“Mom, Dad....I’m not interested in having a sexual relationship with my future partner because I’m repulsed by it.”

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

Two words that prompted this moment: arranged marriage.

The discussions were ongoing, and it was getting serious. My parents were just about ready to start looking for a 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 potential partners. And so, in a split second, I uttered the truth.

No matter how mentally prepared I was for the hurtful comments, 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. You know what the sad thing was? I actually understood and felt empathetic towards them for their reaction.

After all, what other reaction could I have expected from my brown family members?

I’ve heard the stories. I’ve read the articles. The struggles of being a queer person-of-colour is an all-too familiar theme. Sometimes the feelings of being an outcast loom over me longer than I’m accustomed to. 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 too much reading on the internet that has tricked me into thinking I fit into this uncommon label. I wish I could tell them it was this so-called reading that helped me define such an important part of me.

I knew what was my parents’ immediate concern: what would people think? How do we explain this? They didn’t know how the search for an Indian partner aligns with asexuality. Truth be told, neither do I. 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 and terms, 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, aromantics and agenders. It’s not ideal that each of our coming out moments involves giving a crash course on what exactly these labels are. 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 my parents 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 for myself and for the both of them.

I’ve been told by people, “Just give them some time, they’ll come around.” I want to believe that, I really do. And perhaps a part of me does. But the threat of cultural stigma seems to be an everlasting one, at least for the time being.