by Alice Oseman
‘I … had a nap,’ I said.
Sunil grinned. ‘Good shout. Got to be strategic about these things. Jess went for a nap a couple of hours ago but hasn’t resurfaced, so I think she’s failed again this year.’
I blinked. I didn’t know what to say to him.
‘So, no one else make it? Rooney? Pip? Jason?’
‘Uh …’ I looked around. Neither Rooney, Pip nor Jason were anywhere to be seen. I had no idea where anyone was. ‘No. Just me.’
Sunil nodded. ‘Ah, well. You’ll get to brag tomorrow.’ He wrapped an arm round my shoulder and started walking us towards the throng of students. ‘You’re a survivor!’
I tried to smile, but it just turned into a lip wobble. Sunil didn’t see, too busy leading us onward.
I blinked again.
And then I said it.
‘I think I might be … asexual. And also aromantic. Both of them.’
Sunil stopped walking.
‘Yeah?’ he said.
‘Uh … yeah,’ I said, looking at the floor. ‘Um. Don’t really know what to do about that.’
Sunil stayed very still for a moment. Then he moved, his arm dropping away from me and turned so that he was standing directly in front of me. He put his hands on my shoulders and bent a little so that our faces were level.
‘There’s nothing to do, Georgia,’ he said softly. ‘There’s nothing to do at all.’
And then the photographer started getting impatient and shouted at everyone to get organised, so Sunil marched us over to the scrum and we squeezed into the third row next to a couple of his friends, and as he turned away to chat to them, only then did I realise that what I’d said was undeniably true. I knew that now.
Sunil turned back, squeezed my shoulder and said, ‘You’re gonna be OK. There’s nothing you have to do except be.’
‘But … what if what I am is just … nothing?’ I breathed out and blinked as the photographer took the first shot. ‘What if I’m nothing?’
‘You’re not nothing,’ Sunil said. ‘You have to believe that.’
Maybe I could do that.
Maybe I could believe.
The morning after the Bailey Ball, Rooney came back to our room at nearly midday. I’d still been asleep, but she kicked the door open so hard that it slammed against the wall, then said something about having slept at some guy’s place, before kicking off her shoes, pulling her dress over her head, and standing in the centre of the room, staring at Roderick the house plant, who was basically close to death. And then she got into bed.
She didn’t say anything about what had happened with me or with Pip.
I didn’t want to talk to her either, so as soon as I was up and dressed, I went to the library. I walked right up to the top floor where there were tables tucked behind long cases of books on finance and business. I stayed there until dinnertime, finishing one of this term’s assignments, not thinking about anything that had happened. I was definitely not thinking about anything that had happened.
When I got back, Rooney awoke, just in time for dinner in the college cafeteria.
We walked down there together, saying nothing, and we ate together sitting next to a group of students I recognised as Rooney’s acquaintances, but she still said nothing.
When we got back to our room, she changed into her pyjamas, got right back into bed, and fell asleep again. I stayed awake, staring at Pip’s jacket in the corner of the room – the one she’d left here in Freshers’ Week. The one I’d kept forgetting to give back to her.
When I woke up in our room on Sunday, I felt disgusting, realising I hadn’t showered since before the Bailey Ball.
So I showered. I got dressed in a fresh T-shirt and a warm cardigan, and I exited the room, leaving Rooney alone in bed, only her ponytail poking out of the top of her duvet.
I went to the library again with the intention of getting another essay done. My first assignments of my university life were all due next week before the winter holidays, and I still had a lot to do. But once I’d swiped into the library with my campus card and found a vacant table, I just sat there with my laptop, staring at my old message threads with Pip and Jason.
I drafted a separate message to each of them. It took two hours.
To Jason, I sent:
Georgia Warr
I’m so, so sorry for everything. I didn’t properly think about how this would affect you – I was only thinking about myself. You are one of the most important people in my life and I took advantage of that without thinking. You deserve someone who worships you. I honestly wish that I did feel that way but I can’t – I literally am not attracted to anyone, no matter their gender. I’ve tried really hard to be, but I’m just not. I’m so sorry for everything.
To Pip, I sent:
Georgia Warr
Hey, I know you’re not talking to me, and I understand why, but I just want you to know the facts: Rooney kissed me because I’ve been very confused about my sexuality and she wanted to help me see if I liked girls. This was a very dumb thing for both of us to do – it didn’t help me in any way whatsoever, wasn’t really what I wanted to do at all, and we were both drunk. We’re really not into each other and both seriously regret it. So I’m really really sorry.
Both of them read the messages within the hour. Neither of them responded.
Despite us living literally in the same bedroom, the first proper conversation I had with Rooney after the events of the Bailey Ball came on the Monday before the end of term in an introduction to drama lecture. I was sitting alone near the back, which was my usual spot, when she appeared in my peripheral vision and sat down next to me.
She was in her day look – leggings, a St John’s polo shirt, hair in a ponytail – but her eyes were wild as she stared at me and waited for me to say something.
