A column by anonymous
Society, as well as my religious upbringing, groomed me to believe that romantic relationships are the pinnacle of our lives. The only possible outcome that I believed to be true was that I would develop romantic feelings one day, therefore being forced to act upon them and, by God’s will, end up in a committed relationship that would result in marriage. When it came to romantic attraction, it was never a question of „if“, but rather of „when.“ 24 years later, however, these feelings have never come to surface for me.
When I was in fourth grade, my best friend confessed to me during a 10-minute break in between two class periods that she had a crush on the heartthrob of our class. I remember being confused about this, because, first of all, said heartthrob was regularly caught eating boogers, and secondly, that’s the most important aspect of it all: my best friend and I were pretty much the only girls in our grade who had not developed crushes yet. While some of the girls were already in their first „relationship,“ we were still of the notion that boys are stupid and therefore avoided them at all costs. In retrospect, I felt safe in not being the only one that was different from the others. After her confession, I felt alienated and therefore responded to her with the abovementioned belief that could be blamed on my age.
In high school, I couldn’t pretend anymore. Adolescent years are defined by physiological and emotional changes: the hormonal balance starts producing estrogen, which leads to the swelling of the breasts to a defined form, and the first period kicks in and thus stabilizes the menstruation and ovulational cycle. What frightened me even more was that my evolutionarily conditioned brain would start to desire romantic experiences. I couldn’t hide my (a-)normal non-existent feelings any longer; it was only a matter of time until I would be exposed, and therefore, I chose to do something that I would end up regretting for the rest of my life. During the 7th grade, my class teacher was fed up with the constant chattering in class, and thus we were paired up with boys as our seatmates because my teacher believed that boys* and girls* could only have so much in common that would lead to further interruptions. To her dismay, the boy I was paired up with and I were so alike that we spent recesses together and developed a true friendship. Even though we were surrounded by our peers who pretended to be so mature, we were constantly teased for our friendship and told to just come forward and admit that we were in a relationship. As a matter of fact, even our class teachers believed that we would come around one day and realize that our friendship was based on romantic feelings that we had for each other, yet we were not willing to confess to each other. Luckily for me, the opinions of the others were indifferent to him until he confessed his feelings to me. To this day, I am sure that if he hadn’t been inspecting the floor as hard as he did, the disgust that was clearly written all over my face would have hindered him from reciprocating when I leaned forward to kiss him. A voice, which was too immature to understand the implications of my actions, convinced me that this was a rational way to hide what I then believed to be a delay in my development, and our “relationship” was sealed. Needless to say, the relationship was a catastrophe, which led him to call it off, not even a month into it.
My indifference (and relief) regarding his decision was met with him going as far as to end our friendship. His friends convinced him that there was nothing more unmanly than continuing a friendship with a girl that he had already won over, so he obliged.
Coping with what seems (now) obvious
My heart was completely shattered because our friendship had come to an end, but I was way more scared of becoming the talk of the school. “Hey, watch out, there is the girl who is repulsed by romance; what a weirdo.” Therefore, I rejoiced when I realized that I could use the breakup to my advantage. Instead of having to come up with lame excuses as to why I wouldn’t engage with my female peers in conversations about romantic attraction, which undoubtedly would have led to further questioning, I pretended to still have feelings for my „ex-boyfriend.“ From there on, I was known as the girl who couldn’t get over her first crush.
When I enrolled in university, I couldn’t convince myself anymore that the reason for not having even an ounce of romantic interest in someone in the life span of 22 years could be blamed on the fact that I was a late bloomer. My friends, who at that time had numerous heart-fluttering crushes, were in committed relationships, some of them even moving into their first apartment together, while others were engaged to be married. And there I was, still trying to make sense out of my feelings, well, lack thereof.
Surviving Among Survival Of The Fittest
The US-American anthropologist Helen Fisher defines romantic attraction as a basic mating drive. According to her understanding, one of the most important reasons as to why humans evolved to feel romantic love is to fulfill their evolutionary obligation — to reproduce. Therefore, from an evolutionary biological standpoint, human beings who lack romantic attraction are outliers. They inherit a much lesser capability to pass on their genes in order to produce offspring. To put it another way, they are incompatible with their environment.
But why has Aromanticism managed to persist into the 21st century, when the premise of evolution is defined by reproductive success? It’s a question that has been gnawing at me since I’ve been trying to make sense of my identity. Unfortunately, the answer remains a mystery to me, but I can assure you that trying to get to the bottom of this will make for a great debate among your close circle.
Navigating my journey within society’s normative expectation of who I ought to be has not been a linear experience. There were moments in which I had thought that I had finally (!!) developed a romantic attraction and, thus, couldn’t wait to share this knowledge with the rest of the world by screaming from the top of my lungs that I wasn’t as broken as I had long used to believe only to then figure out that what I was experiencing was a different form of attraction, a sexual one. There are still moments in which the core of my being is even unfathomable to myself. And even though the internet, or to be more specific forums, have had a hand in helping me figure out where to place myself on a spectrum based on sexual and romantic attraction, I could not have foreseen that by finally adapting the aromantic label and therefore internalizing my identity, my journey would not end there. Depending on how much one identifies with the path that has been bestowed upon us, the strategies on how to cope with the loss of a “normal life” will differ. Some experience grief or even denial, while some others immediately accept their situation. It’s the unfortunate burden every individual carries who challenges the complexity of a social reality. Nevertheless, it’s a journey I’m willing to further submit myself to, because, believe me, there is nothing worse than to subordinate to society’s expectations. It’s a path that will lead to destruction, because, in the words of a wise singer, it’ll never be the cure.
