#aas*

[anastasiapullingteeth]

I've had some bits of this story on my mind for some time, but didn't know hot to write it down until recently, so I thought it'd be a good idea to post it during @aggressivelyarospec's Aggressively Arospectacular Week. I hope you're ready for some toxic friendships, yay! [Text dividers by @aroworlds]

The Story So Far

December 21. I've been texting a lot with Anna recently. It reminds of those days back in college when we would stay up late just talking. It's weird, though. I think I'm not longer used to hearing from her that much, it was not long ago that I would only get a random text a week from her. But I humor her. We're still friends, at least their definition of friendship. I gave up on mine long time ago.

She's had another breakup. I never met the guy, but I remember they've been dating for 2 years or so. It looks like he wasn't nice, it was an ugly breakup and she spends much of the conversations talking about him.

We talk for hours, catching up, and I try to listen, to understand, but that little voice inside my head keeps saying the only reason she's reaching out now is because she's alone again. Somehow she saying I'm her true soulmate only confirms it for me.

"She doesn't have any other options," the little voice says. "This is her last resource, she doesn't have anyone left."

But I don't say any of this. We made plans to go out next weekend.

January 6.

I'm still thinking about the weekend with Anna.

I hadn't seen her in so long that walking towards her at the mall's entrance felt like meeting her for the very first time. Not much had changed, really, but I no longer knew how to be myself around her. What an odd thing to say about the person that used to be my closest friend.

I accommodated pretty quickly —proof enough that my body remembers way better than my head— and soon things felt like no time had passed. After a couple of hours just walking around, laughing together, she talked about her ex-boyfriend again.

They met thanks to a mutual friend that works at Anna's office, a story I already knew but pretended not to for her sake. They broke up because he cheated.

She talked about some of their dates, about the life they'd planned together, the things they wanted to do. She mentioned, casually, we could do some of those together. "I really want to go camping. It's such a lovely plan to let it go to waste because of him," she said, overexcited, like she was already over the entire thing.

I smiled politely and diverted the conversation to avoid giving a straight answer. It wasn't until I got home that something occurred to me: she's not choosing me, she's rejecting loneliness. This seems the easiest way to get it because I could never abandon her for a romantic partner.

I hate camping. I have absolutely no desire to go camping with her.

May 10.

Anna's trying dating again and it's not going well. The dating pool is in shambles, apparently. The last guy she went out with stopped texting her a week ago and that's probably the only reason we're still regularly hanging out. I'm not so confident it's gonna last, so it still takes me by surprise every time she wants to go somewhere. She doesn't particularly like that I don't really wait for her if I want to do something for myself. Force of habit, I guess.

I'm still in the process of accommodating someone else in my plans. Or rather remembering there's another option available that isn't "do it alone". That too it's not going well. We met up today for lunch and I told her about the concert I went to yesterday. "I could've gone with you", she said. Yeah, she could've... but she doesn't understand that once you leave behind any reservations you might have about being on your own there's no coming back. It's something we both need to work on.

I'm fine being on my own. I've learned to be on my own after getting ditched for every new relationship and I'd rather be alone than being with someone that thinks of me as a substitute for whatever thing they couldn't accomplish.

I don't think this is gonna work.

July 12.

Anna wants us to live together and I diverted attention with a joke.

The list of things that could go wrong if we were to do that is truly endless and I was a little bit more curious about what had brought all this up anyway. We never talked about that before, not even when we saw each other almost daily. To no one's surprise, I got my answer pretty quickly: Anna's giving up on dating again.

I'd forgotten how draining it could be to listen to those stories as often as I do now, but I try anyway, it's important to her. Maybe the stories will stop now that she's focusing on something else. I just wish I wasn't that something else.

She talked about us being soulmates again and I grimaced, hopefully without her noticing, but it only got worse when she complained she couldn't find someone like me in the men she dates. I'm still trying to figure out why that bothered me.

I need her to go back to be casual friends and stop the whole found family/soulmates shtick or I'm going to lose my mind. I'm not sure how to tell her that without hurting her feelings. I know she doesn't do it maliciously, it's just that I don't believe her anymore.

October 4.

Anna keeps talking about building a life together and I'm done with it.

She's still trying to find a boyfriend, going on dates with men she meets in random places or dating apps, but none of them seem to be enough. "That's because you're my one true love", she said after one of our conversations, which would've been flattering if it hadn't come ten years too late.