I didn’t want to talk to her. I was annoyed at her. I knew that what had happened was my fault as well as hers, but I was angry at how she’d reacted when I’d tried to explain my feelings.
She hadn’t even tried to understand.
‘Hello,’ I said flatly.
‘Hi,’ she said back. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘I … don’t really want to talk to you,’ I said.
‘I know. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.’
But then neither of us could, because we were both interrupted by the professor starting her lecture on Pinter’s The Birthday Party.
Instead of leaving the issue, Rooney withdrew her iPad from her bag, opened up a notes app, and laid it on the table in front of us, close enough to me so that I could see the screen. She started tapping, and I assumed she was just taking notes on the lecture, but then she stopped and pushed the screen towards me.
I’m so, so sorry about what happened at the bailey ball. It was entirely my fault and I was a fucking dick to you when you were trying to tell me something important.
Oh. OK.
That was unexpected.
I looked at Rooney. She raised her eyebrows and nodded at the iPad, gesturing for me to respond.
What was I supposed to say?
I cautiously raised my hands and began to type.
okay
Rooney paused, then tapped furiously at the keyboard.
I know we were drunk but that’s literally not an excuse for the way I acted. You know when straight guys find out that a girl is gay and they’re all like ‘haha but you haven’t kissed me so how do you know you’re gay’. That is basically what I did to you!!!
This whole time I’ve been pestering you about finding a relationship and kissing people and getting out there … I kept telling you to try with Jason and when you tried to tell me you didn’t actually want any of that, I didn’t even listen. And then I thought kissing would be a good idea because I always think kissing just solves everything!!!!
You’ve been figuring out your sexuality for months and I did everything wrong. EVERYTHING.
I had so many ideas about how peopl
e should feel about romance and sex and all that, but … it’s all just bullshit and I’m so sorry
I’m literally so dumb and I’m an asshole
I WANT YOU TO TELL ME I’M AN ASSHOLE
I raised an eyebrow and then typed,
okay you’re an asshole
Rooney actually grinned at this.
R – Thank you
G – no problem
I hadn’t even expected her to apologise, let alone understand why what she’d done had been bad.
But she had.
I decided to be bold and type out:
so as it turns out, I am aromantic asexual
Rooney gave me a look.
It wasn’t the ‘what the fuck is that?’ look that I expected.
It was a curious look. Curious. A little concerned, maybe, but not in a bad way.
Just honestly wanting to know what’s going on with me.
yeah I was confused about it too haha
it means i’m not attracted to anyone romantically or sexually
no matter their gender
sorta been figuring that out lately
Rooney watched me type. Then she took a moment to think before she responded.
R – Wow … I didn’t even know that was a thing!!! I always assumed it was like … you like guys or girls or some sort of combo
G – haha yeah same
hence all the confusion
R – It sounds really difficult to figure out … I’m proud of you!!!!!!
It was far from a perfect response to someone coming out. But it was so distinctly Rooney that it brought a smile to my face.
R – Are you feeling okay about it?
G – to be honest not really.
but
i think i will be
in time?
like … realising and accepting that this is who i am is the first couple of steps and i have done that now i guess??
Before typing a response back, Rooney simply put her head on my shoulder and rested it there for a few seconds, in lieu of a real hug, which would have been a bit difficult in the middle of a lecture.
R – I guess I can’t really relate but I’m here for you. Like, if you ever wanna rant about it or just talk things through!!
G – really??
R – Georgia. We are friends.
G – oh
R – I mean, we have KISSED. Sort of. Platonically made out.
G – i’m aware
R – Sorry about that. Again. Was it really horrible for you????
G – i mean. it did feel a little bit disgusting yes
R – Oh!!
G – no offence
R – No I like it. you’re definitely the anti-me
G – we are very opposite people, yes
R – Very refreshing
G – love that for us
R – Tasty
G – delicious content
R – 10/10
We both started giggling, and then we couldn’t stop, until the professor shushed us and we looked at each other, grinning. Everything might have been shit still, I’d hurt my two best friends and I knew I had so far to go before I could even begin to like who I was, but at least I had Rooney sitting next to me, laughing instead of crying.
The internet is a blessing and a curse. Googling ‘aromantic asexual’ unleashed a quantity of information I was not mentally or emotionally prepared for. The first time I searched it, I quickly exited the window and didn’t search again for a whole day.
My animalistic instinct was this is stupid.
This is fake.
This is a made-up internet thing that is stupid and fake and absolutely not me.
And yet, it was me. Sunil and Jess were not the only ones. There were thousands of people on the internet who identified this way and were very happy to do so. In fact, people had been using the word ‘asexual’ as a sexual identity since as far back as 1907. So it wasn’t even an ‘internet thing’ at all.
Sunil had explained it pretty concisely, to be fair. The internet informed me that asexual simply meant little-to-no sexual attraction, and aromantic meant little-to-no romantic attraction. On a more intense internet dive, I discovered there was actually a lot of debate over these definitions because people’s experiences and feelings could be so vastly different, but at that point, I decided to log the hell off again.
