I Liiiiive!

(If you read that in the voice of Mushu from Disney's Mulan, you win.)

So yes, crazy as it may seem, I'm actually still alive. I didn't intend to disappear for this long, but unfortunately, real life happened. The past two semesters at university were really, really tough for me. Back in late-October and early-November, I had a crisis of identity. For those of you who've seen Kiki's Delivery Service, I lost my ability to fly, and I had to find my own inspiration so I could fly again. I was also buried under a literal mountain of schoolwork. In the fall semester, I was taking two English classes and two Women's Studies classes, and all four were extremely reading/writing heavy. I was reading the equivalent of two to three books and writing one to two papers per week—which, coming from community college, where I was just getting general requirements out of the way, was a huge transition for me. To all you potential transfer students out there, when they warn you about "transfer shock," please take them seriously. If you're not prepared, it can be devastating. Actually, even if you're prepared, it can still be devastating.

So I responded to the immense amount of stress in my life by disconnecting from the internet. I stopped blogging; I stopped reading other people's blogs; I stopped reading my favorite web comics; I stopped watching videos on YouTube; I didn't go on Facebook for a month and a half (which is an impressive feat for me). It was hard enough to carve out enough time to host the blog carnival like I'd agreed I would. But I did it, because I'm a lady of my word, and then I promptly disconnected again. All I worried about was eating, sleeping, and schoolwork. The good news is that I survived, and I think I'm flying again. I made friends, and I did well in my classes, and I'm now officially done with my first full year at real university

If anyone's curious, I had to make another blog for the poetry class I took this past semester. All it contains right now is my opinions about poetry, but I rather like it (they are my opinions, after all). I have to admit, I also like its name and url better. I have to figure if and how I'm going to keep using it. Looking at this blog now (meaning Really and Ideally), I find myself faced with the inexplicable urge to delete all my posts. I'll do my best not to do that, because I think it's a little obnoxious, but we'll have to see if I keep writing here at all, and what direction I decide to take it.

Oh, and an update to one of my previous posts: I did come out to my mom, and she was totally awesome about it. We had a really great hour-and-a-half long talk, and (as often is the case with me) it turned out that I probably needn't have worried at all. Thanks again to the people who offered me support!

Musings on the Nature of Attraction

[Look, look, I’ve still got an hour and a half left until December! …Yeah, I’m probably setting a bad example.]

Lately I’ve been feeling pretty skeptical about whether any kind of attraction actually exists independent of human creation. This likely stems from one of the classes I’m taking this semester – Sexuality in Western Culture – in which we’ve discussed sexuality and gender as social constructs. This idea immediately resonated with me. Being asexual and wtfromantic, I’d already been feeling dubious regarding sexual and romantic attraction. But once I started thinking about social construction and learned behaviors, I started to wonder about other forms of attraction as well. For example, the only type of attraction I experience with any consistency is aesthetic attraction. One day I thought to myself: Would I even find people aesthetically attractive if I hadn’t grown up surrounded by social cues suggesting that attraction as a “normal” human response? Does anybody know how to appreciate a quality film, beautiful music, good food, an engaging conversation, or even another person, until they’ve been conditioned by their surroundings?

I’m not really trying to make a definitive argument either way, because I myself am still not totally convinced one way or the other. However, I will readily acknowledge that just because attraction – in all of its depth and complicatedness – might be socially constructed, that doesn’t make it any less powerful. The same goes for sexuality, in fact. I wouldn’t dream of denying that people experience all kinds of attraction in many different variations, I myself among them. I believe that these thoughts and feelings are valid, whether they are inherent in human beings or not. But I do see great danger in assuming that any type of attraction is inherent in all people. Let me use my example of aesthetic attraction again. From what I can tell, aesthetic attraction seems to mean something different to every person who experiences it. It prompts different reactions, different responses. There may be similarities in our descriptions of it, enough that we can label our experiences with the same word, but the differences are still there. Deciding that everyone experiences one type of attraction in the same way – or experiences that type of attraction at all – means ignoring the copious variety of legitimate experiences that people actually have, as well as devaluing them.

