Page 2 of Kiss Me, Maybe
Which brings me to now, in the aftermath of hitting post for a second time without thinking it through. I played the video back, watching the number of views climb with a lump in my throat.
CAPTION:
AN UPDATE OF SORTS
@ANGELA CLOSED CAPTIONS:So, I had to delete my last video for work, which… is whatever, at this point. No one’s surprised that Texas has an ultraconservativecode of conduct inandout of the workplace, just like no one’s surprised by a cis straight man’s capacity to ruin things for everyone, so it’s honestly good riddance to all those gross comments I was getting from them. I’m an asexual lesbian, I don’t want that.
As someone who’s only recently come out to a handful of people in my life, I’ve realized a couple things after the shitshow that was that video. Number one: I’m tired of being seen as a sexual being by men. Period. Number two: what I crave more than anything right now is community. I don’t have a lot of asexual friends—or even queer friends in general—in my life yet, and I’d really like to change that sooner rather than later.
Finally, number three—and maybe this sounds like an oxymoron if you don’t know anything about being asexual—I am so fucking tired of being single. I’ve been single my entire life, all twenty-seven years, and I’ve never come close to dating, let alonekissing, which means I’m starting late and have no idea what I’m doing. So if anyone has any suggestions for me, please help a girl out. Otherwise, I’mthisclose to making another thirst trap—tailored entirely to the sapphic community and as appropriate as I can make it without getting fired—and dating the internet.
That’s all for my update. Goodbye.
I nearly let out a scream when the video ends. What in the world was Ithinking? I’m already in hot water with Erika, and Iknow firsthand how fast things can escalate on the internet. I’m sure Marcela will let me know exactly how much I’ve fucked up the next time I see her. But as the first comments start to flood in, the adrenaline rushing through my veins seems to slow, and something like calm washes over me.
@Alisha:I’m also 27 and haven’t dated anyone! I have no idea if I’m asexual tho, how did you realize you were?
@LetiIsTrying:Dating as an ace person is HARD. Lmk when you figure it out, I need all the help I can get too.
More comments echo the same, and I’m more relieved than I probably should be. None of us have it figured out.I’m not alone.
@Priya:I’m curious how you would go about dating the entire internet lol
@Connor:You’re 27, look like that, and have never dated? Something has to be wrong with you
That spike of fear is back even as anger rushes to the forefront, the tips of my fingers itching to type something nasty back to the latest commenter. I stop myself, though, because as untactfully as he might’ve put it, he’s not wrong.
It’s hard to say why I’ve been holding myself back for so long. Maybe part of it was coming from a homophobic family, even if my parents ended up changing their minds on thatissue. But the biggest reason was that for so long, I wasn’t sure what I wanted from a relationship. There was always this part of me that saw sex as an inevitability in romantic relationships. Even though I’ve always wanted romance in my life, I was never sure if sex with another person was something I wanted—or something Icouldwant.
Realizing I was on the ace spectrum put a lot of things in perspective for me, even if I still have more questions than answers about certain aspects of myself. It was the final key to unlocking something vital about my identity, who I am on an intrinsic level. After so many years of fighting this feeling I didn’t have a name for inside of me, of questioning myself the same way other people who claimed to care about me did, of not belonging anywhere… I had an answer.
It took me a long time to get here, but I’m ready for more than I’ve allowed myself to have up to this point, and I’m not letting anyone stop me this time.
“How do you feel about online dating?”
“Mija, I’m married.” My mom rolls her eyes at me as she packs my dad’s suitcase. My father, meanwhile, is pretending to nap on the other side of their king-sized bed. To get out of helping prepare for their San Juan trip, no doubt. “To a man who doesn’t know how to pack for himself. Lucky me.”
“I mean, if you guys hadn’t met at that… dance hall.” I’m old enough to know “dance hall” is code for “dive bar,” but I let my mom have her version of the story. “Would you havedownloaded the apps? Do you think you could meet someone that way and fall in love and get married, and live happily ever after?”
She zips up the suitcase and then turns to me. “Is that how Marcela met her football player? Could be worth a try. You should let Julian help you while he’s here. He’s always going out on dates.”
My cousin doesn’t know this, but he’s the reason I found comfort in the idea of coming out to my parents. Though deeply Catholic and previously known for the occasional homophobic comment, they didn’t bat an eye when Julian brought another man as a date to our tía’s birthday party two years ago. But the same couldn’t be said for everyone, including Julian’s father.
An ache formed in my chest when my dad stood up to Tío Manuel, partly for Julian but selfishly for myself too. It was strange, the feeling that had come over me, because I hadn’t fully realized my identity then. I only knew that I was different, even if I couldn’t put my finger on how yet. For so long, I let myself believe that being the queer daughter to two Mexican parents in Texas would lead to nothing but endless fighting, heartache, and inevitable separation. They’d lose me and always ask themselves where they went wrong. I’d lose them and always wonder if I made the right choice in cutting contact.
Luckily, it never came to that. When I eventually did sit them down for the conversation two months ago, they made it clear in no uncertain terms that they would accept me no matter what, but they couldn’t hide their relief when I told them I wasn’t ready for the rest of the family to know yet. They also couldn’t hide the fear reflected in their eyes when they thoughtI wasn’t looking. Those wordless glances between them said enough.
They loved me. They accepted me. But they’d never stop worrying about me, and I’d just given them a new reason to.
“No, she didn’t,” I tell my mom. “And Julian’s only been out on a few dates, as far as I know.”
“So, I’m your last resort for advice.” My mom smirks. “Is it easier for women to meet other women online to date?”
“I have no idea.” I shake my head. “Maybe dating is a hopeless endeavor once you’ve reached a certain age without any experience. Plus, everyone is disillusioned with dating apps these days. Makes the whole prospect seem bleak.”
“Angela, you can’t give up.” My mom’s stern face brings me back to the time I stole one of her box hair dyes during my middle school emo phase. Really, anytime she looks at me like that makes me feel like a teenager all over again. Ah, the perks of still living at home. “You haven’t even tried yet.”
“But—”