Back then, we were inseparable. There were very few thing we wouldn't do together and we were each other's priority, above other friends and relationships. Some people thought we were together, and maybe we were, not like everyone else thought, but certainly in a way that was special and unique to us.

But we're not those people anymore.

I can't help but to feel this right now is a mimicry of who we used to be back in college, before life happened and she focused all her attention on romantic relationships that were beginning to become very serious and real. The ones people come to expect once you turn a certain age.

It's funny that 10 years ago I would've been game for building a life with her, no questions asked. I guess I, for once, can be very grateful for being so paranoid or an over-thinker. Now I know that wouldn't have lasted. Nor will it this time.

November 19.

I haven't seen Anna in a little over a month.

We're still texting, but I'm rejecting all the plans she makes for us. No more movie dates, no more shared lunches. I'm sure she's not happy about it, she's made me aware of it in her not so subtle way, but I just say I'm busy.

I almost wish she finds a boyfriend, so we can go back to who we were before all this started. Am I wrong? It feels stupid to run away from all this when it was something I had even dreamed about when I was younger, it's just that I don't think it should happen like this.

Is this the only type of friendship I'm destined to? The one that only becomes relevant when all the other options don't work out? The one that's a placeholder until something better comes along? Am I being too demanding? Too particular? Maybe it really is the only thing I can aspire to, and I'm letting it slip away…

I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing, but right now it's the one thing that feels safer.

[anastasiapullingteeth]

About Time

The past few days were so chaotic for me, but didn't want to let this week go without a submission from me, so here's a short, really short story for this year's @aggressivelyarospec's #AggressivelyArospectacular event!

“You deserve to be this happy, too”

That was something Olivia, “Liv”, was used to hear from her best friend, Cecile. When Jeff met his current boyfriend, “You deserve to be this happy, too”. When Amanda got engaged, “You deserve to be this happy, too”. When Nora welcomed her first baby, “You deserve to be this happy, too”.

Liv knew she didn’t say it with malice. They’ve talked about Liv’s place on the aromantic spectrum and Cecile had sworn she understood, but Liv knew it was still hard for her to fully grasp what it meant for Liv, for her future.

Cecile’s definition of happiness was nowhere near what Liv wanted, but she didn’t see the point in arguing with her best friend about it. Instead she just smiled and let her go back to celebrate their friends’ achievements. It wasn’t ideal, but it was easier and Liv needed easier right now.

Despite her inability to fully understand Liv, Cecile was a pretty good friend. She always made sure to include her in her adventures and even cancelled dates with her boyfriend if she already had plans with Liv. She respected and appreciated her, and that was more than enough for Liv. Who cared if she was a little confused about who Liv was. There was time for that. They had all the time and Liv was patient. She could wait.

“You’d be miserable if you were normal.”

Liv stopped on her tracks and stared at Cecile. They were at the local park walking their dogs and holding an ice cream cone each, taking their time to savor it as the little guys sniffed their way around. For a second Liv thought she’d heard her wrong, taken aback by the use of the word ‘normal’ in such a way, so she had to think for a couple of seconds before confirming that, yeah, Cecile had said that. “Sorry?”

“You’d be miserable if you were normal,” Cecile repeated, liking a drop of ice cream from her hand as she struggled to keep her dog away from a puddle.

“What do you mean,” Liv asked, striding to catch up with her.

“Well, I’ve been thinking. About what we talked about the other day? About you hating romantic stuff and all that?”

“If by ‘the other day’ you mean almost a year ago, yeah, okay. And the word ‘hate’ was never mentioned, but sure.”

Cecile snorted but Liv noticed she was blushing. “Okay, fair. But anyway, I’ve been thinking and realized… I can’t even see you doing all that stuff people are supposed to do.” She stopped and focused on Liv’ eyes, like she was looking for a confirmation of what she just said. “Like ‘normal’ stuff,” she added, actually mimicking the air quotes which made Liv smirk. “Like marriage or kids. That’s so not your thing, you know?”

“Okay?” Yeah, she knew.

Cecile resumed walking, finishing her ice cream in the process while Liv followed. “And now I’m thinking I’m really glad you never listened to me because you’d be miserable if you had to live that life and I don’t want you to be miserable,” she cleaned her fingers on the fabric of her jeans and threw her arm around Liv’s shoulders. “I like you like this, weird and a little bit ruthless. Society's expectations would look terrible on you, babe.”