It was too much. Too confusing. Too new.
I wondered whether Sunil had ever felt like this about his own asexuality, and after I scrolled down his Instagram for a while, I found he had a blog. It was called ‘Diary of a Cellist at Durham’, and it had posts about all sorts of things – studying music, Durham activities, his daily routine, his role in Pride Soc and in the student orchestra. He’d also posted a few times about asexuality. One post stuck out to me, where he’d written about how he’d initially found it difficult to accept his asexuality. Sexuality in general was very taboo in Indian culture, he’d explained, and when he’d looked for support, he’d found that the asexual community – even online – was incredibly white. But after finding a group of Indian asexuals online, he’d started to feel proud of his identity.
Sunil had no doubt been on a very different journey to me, and a lot of things that he’d dealt with, I would be shielded from due to being white and cis. But it was reassuring to know that he too had felt some anxiety about being asexual. People didn’t always love who they were right away.
I soon found the courage to continue googling.
It turned out that lots of asexual people still wanted to have sex for all sorts of different reasons, but some felt totally neutral about it, and others – what I’d originally thought – literally despised it. Some asexual people still masturbated; others didn’t have libidos at all.
It also turned out that lots of aromantic people still wanted to be in romantic relationships, despite not feeling those feels. Others didn’t ever want a romantic partner.
And people identified as all sorts of combinations of romantic and sexual – there were gay asexuals, like Sunil, or bisexual aromantics, like Jess, or straight asexuals, pansexual aromantics, and loads more. Some asexual and aromantic people didn’t even like splitting up their attraction into two labels, and some just used the word ‘queer’ to summarise everything. There were words I had to google like ‘demisexual’ and ‘greyromantic’, but even after googling I wasn’t sure exactly what they meant.
The aromantic and asexual spectrums weren’t just straight lines. They were radar charts with at least a dozen different axes.
It was a lot.
Like a lot a lot.
The crux of it all was that I did not feel sexual or romantic feelings for anyone. Not a single goddamn person I had ever met or would ever meet.
So that really was me.
Aromantic.
Asexual.
I came back to the words until they felt real in my mind, at least. Maybe they wouldn’t be real in most people’s minds. But I could make them real in mine. I could do whatever the fuck I wanted.
I whispered them sometimes under my breath, until they felt like a magic spell. Pictured them as I fell asleep.
I’m not sure when I realised that I was no longer feeling melancholic distress about my sexuality. The woe is me, I am loveless mood had just gone.
It was anger, now.
I was so angry.
At everything.
I was angry at fate for dealing me these cards. Even though I knew there was nothing wrong with me – lots of people were like this, I wasn’t alone, love yourself, whatever – I didn’t know how to get to the point where this would stop feeling like a burden and instead feel like something good, something I could celebrate, something I could share with the world.
I was angry at every single couple I passed in the street. Every single pair I saw holding hands, every single time I saw that couple down the corridor flirting in the kitchen. Every time I saw two people cosying up in the library or in the cafeteria. Every time
one of the authors I’d liked posted a new fanfiction.
I was angry at the world for making me hate who I was. I was angry at myself for letting these feelings ruin my friendships with the best people in the world. I was angry at every single romance movie, every single fanfic, every single stupid OTP that had made me crave finding the perfect romance. It was because of all of that, no doubt, that this new identity felt like a loss, when in reality, it should have been a beautiful discovery.
Ultimately, the fact that I was angry about all of that just made me angrier because I knew I shouldn’t feel angry about any of these things. But I did, and I’m trying to be honest about it, OK? OK.
The reality of the situation with Pip and Jason only sank in when they both dropped out of the Shakespeare Society on the same day. The last day of term.
They didn’t even do it in person.
I didn’t have high hopes that they would attend our rehearsal on that Friday before Christmas, but Rooney and I went along anyway, unlocked the room, switched on the electric heater, and moved the tables to one side. Sunil turned up none the wiser, wearing a coat that was basically a blanket and a smile on his face. We didn’t know what to tell him.
Ten minutes after they should have arrived, Pip messaged the group chat.
Felipa Quintana
Hey so me and Jason have decided we’re not gonna be in the play any more, too much other work and stuff. Find some other people to replace us.
Sorry
I saw it first, then passed my phone to Rooney.
She read it. I watched as she bit down on the insides of her cheeks. For a moment, she looked furious. Then she passed my phone back to me and turned round so neither me nor Sunil could see how upset she was.
Sunil saw the message last. He looked up at us with a confused expression and asked, ‘What – what happened?’
‘We … we all had an argument,’ I said, because I didn’t know how to explain what an actual clusterfuck this small group of people had become while Sunil was an innocent bystander just wanting to take part in a fun theatre society.
And it was all because of me.
I have always felt lonely, I think.
I think a lot of people feel lonely. Rooney. Pip. Maybe even Jason, though he hasn’t said so.
