Love & Dates

I want to go on a date.

I’ve never been on a date before.

To be completely honest, I’ve never wanted to go on a date before.

Sometimes, when I mention this to someone, they seem surprised. Perhaps I seem a little old to have never been on a date, or in a relationship, or to never have had a crush. I’m not too old for new experiences, but I suppose a lot of people start sooner- dating in their teen years or having crushes at age five. I’m nearing 25, and I’ve never experienced any of it. Largely speaking, I haven’t minded either way.

When my friends were talking about crushes, I was there, excited on their behalf. When they imagined future weddings, I brainstormed with them about the decorations and menu and music and the length of the ceremonies. When on valentines day, my friend’s boyfriend tucked a rose into her locker and she smiled all day because of it, I was happy for them. It just never struck me to want that for myself.

It still doesn’t. Not really.

Why would I want to go on a date then? Great question! I think I’m curious about what it is I’m “missing out on”. (As much as I can miss out on something I’ve never wanted.) It might be fun to meet someone and imagine what a life with them might be like, and perhaps understand why people care so much about it all.

The trouble is that I know a thing about myself that complicates this situation. I am aromantic (aro) and asexual (ace). Both these words mean a lot of things to a lot of people, so let’s clarify what I mean.

Think of different types of attraction as things you can feel a little bit or a lot of. Some people feel that attraction towards other people a lot, some people don’t at all, some people can feel it, but only under very specific circumstances, and a majority of people fall somewhere in the middle. I’m on the little to not at all side of both the romantic attraction continuum and the sexual attraction continuum.

For me, both these types of attraction blend together. If I don’t want to be in a relationship, it’s an aroace thing. If I don’t really understand what people mean when they call a celebrity ‘hot’, it’s probably an aroace thing. If the idea of dating a guy seems to be the same as the idea of dating a girl, it’s an aroace thing. If I hate the romantic/sexual subplot in an action movie that ends up flattening the character and adding nothing to the narrative, well that’s actually bad storytelling, but it might also be an aroace thing.

I only realised this fact about myself a few years ago, and my feelings about realising I was aroace went in waves.

At first I was elated! There were words for the way I’ve felt my entire life, I wasn’t broken or robotic or incapable of growing up or loving. And I wasn’t alone. I had to learn everything there was to know about the topic, and talk to everyone about it!

Then the realisation hits- I’m likely never going to experience all the major milestones people celebrate. First kisses, marriage, anniversaries, kids, combining finances and tax benefits, a bonus social life from interacting with a partner’s family and friends or based around the growing up of a child. This isn’t about pushing these goalposts further, it’s never having them at all. It’s grieving this life I’ll never have. Even if the individual pieces were things I had only ever dreaded when imagining them for myself, they were still a future. If I accept that I’ll never have these things, will I even have a future?

Of course I would, romantic relationships are not all that makes a life fulfilling. I have friends and family, people I love, and those who love me. I’ll meet new people and figure out what I actually want. I’ll create milestones that matter to me, building a future and my own legacy.

But, how would I even start? I’ve never considered myself a pathbreaker, and if all I know is what I don’t want, how would I even begin to find out what I do want? There are no defaults to fall back on, it’s still so much uncharted territory.

Turns out there are aroace people who came before me. There is a history of people like me existing and figuring out who they are. There are people older than me who talk about their life. It took work for them, and it will take work for me, but there are scaffolds and so many things I could consider.

But, it still stings every time I’m told I’d understand if I was in a relationship, or that I just haven’t met the right person. I’m heartbroken every time a friend drifts away because they are in a relationship and I don’t understand what it’s like. I’m embarrassed when someone brings up relationships in casual conversation and tries to dig into why I’m single, and I have to decide whether to invent a lie on the spot or come out to a new person not knowing if they are a safe person to tell. It hurts when people don’t believe me or people like me just because they can’t imagine being in my shoes.

And it brightens my week to see unexpected representation in books, movies and shows, or to hear from people talking about their experience online, or to go to conferences and hear more about literary or sociological research on asexuality and aromanticism.

As I said, waves.

Love means so many things to so many people. For me, sometimes it’s the contentment that settles over me like a blanket after a dinner with friends, when we haven’t stopped talking, and I haven’t stopped smiling in hours. Sometimes it’s playing music with my cousins where a jam session turns into a convoluted try not to laugh challenge. Sometimes it’s looking out the car window as we turn onto her street to see my grandmother waving from her balcony. Sometimes it’s getting on the phone with a childhood friend and reminiscing about all the games we invented. Sometimes it’s reading a book and feeling so understood by a fictional character and a far-away author. Sometimes it’s being mesmerised by a sunset, or wisps of snow, or a thousand birds flying up from trees at the same moment. Sometimes it’s what I pour into the things I make, be it food, an artwork, a song, a knit or a new organisational system. Sometimes it’s playing with pets or making a baby laugh. Sometimes it’s seeing someone for the first time and knowing they are going to be important in my life, and sometimes it’s being completely blindsided by how important a person has become to me.

I don’t know if I actually want to go on a date.

I’m not here at 25 trying to set the entirety of my life into stone. I’m sure I have so much more to learn about what it means to be human, but in all the ways that really count, I don’t think I’m missing out on anything.

– Kuhu, Amsterdam based multimedia artist