An Identity in Search of Its Place: Between Presence and Difference
I have always searched for a place of my own within the vast human spectrum—a space where identity can shape itself freely, without constraint. I would observe and listen to conversations about love, attraction, and desire, yet I could never see my reflection in those narratives. It felt as if I were playing a role in a play whose plot I couldn’t grasp.
Back in school, I remember a moment when one of my classmates insisted that I must be hiding feelings for one of the girls around us. I looked at him and said, “Yeah, of course—but I’m not telling you. It’s a secret.” I smiled, but deep down, I wished I could tell the truth. I knew, even then, that it wasn’t just a matter of time. It was a matter of identity—one I was still trying to understand.
As I walked the path toward understanding myself, questions followed me like shadows.
“How can asexuality be real?”
“Doesn’t that mean I’m incapable of love?”
That question echoed in my mind constantly—rising from within, knocking at the door of my thoughts, weighing down my spirit. But instead of pushing me away from myself, it led me deeper. I began to understand that love isn’t confined to the physical. That emotional and romantic attraction can exist—and flourish—far from the boundaries of sexual desire.
Eventually, I came across the term asexuality, and in that moment, it felt like I had found a map to navigate who I was. I dove into reading, exploring everything I could find about asexuality. With each word I read, I placed a new piece in the puzzle of my identity—piece by piece. What I discovered was transformative: asexuality is not about absence. It is a different kind of presence. It’s a quiet identity, often unseen, free from noise or spectacle. It is not a lack—it is a discovery. A new way to experience love and connection.
The moment I chose to embrace asexuality as part of my identity, I felt something shift—an inner pride, a soft but powerful sense of self-acceptance. Asexuality is part of me, like the words I write, like the dreams I live and hold close to my heart. And this acknowledgment gives me strength—in how I speak to myself, and in how I relate to others—if they’re willing to listen and understand.
Today, this is the philosophy I carry with me:
“Love may not look the same to everyone, but it is love nonetheless.”
I may not feel sexual desire, but I love.
I love deeply, with a heart full of emotion.
I love with my whole being.
And I know, intimately, what it means to love.
Asexuality is not emptiness. It is a perspective—an invitation to see relationships, emotions, and intimacy through a different lens. A beautiful one.
And when people around me ask why I haven’t married, or why I’m not in a relationship, I sometimes respond, and sometimes I don’t. I might smile, or I might not. But always, in the back of my mind, I hear the words of Fairuz echoing:
“Oh heart, don’t tire yourself…
Oh heart, like a butterfly circling the lanterns—
You don’t understand the fire’s glow,
You don’t complete the journey,
and you’re confused when it comes to love,”
Sami Al-Aghbashi – Queer Activist
