Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week Series: Day 3 – Previous Posts: Introduction to Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week Series – The Excitement and Frustration of Being “Alone” – Actual Love

by Julia W.

Looking back on the earlier elementary years, I was incredibly aromantic. I mean, I remember picking a boy to crush on because I thought it was a choice, and I remember thinking specifically “I just want to be his friend.” I remember finding common interests with a boy and not understanding why the other girls would tease me about it. I remember others talking about boys in hushed voices while I just wanted to talk about horses or something.

Finding the label didn’t automatically tether it to me. At first I was certain I was straight because being LGBTQIA+ was a big thing that certainly couldn’t apply to me. It took me a while to see that it was normal and common, and at that point I eased myself into identifying on the aromantic spectrum.

Now, in high school, I’m aware of the incredulous amatonormativity and heteronormativity present everywhere. It’s hard, because something that you really can’t bring yourself to understand, no matter how hard you try, is always there. It’s always reminding you that you’re different.

You can’t escape the media either. All movie plot lines have at least some romance. There’s always that girl who ‘doesn’t believe in love’ who then meets the guy and they fall in love “despite the odds” and yadayadayada. Hello heteronormativity.

One of the hardest things about being aromantic is the difficulty explaining it. I mean, you probably barely understand what you’re trying to explain. How do you explain how you don’t feel something when you don’t know what it feels like to actually feel it?

It’s even harder when your deep affection for friends isn’t reciprocated at the same level. Sure, they may mutually like you, but you know that friendship runs deep in you, and for them romantic relationships are the highest level. Hello amatonormativity.

Relationships become difficult if you’re an aromantic that likes to date. Avoiding all evidence of romance is difficult if you’re romance repulsed. Sometimes, even though you’re romance-neutral, it all gets a bit tiring.

There aren’t many of us but our community screams with silent pride. Spreading the word about us aromantics is important. You never know who might over hear and you never know who you’re going to help.

From one (proud) aromantic to another, to an ally or to another queer/questioning LGBTQIA+ member, I hope you have a great awareness week and a great life with a void of heteronormativity. Let’s be honest, we all deserve it.

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Julia W. is a high school student and an aspirational writer looking to open eyes and minds to the aromantic spectrum. She hopes to help by increasing awareness and representation among the community and in everyday life. Find her on Twitter.

Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week Series: Day 1 – Previous Posts: Introduction to Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week Series

by Sacha

My relationship with Young Adult fiction has been one of productive frustration. YA, specifically YA fantasy, is not only my favorite genre but actually the only genre of fiction that can ever hold my attention–I’ve always had trouble explaining why, but one reason is that in YA, the characters and their relationships are usually the most important element of the story.

But right there, in the explanation for why I like this genre best, is the source of frustration: relationships. Relationships don’t have to be romantic, but so many of them are! The focus on relationships that attracts me to the genre can become a focus on romantic relationships, which I find alienating and frustrating. I have to work hard to find books where romance is not the primary focus of the plot, and where the characters’ most important relationships aren’t with their romantic partners. Books about platonic friendships, about siblings and families, even books where romance and other kinds kinds of relationships are given equal ground, are difficult to find. This seems to be particularly the case in books with female protagonists. Often I find myself in a bookstore, picking up book after book, reading two sentences into the summary on the dust jacket, and finding that yet again, the most important thing in a girl’s life appears to be the mysterious boy who just moved to town, or committed a flashy act of terrorism against the dystopian government, or…

I read five or ten books each weekend, eating my way through each week’s new releases, Goodreads and Tumblr blogs’ recommendations, and my public library catalog, but even these ADHD-hyperfocus-fuelled binge reads lead to frustration more often than not. I can find other ways to identify with protagonists (this one is clearly depressed; that one is transgender–or, more frequently, I can choose to pretend that they are, without being contradicted in the text; this one cares about tikkun olam), but all too often I have to skip over scenes of romance even in books that I would otherwise consider favorites.

It would be easy to get discouraged. So many times, there doesn’t seem to be anything new on the shelves that won’t push me out of the story with its focus on a kind of relationship that I don’t understand, and don’t want to have to understand. Especially difficult are the books in which girls’ primary relationships are only with the boys they fall in love with. Distressingly often, a female protagonist won’t even have female friends at her side, and sometimes it seems the girl barely has any life at all outside of her boyfriend. People often ask how someone who’s not interested in romance deals with knowing they’ll be ‘alone’ all their life, but it seems to me that someone whose life revolves around a single relationship is lonelier than someone whose life is focused more widely on family and friends.

The difficulty of finding books that prioritize platonic and family relationships frustrates me both for my own sake and the for sake of other people: I compulsively share my books as well as rereading them for myself, and I feel much more comfortable sharing books that show a wide range of positive relationships rather than characters who appear exclusively dependent on a single person. When I’m sharing books with younger people, especially with girls, I want to be sure that those books encourage them, not necessarily to be independent, because I don’t think a person can or should be one hundred percent independent of others, but to depend on different people for different things.

For my own part, it’s easier for me to handle romance when characters are queer–although I don’t want a romantic relationship, all of my primary relationships are with people with similar genders (or similar perceived genders) to my own, and I want it to stay that way, so it’s easier to identify with a queer romance than a straight one, but there’s still a disconnect. I hope that as queer characters become more common in YA, there will be more books in which queer characters can have both romantic relationships, and also platonic friendships with other queer characters (my biggest dream is to read a book with more than one queer character in the same family–I would die for queer siblings). A thorough scouring of my library’s collection this year, with the help of various Tumblr recommendation lists, yielded not even a full handful of books in which queer characters’ platonic friendships with each other took center stage.

Despite all of this, I never have gotten discouraged. Frustration is a helpful focusing tool. If I know what I don’t like (and I certainly do), it’s easier to narrow down what I do like. And since the things I like are so difficult to find, the sense of excitement at finding them is always magnified. Finding myself in a book is a rare and powerful treasure.

For about ten years, since before I even realized I was aromantic, I’ve been collecting books, bit by bit, in which I have found myself. I now have a collection that covers three bookshelves, and I’m constantly looking for more, constantly frustrated but constantly moving forward. I even won a book collectors’ award in college for my YA fantasy collection, after explaining to the judges that one of the thematic elements that binds the books together is their interest in relationships other than the romantic. Of course, who knows if my criteria would satisfy another aromantic reader–it’s easier to say for certain that everything in my collection is asexual-friendly, because whether or not a book includes sex (mine don’t) is often clearer-cut than what relationships receive the greatest weight of importance in the plot.

Using the same narrowing-down process and the sense of euphoria that comes from finally stumbling on the rare book that I can identify with, I’ve also developed a clear view of the stories that I want to create myself. If I get a deep sense of rightness from reading about a character who is like me in one way or another, written by someone I don’t know, there must be people out there who will find themselves in the characters I write–aromantic, asexual, transgender, neuroatypical, Jewish, however many of those the character is, even if it’s all of them, there will always be someone who loves the character for that. I want my characters to be as diverse as possible, even in ways that don’t come from my personal experience, so that as many people as possible can find themselves in my work. The greatest thing in the world would be to share with someone else the sense of perfect satisfaction that comes from reading one book that understands you, even if it comes after a hundred that don’t.

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My name is Sacha, and I’m a library science student in my early twenties.  I describe myself as an anxious agender aro-ace, or just an alien changeling, for short. I have equally large collections of stuffed sheep and YA fantasy novels, and some day I hope to write YA of my own.  I can be found on Tumblr @kuttithevangu.