Our youth can be one of the best and simultaneously most convoluted times of our lives in general, but particularly when we are trying to figure out our sexualities. It is often said to be a great opportunity for experimentation and perhaps this is true for some people. However, I envy the people that are extremely certain of who or what they are attracted to – people that are sure they are only interested in pursuing either others of the same sex or people that are sure they are only interested in pursuing those of the opposite sex. But what about for those of us that feel we are caught somewhere in between, torn amidst the seemingly sole two options that are available to us?
Frequently we hear the incredulously false ideal that “bisexuality does not exist” or that it is not a real thing, but it is in fact very much a very real and very valid concept. Bisexuality, as defined by Merriam-Webster, is “characterized by sexual or romantic attraction to members of both sexes.” Okay, makes sense – what about that as a concept could be so hard to grasp?
For the most part, we tend to accept homosexuality and we definitely accept heterosexuality. We openly welcome the heteronormative constructs that are ubiquitous even still in the 21st century. But we are so quick to dismiss bisexuality among various other sexual orientations and gender identities. In “9 Ridiculous Questions People Ask About Being Bi and How To Answer Them,” Talia Squires writes, “Most people will assume that you are either heterosexual or homosexual, normally based on signifiers like how you dress or the perceived gender of your partner. When you move to correct these false impressions, you are often perceived as ‘pushy.’”
In other words, you are either gay or you are straight. And if you are not one or the other, you are just something else. But sexuality is an immensely broad spectrum of things with no rigid formula, so that is not the reality. Frankly it is not that simple. It is not black and white. And for some it can be especially difficult to make the distinction that for others might be easy.
Maybe since the end of middle school up until the beginning of high school, I had started to question my sexuality. There was this sudden, heavy, looming realization that I was attracted to more than just one specific kind of human being, more than one sex, more than one gender identity. I knew for sure that I was not just attracted to those of the opposite sex. But in the process of this awareness, I felt a disheartening confusion. I hated not knowing.
What did that make me? Did this make me bisexual? Did it make me pansexual? I didn’t know. I was dying to know.
And then it hit me. Very recently actually. I don’t have to know. For the ones that do know, I salute you – more power to you. There is a great relief and essence of empowerment in certainty and firm conviction. But in a sense, I like not knowing now. I like the thrill and the adventure behind not knowing what’s going to happen. For all I know, I could fall madly in love with someone who identifies differently than I do and be perfectly, amazingly, blissfully happy and there is just something about that that excites me. Although the feeling of ambivalence may at times frustrate me, still I like not knowing who or what is out there waiting for me.
Additionally, it feels good to be able to say that I know I am not alone. According to “Sexuality Defined: A Third of Americans Under Age 30 Do Not See Themselves As ‘Completely Heterosexual’” by Justin Caba, “a recent poll conducted by YouGov has revealed that the number of young people around the world who exclusively identify themselves as either heterosexual or homosexual is rapidly declining.” In a similar poll, they determined that 46% of people in the UK between 18 and 24 claimed to be entirely heterosexual while 6% claimed to be entirely homosexual, leaving a whole 43% to feel they are “somewhere in between the exclusive categories,” reiterating the notion that “more young people from across the pond refuse to put a definitive title on their sexuality” (Caba).
When I tell people how I feel, people do not necessarily understand. They still see it as black and white; they still believe that either you are straight or gay and nothing in between. Then I get the infamous: if you wanna be sure, why don’t you just try stuff with a girl? That can be one effective means by which to confirm your sexuality, but often times, you just know. And other times, like me, you don’t know. Well, I don’t know what being what I am would make me or if it even has to insert me into any specific category, but I do know what I like, and I know I don’t like just one thing.
This does not mean that I cannot prefer one over the other, or that I cannot choose to want to start a family and spend the rest of my life with one over the other. That does not make me any less of a human being if I find myself attracted to both sexes but favor one to the next. There are plenty of individuals that like both men and women, but have their own core ideas of a long-time partner.
Does that mean I have to identify differently? I don’t think it means anything. I think it just means that I know what I like and I am in no way, shape, or form obligated to force labels on this crucial part of who I am solely because society dictates that I have to. Neither is anyone.
At the same time, I don’t know. Do I then now belong in the LGBTQ community? The Q stands for queer/questioning. Therefore, I suppose – in a sense. I do not identify as heterosexual, however I cannot tell you what I do identify as.
I am still deciding this for myself but I don’t think I have to. When people respectfully question me about my sexual orientation or preference, I will respectfully give them an answer: I like people. Because I do. Sometimes I’m just incapable of matching what my heart feels with what I presume their genitals or gender to be. Could I fall in love with a man? Yes. Could I fall in love with a woman? Also, yes. Could I fall in love with someone who is gender fluid? Again, yes. Among the multitudes of genders and gender identities in the world, could any of them be a potential partner for me? Absolutely. I fall for the hearts and souls of people, not for their anatomy. I respect the way another person identifies and if I do – and I may – fall for them in spite of that, then so be it. I am not simply black or white. I am everything in between.
This is why I refuse to label my sexuality. No one should ever feel like their sexuality or identity is invalid the way I have felt. If I were sure, maybe I would give the way I am feeling a title. But I’m not, and I’m okay with that. I like the fact that I don’t know and that I’m still figuring things out. I’ve learned that it’s okay not to know. Maybe I am still finding my way, but I can’t doubt that it’s pretty damn exciting.
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