That said, I think that the potential use in looking at attraction as socially constructed is that it reminds us that attraction is not innately the same for every person. Each person learns differently, right? Nobody is exactly alike, and thus, expecting everyone to fit into the same model regarding attraction (or relationships) is rather unfair and unreasonable.

So it seems to me, then, that the important question is this: Why do people experience or (construct) attraction in the first place? From my brief twenty years of existence and experience, I seem to be slowly concluding that the answer to that question is love. I think that everyone experiences love in some way, whether through family, friendship, or any of the countless kinds of attraction and relationships out there. Of course, love changes in its expression from person to person, from culture to culture. But it strikes me as the underlying force behind all different attractions and relationships. I suspect that people need to love, and to be loved, in some way. As a friend, a teacher, a student, a parent, a sibling, a partner, a pretty face, a great person to have a conversation with. The list could go on and on. We feel attraction because we are searching for love in some form. Love is the root of attraction, is the root of relationships, is the root of the human experience. At least, that seems like a plausible theory to me.

Me and My Mom

[This post is for the Family round of the Carnival of Aces. Check it out.]

I am terrified of coming out to my mother.

Flipping terrified.

It’s completely irrational. My mother is a very open-minded, accepting human being. For example, a couple months ago we had a positive, enthusiastic conversation about the complexity and fluidity of gender. Okay, that doesn’t have anything to do with me or my asexuality, but it shows how open-minded my mother is. Regarding myself, I’ve told her that I have no interest in romantic relationships, and she was totally cool with it; she didn’t say any of the things parents often do, like “you just haven’t met the right person” or “you’re too young to know that.” Also, I’ve shared asexuality-related blog posts on my Facebook (albeit cautiously avoiding connecting them in any way to my personal identity), and my mother had read and commented on them without a hint of negativity.

Given all of the above, honestly, she probably already suspects me. Why, then, am I so absolutely petrified at the thought of saying that simple sentence: “Mom, I’m asexual”?

I think part of my apprehension stems from her being a nurse. I’m afraid that her profession will make her more likely to say, “We should take you to the doctor and get your hormones fixed.” But again, this is hardly a rational worry. I’m not sure my mother would even approve of hormone treatment. My mom is somewhat of a nonconformist. She’s into local, non-synthetic foods; compassion and loving-kindness; meditation and alternative medicine. The likelihood of her saying I should “get my hormones fixed” is probably slim to none. I know this, and yet I can’t shake the fear that, despite all I know about her, this time I might be wrong.

Honestly, I think most of my nervousness originates from her reaction to the first time I tried to come out to her. I was fifteen. I had just started to identify as bisexual – not because I had the slightest interest in sex (I just figured that would happen later), but because I found both men and women aesthetically attractive. I sat her down, and I said to her, “Mom, I think I’m bisexual.” I had expected immediate acceptance. What I got, however, was skepticism. “You know, you might not be. A couple times, when I was younger, I thought I was in love with a friend of mine. It’s a phase girls go through sometimes.”

I was stunned. Admittedly, I probably oughtn’t to have used the word “think.” But I was fifteen. And really, I suspect that fact greatly influenced her response to me. She did come to accept me as bisexual, and has been very supportive, but her initial reaction has continued to plague me. What if I tell her this – tell her about the identity I’m ten times more confident and comfortable with – and she reacts the same way she did when I was fifteen? That possibility scares the crap out of me.

So, you might ask, why do I bother coming out to her in the first place? If I’m causing myself so much mental anguish with the very idea of it, why don’t I just stay in the closet? After all, my sexual orientation is nobody’s business but my own. I don’t have to tell anyone.

Here’s why I bother: My mother is one of my closest friends. I love her. I trust her. I feel comfortable with her. We share with each other, have meaningful conversations, spend time together. I’m always honest with her, and not telling her the truth feels almost like lying.

Also, I’m planning to officially come out on my Facebook during Asexuality Awareness Week. If I know anything for sure, it’s that my mother would rather hear it from me than from Facebook.

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.