I’m fairly sure I was born this way. I first knew that there was something fundamentally different, something wrong with me at about thirteen. I wasn’t a late bloomer, because I did have a “crush” or two on a boy. It was my attitude to sex and relationships that was odd. Weird. My friends used to call me “penis phobic”. I was in two minds about the whole concept of a boyfriend – what with the patriarchy and my low self-esteem, it felt really important to have one. On the other hand, did you really have to see them every single day? And did you have to do all that public holding hands and kissing everyone else seemed to do? What if the boyfriend wanted my attention and I just wanted to watch TV and eat chips? This was a likely scenario.

Yes, Barbie Girl, that Aqua. While their debut album was reigning the world charts and Mattel gathered their lawsuit, an optimistic college student, Matthew Shepard was ready to start his first year of political science at the University of Wyoming. He was described as approachable and ready to accept new challenges. He also had a passion for equality and stood up for diversity.

For six years now, an event called Rainbow Prom has existed in Hobart. This night of fun and frivolity is for LGBTQ people aged 14-24 to dress up, have professional photos taken, and be with the partner of their choosing. Many of these young folks have never had the opportunity to dress in clothes they truly enjoy and feel safe enough to openly express affection. This is the one night of the year they can do as their gay little hearts desire!

It took me twenty-three years to come to terms with my sexuality. It took me another year to begin telling people. I expected backlash from many corners, especially after I had cut my hair in a style that was popular at the time and my mother had told me I looked like a… I’m not going to write the word here, but suffice to say it didn’t make me think that she would be accepting of my sexuality.

"How can you know you're aromantic if you don't even know what romance is?" Like so many queer people, we aromantics are no strangers to being grilled about the validity of our identities. Our challengers expect us to prove our orientation, or else our orientation is "impossible." Also like many queer identities, I can see my aromantic tendencies even when I reflect on my childhood.

I’ve felt a connection to the LGBTQ2IA+ community all my life.  I started a youth group back in 2006… back when I believed myself to be an A for “ally” – oh, the irony!

Even back in primary school, it seemed almost every child was obsessed with the idea of romance. It was common to hear children giggling behind their hands and revealing the names of their crushes in hushed voices. On the outside I was just the same, but inside I already knew that something was different. I still distinctly remember choosing who I should pretend to have a crush on, just because not having a crush on anybody was unheard of. I didn’t want to be different.

Like for so many on the aromantic spectrum, conversations initiated by others about the current status of my love life have been had so often over the years, that they’ve all merged into one long and messy dialogue. It isn’t the same pattern from everyone, but it takes place more often than I care to count.

It wasn’t by design that I discovered being aromantic, or “aro” as one might say: I happened across the description in the demographics section of an otherwise-unrelated survey on, of all things, Star Trek.  As I was wrapping up the survey, with the usual questions about age, gender identity, and so on, I came across the word “aromantic” among many other self-descriptors with which I was certainly more familiar: “lesbian,” “gay,” “bisexual,” “transgender,” “asexual,” and so on.

From the moment we can comprehend we are told love is a very powerful thing: 'Love is what you need to be complete. A spouse, a picket fence house, and children are the meaning of happiness'. Books always seem to have love interests for the protaganist. You never see someone staying with their amazingly successful career when it means giving up on a love interest they just met a week ago.

In one of the episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation the ship’s resident impenetrably serious and analytical android Data tries dating a crewmate who shows an interest in him. It goes about as well as you’d expect and the majority of the episode’s humour is based around Data’s inability to comprehend romantic relationships even after creating a subroutine for that exact purpose. Did I laugh when watching that episode? Absolutely.

In a world full of romantics, it is extremely rare to come across a person who self identifies as an aromantic (or Aro for short). I am one of those very few people who so happens to identify as an aromantic. Aro what now? The general definition of aromantic is a person who experiences little to no romantic attraction to others. What? People can actually not be attracted to any gender? I know, sounds crazy but is 100% true.

There are still many uphill battles for us and our families. Personally, I feel that it is my responsibility to aid those who are seen as less than or not equal to the rest of us who can blend is more easily. To call out racism, homophobia, and transphobia when and where I see it.

In 2005 I was running a small fashion label and had my own creative studio in the city. I often felt tired around 11am and started taking small naps on this big green armchair that I had in the workshop for when I need to chill out. At first my naps would last about thirty minutes to an hour and by 2009 I was napping at 11am and often waking up at 5, 6 or 7pm in the evening wondering what the hell was happening. I felt so guilty about sleeping all day that I would take any stimulants I could get my hands on to try and stay awake and keep working at night.

I was feeling a little low and depressed that night, and I posted something sad on social media, and a good friend of mine for many years, a dear cis girlfriend, messaged me to ask if I was alright. I said yes, andthat I was feeling a little low and then she asked: "What's going on?"

I was a mom at an early age. 19 years old to be exact. My daughter and I raised each other with lots of help from my Mom and family. We moved around a lot. We ended up in some crazy situations but through it all, we were together and working for that dream life. Flash forward ten years and the dream is a reality. I have met the perfect man, moved my daughter and I to his town and we started a normal life together.

I learned that I was intersex on October 31, 2019 at the age of 41.  I always knew I was different and as a teenager I accepted the label of “lesbian” because it seemed to be the best fit with the information I had at the time-- but I knew deeply that it was not the whole story.  I have explored transitioning to male at various points during my adult life, but always decide against that option knowing that this would merely swap which half of myself was seen by the world and which was suppressed.  What follows is the story of how I discovered I was a person who is intersex.

I was born an only child. I always felt the need to give my parents grandchildren. I planned out my wedding in middle school and picked out names for my children. That was what I was supposed to, right? Those were the things that I was supposed to want, right? As the only child that my parents had, it was my job to continue the bloodline and save us from extinction. I felt as though I had to have children, for the sake of my parents, for the sake of my ancestors, for the sake of my family. I was carrying so much weight on my 13 year-old shoulders.

As a lesbian who came out at the age of 34, I had no experience with the LGBTQI+ community, at all. I grew up in a regional town, moved to an even smaller regional town when I was 28, and only found my feet once moving to Melbourne in March 2019. When I say Melbourne, I mean a leafy suburb that is very family focused. So even though I came out a few months after moving to “Melbourne”, I was still unable to immerse myself in the queer culture.

Pride season or otherwise, I love a good queer story. It’s a central theme in the LGBTQIA+ experience – every “a-ha!” moment, turning point, faux pas, you name it – if it’s a tale of the queer journey, I am here for it.