean that I don’t want any kind of relationship. I don’t want romance, no. But I do want friendship.

I’ve always wanted friendship, even before I fully realized how much I wanted it. I want close friends, friends who seem to hover in the space between friend and family. I want friends who value our friendship as much as I do, and who will happily put just as much work into our friendship as I will. I want friends who won’t drop me in favor of another relationship, romantic or otherwise, but will strive to maintain our friendship because it is important and meaningful to both of us. I want friends who will share their thoughts and opinions and interests with me, and who will be willing to share my thoughts, opinions, and interests as well. I want to value someone as an integral part of my life, and have them value me in return.

Is this a queer-platonic relationship? I’m not entirely sure. I imagine it could be, and I would be okay with that. It doesn’t matter to me so much that I have a specific name for the relationship. I believe that a relationship is whatever the people involved decide to call it; no one can decide what a relationship is except for the people who are directly involved. Right now, I have at least one friendship that could probably be called queer-platonic, except that we don’t. Maybe we might in the future. The name of the relationship is not as important to me as the relationship itself. Also, many of my friends don’t have the same kind of vocabulary I do.

But truly, I don’t think that any of my friendships have quite reached the level I want them to reach. I have a ton of acquaintances, a lot of friends, and a handful of best friends. Even with my best friends, though, I feel like I’m missing the kind of trust and interdependence I long for.

The closest I’ve gotten, I think, is my relationship with one of my younger sisters. We talk about everything. We share our joys and worries and frustrations and dreams with each other. We watch movies together, listen to music together, sometimes even exchange books or fanfiction recommendations. We have serious conversations about life, in person and by text message. We spend time together in the same room, not talking, just doing our own things and enjoying each other’s company. We randomly hug each other or say ‘I love you,’ for no other reason than because we can. My little sister is probably the one person I feel the closest to right now. I think it helps that I can count on her to be around, since we currently still live in the same house.

Still, I want to be able to count on my friends in such a way. I want to have relationships like the kind I have with my sister, but with people who aren’t related to me by blood – and without being romantic. People put so much weight on romantic relationships, trying to make their romantic partner meet all of their needs in life. Frequently I wish I could take a bit of the intensity and attach it to friendships instead. I’m not asking for one friendship that will replace a romantic relationship; I don’t want to become so dependent on one person. No, instead I’m desperately hoping there are other people out there who feel as I do, who want friendships that mean something. Friendships that will last.

The problem is that I have no idea how to articulate this need. I don’t know how to explain to my closest friends that, maybe, I wouldn’t mind if our friendships were a little bit closer. Part of me fears that, if they’ve never felt that longing for friendship like I have, they’ll relate to it in more familiar terms and end up correlating it with romantic attraction (which it definitely isn’t). Part of me worries that they simply might not be interested in being closer than we already are. I’m terrified that I could lose a friend by attempting to create a deeper bond. And I’ve never handled the loss of a friend – particularly a close friend – very well.

It's probably worth mentioning that I’ve always been rather a solitary person. I like solitude, and I find intense joy in time spent with only myself and my thoughts. But still, I have this need for people – people with whom I can non-romantically share my life. And I’m not sure how to find them.

My Love-Hate Relationship with Romantic Comedies

So I’ve been watching a lot of LGBT films recently. This is because my local library doesn’t carry many of them, and I’m trying to watch as many DVDs through Netflix as I can before they up the price in September and I’m forced to downgrade my plan to streaming only. Oh, the woes of a broke college student.

Anyway. Last week I watched a movie called Gray Matters, starring Heather Graham, Tom Cavanagh, and Bridget Moynahan. The best part of the movie was the spectacular cameo from Alan Cumming. He plays a quirky, sensitive, and very Scottish cabbie who also gets to act a brief scene in drag. But I digress. Gray Matters, while obviously intended to be uplifting in the end, left me feeling somewhat livid. The main character, a lesbian named Gray, is portrayed as moderately dysfunctional; she’s ditzy, demanding, and a bit manic. She lives with her brother, Sam. Both of them are searching for love. One day Sam meets a woman named Charlie, and after one evening out, he proposes and she accepts. Brother, sister, and fiancée all go to Vegas so Sam and Charlie can elope. But the night before the wedding, Gray and Charlie get drunk and end up sharing a kiss. Gray flips out, but in the morning, Charlie doesn’t remember what happens, and marries Sam just as planned.

The rest of the movie is spent with Gray coming to terms with the fact that she’s gay and in love with her brother’s wife. Yes, the plot is completely irrational and utterly improbable. That isn’t automatically a turn-off for me. As long as the characters in a film feel realistic and relatable to me, I can suspend my disbelief enough to enjoy the story. Example: Love Actually is one of my favorite movies of all time, and that movie is CRAZY improbable. That scene with Thomas Sangster running through the airport after Olivia Olson? So unlikely, but so amazing.

