Aromanticism, as a whole, is an unknown and foreign concept to many people. Most have never heard of the word before. That included me, up until recently when I had finally been able to put a name to the feeling, or lack thereof.

Don’t be too promiscuous. Or self-assured. Initiate just a bit of poise but, nevertheless, encourage yourself to be irresistibly wild. People liked “wild” women, and I desired nothing more but to be wholly, unquestionably liked. These thoughts, these feelings, constantly orbit through my abysmal mind, wandering aimlessly as I engage within something that should be guilt-free and pleasurable for me, especially at this point in my adult life: sex.

Social relevance is like money; in the era of social media power is received by the acknowledgment of followers, fans and the click of a button; the like button. On Instagram, Twitter and Tik Tok, the like button is the shape of a heart, the universal symbol of love.

Loneliness. I have always, always dreaded loneliness. Its ability to monopolize me, to magnify my steadfast insecurities as if it were a piece of artwork on display; to isolate my thoughts and to absorb my physical existence until it consumed me whole, has invariably frightened me beyond words.

Everyone can remember their first time; they recount it vividly. I can rather clearly envision my own, and it wasn’t something that was exceptionally romantic or otherworldly. It was odd, awkward, sweaty, and uncoordinated. How fortunate for me, right?

When bars, clubs, coffee shops, and even the local parks are closed, where are we all trying to meet someone that makes our chests tighten? Is it even possible to form a meaningful connection when physically we’re apart? And if it is, how do you do it?

I imagine you sometimes. I imagine you tall enough to reach the shelves in our kitchen I can’t, but short enough that we can dance to the music that plays after the movie without me standing on your feet. I imagine you to be unfailingly kind, but that you’ll smile when I complain about our friends on the car ride home.

Sex does not define you. It is an action with so much negative stigma, pressure, and shame created by a society that was built to put control of your body. We are done with it, or at least, trying to be. While we live in a time where sexual freedom and expression of sexuality is a lawful right, does not mean the criticism has ended.