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The Existential Fear of Being Queer: A Coming Out Story

By: Revathy Rajan

“I’m not interested in having a physical relationship with anyone because it disgusts me.” 

In a nutshell, that’s pretty much how I came out as asexual to my parents. I did not want to. I was not ready. I believe that every person should be able to pick the moment that’s the most comfortable and safe for them to come out. However, I can’t help but feel like I was robbed of that.  

The two dreaded words that prompted this moment: arranged marriage.  

The discussions were ongoing, and it was getting serious. My parents were just about ready to start their search for a potential partner for me, so I knew it was time. The pressure grew each day. They had to know, right? I couldn’t have them wondering why I was set in my mind to turn down people without a solid explanation. And so, in a split second, I uttered the truth.  

It didn’t matter that I was mentally prepared for the hurtful comments; it was absolutely expected. And yet, they still hurt. For a moment, it became too much. They were confused. In denial. Not willing to fully understand the nature of my statement. How could they? It took me so long to comprehend it myself and keeping the generational gap in mind, here I was asking them to try to see it my way.  

Then again, was any other reaction that I could have expected from my brown family members?  

I’ve heard the stories. I’ve read the articles. The struggle of being a queer person-of-colour is an all-too familiar theme. Sometimes the feelings of being an outcast loom over me. I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I should be so proud of who I am, especially when I know that I am not alone.  

According to my parents, it was the internet research and soul-searching that had tricked me into thinking I fit into this uncommon label. I wish I could tell them that it was this so-called reading that helped me define such an important part of me.  

It was easy to guess their other immediate concern: what would people think? How do we explain this? Truth be told, I didn’t know either. I could see the disappointment in their faces. I had let them down with my identity. And for the first time ever, I strongly wished I wasn’t asexual.   

I used to feel lost, juggling between labels, unable to feel content that there was no term to describe my exact emotions. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that this world is not designed for asexuals and aromantics It’s not ideal that each of our coming out moments involves giving a crash course the definition of these labels. It’s not ideal that we have to defend our identity and convince the people we care about that there’s nothing wrong with us.  

When I think about it now, that conversation with them feels like some sort of lucid dream. As weird as it may sound, I wasn’t satisfied or happy about the way I did it. It was such a pivotal moment for me, and I can’t help but feel that I ruined it for myself and for the both of them.  

As weird as it may sound, I didn’t have it in myself to be angry or upset with them. Before they are my parents, they are human. I like to think that we are all in the same boat when it comes to learning new things and unlearning toxic ones. Even if it means having to hear things like, “You need to visit a doctor so this problem can be fixed.”  

I’ve been told by people, “Just give them some time, they’ll come around.” A part of me certainly believes that. But the threat of cultural stigma seems to be an everlasting one, at least for the time being.  

Revathy is an aspiring writer living in Toronto, Canada. Her passion in spreading awareness on various queer and mental health issues through writing, reading and research.

sexualityTania Chatterjeesexuality, asexuality, sexual orientation, coming out, arranged marriage, LGBTQComment