No, what pissed me off the most about Gray Matters was the end. I won’t describe it in detail, if anybody out there wants to see the movie. Basically, it ends with the implication that all Gray needs to do is fall in love, and everything will be magically fixed. Even if she’s in love with her brother’s wife, she has to find someone else who’s actually available, and then her whole life will fall spectacularly into place. It is also implied that she needs to accept herself in order to be happy. That part of the message I very much agreed with. But there was a definite hint of, “You’re only accepting yourself if you’ve got a romantic/sexual partner,” that I found annoying and unnecessary.

This week I watched another lesbian romantic comedy called Imagine Me & You and, to my surprise, I completely loved it. Piper Perabo plays Rachel, a woman about to get married to her best friend and fiancé, Hector (the lovely Matthew Goode). At her wedding, as she’s walking down the aisle, Rachel happens to lock eyes with a florist named Luce, played by Lena Headey (who reminds me of a healthier, prettier version of Keira Knightley). It’s love at first sight, and even though Rachel still marries Heck, she spends the entire movie struggling with the strength of her developing feelings for Luce.

I’ll be the first to admit, it’s not any more probable than the events of Gray Matters, or the events of Love Actually, for that matter. In fact, there were a few scenes in Imagine Me & You that distinctly reminded me of Love Actually. But what I really loved about Imagine Me & You was the realness of the characters. Even though the plot was a little unrealistic, I felt like I was watching real people living their lives. They were sympathetic, they handled themselves in logical ways, and I felt a sincere liking for all of them (at least, for the ones you’re supposed to like, anyway). And after all, isn’t real life sometimes a little unrealistic?

Perhaps most importantly, while watching Imagine Me & You, I didn’t feel like I was having a judgement shoved down my throat. I didn’t feel like the message was “you aren’t being ‘the real you’ until you open up to romantic love.” Rather, the sentiment that stuck with me was “love is important and worthy of honoring.” That’s something I can stomach a lot more easily. I much prefer to watch people being true to their feelings than following some predetermined formula for societal normality.

Furthermore, when a movie implies that love is worth honoring, it feels a lot more open to interpretation – as if, whatever type of love you feel or don’t feel, as long as you find happiness in the end, that’s what matters. When a movie implies that you are only being true to yourself if you’re searching for your one true love, well… That’s when I take issue. But it’s likely that different people may have gotten different things out of these two movies than I did. I would be very interested to hear anybody else’s take on the films – or on romantic comedies in general.

Asexuality: A Brief Introduction

I would like to use this blog to write (occasionally) about topics and issues regarding asexuality. However, since there may be people reading this blog, now or in the future, who are unfamiliar with this subject, I have decided that it is probably prudent for me to include a little explanation.

The generally accepted definition of an asexual is someone who does not experience sexual attraction. This does not equate with celibacy, which is the practice of suppressing and not acting on one’s sexual attraction, for whatever reason. Celibacy is a choice. Asexuality is an orientation.

The people who make up the asexual communities are just as diverse as people who make up the sexual communities. Every person, sexual or asexual, is different. Some asexuals experience romantic attraction, and thus may identify themselves as heteroromantic, homoromantic, biromantic, or panromantic. Some asexuals identify as aromantic, meaning that they do not experience romantic attraction to anyone.

Asexuals may feel sex-positive (i.e. sex is a good thing for consenting adults) or sex-negative (i.e. sex is bad no matter what). Some asexuals may be repulsed by sex, and other may be indifferent to it. It is important to point out that orientation is not the same thing as behavior: an asexual person might still have sex. For example, despite not being sexually attracted to anyone, an asexual may compromise and agree to have sex with their romantic partner. Some asexuals, though not sexually attracted to anyone, still have sex because they like how it feels. Some asexuals masturbate. Some don’t engage in any of the above.

The word “ace” is often used to refer to someone who is asexual or to something that is related to asexuality. The word “asexy” may also be used by some people.

For more information, I would highly recommend checking out AVEN, the Asexual Visibility and Education Network, at this website:

http://www.asexuality.org/home/

I have found their Overview, FAQ sections, and Asexual Perspectives to be very useful and educational. For a nice compilation of definitions, I would suggest this page from the Asexual Advice Tumblr:

http://asexualadvice.tumblr.com/glossary

Another extremely useful definition page comes from outlawroad on Tumblr:

http://outlawroad.tumblr.com/post/6334762387/basic-terms-for-understanding-relationships

As a disclaimer: What I say on this blog about asexuality comes from my own person experience as an asexual, and should not be taken as an absolute truth describing all asexuals. If I say I'm sex-repulsed, for example, that does not mean that all asexuals are also sex-repulsed. Like I said earlier, everyone is different. Everyone has different experiences.