“Well, I can do that. Anything for you, ‘babe’.” Cecile laughed and pulled her closer to her as they kept walking.

Maybe Liv didn’t have to wait that long for Cecile to fully understand her.

[anastasiapullingteeth]

Calm. Down. Stay.

{Or The Things I Learned While Training My Reactive Dog}

My submission for this year’s @aggressivelyarospec’s Aggressively Arospectacular event! **Disclaimer: this is not a guide on how to train a reactive dog. It’s just me talking about my own experience.** [CW for mentions of COVID, anxiety, disordered eating and general bad mental health.]

It was August 2020, five months into the COVID lockdown, and I was losing my mind.

I’ve always been introverted. More interested in staying in my comfort zone (home) and indulging in my own activities (lazing around), so as bad as this may sound, lockdown wasn’t really the problem. The previous year and a half of commuting for two hours to get to work, plus years of suffering from insomnia, anxiety, and other debilitating problems were. By the time the pandemic happened, I was walking on a tightrope and the recovery was taking longer than I’d anticipated. That was when my mom, with zero thought put into it I may add, decided we needed a dog and got a month-old puppy.

I’m not one of those people who consider their pets as their actual children, but dogs are, in fact, pretty much like kids in at least one thing: not everyone is prepared to have them, and wanting one is not reason enough to get one. And, boy, I wasn’t prepared.

Given the bad state of mind I was in, the shitty job I had (and still have), and the historical event unfolding in real time, it was safe to say I was barely capable of taking care of myself, let alone a pet, but my mom promised the dog was going to be hers and, since I didn’t have the heart to rehome the puppy, we took her in and named her Quimey (“beautiful” in Mapuche).

I had plenty of dogs while growing up, but Quimey is my first dog as an adult and, although she was supposed to be my mom’s, I’m the one responsible for everything concerning her: I feed her, take her to the vet, walk her, clean after her, pay for everything... It’s a full-time job on top of everything else I already have on my plate but, even though my mom wants to help, she can’t really do much because Quimey has way too much energy and her strength and impulsivity can be dangerous if handled wrong, so I ended up taking up the responsibility myself. How hard could it be, right? It’s a dog. Then, of course, it became way harder.

Due to her chronic illness, my mom couldn’t leave the house during that time between the beginning of the pandemic and the first vaccines, so I was in charge of groceries and anything else she needed. Due to a lot of different factors (particularly that she’d been separated from her mother way too soon), Quimey wasn’t properly socialized when we got her, so, in an attempt to fix this, she often came with me to do errands. 

She’s naturally nervous, so getting out of the house involved a lot of shaking, but nothing too bad to be considered a problem. The walks went okay and, after some time, she even stopped shaking, but then, one day as we waited our turn outside a store, she jumped on a random woman seemingly out of nowhere, scaring her. She didn’t actually bite her or even try to hurt her, but, from that moment on, I was a little wary of taking her with me in case she did it again so I tried to keep her at a safe distance from other people. It seemed to work and I thought we were back at a safe place, but I was wrong.

A couple of months later, Quimey was attacked by a neighbor's dog that’d been left outside without supervision. I managed to pick her up before the dog could do any damage, but, since we couldn’t really avoid him, he tried to attack her on several other occasions for at least a month or so, until the owners saw it and finally kept him inside. Sadly, that was enough to scare Quimey for life and the primary reason her reactivity began. She’s now terribly afraid of strangers and other dogs (particularly small ones) and is literally impossible to take her anywhere without her having what’s basically a panic attack. Trying to revert that as much as possible is what I’ve been aiming for for the past 3 years.

Living in a place that’s not pet friendly and without easy access to trainers and other specialists, having a reactive dog has been a journey, but one that, looking back, has taught me more than I’d expected.

.

Puppies are hard to train, they’re basically just babies, but anyone who’s had a dog before they turn one year old knows that’s nothing compared to the teenage stage. Yes, dogs go through adolescence, just like us, and it’s just as bad as you imagine. If by then you manage to teach them anything, they will forget it. They won’t listen no matter what you do and sometimes will even purposely disobey you. Avoiding shouting becomes a challenge and so far I was failing.

I’m not a person of soft emotions. I’m anxious, impatient, and temperamental, and my anger issues, although not as bad now, are very much something I still struggle with. Over the years, I’ve done my best to manage and redirect those emotions, but having a fearful reactive dog can certainly push you to the edge and test your patience because they’re harder to train and difficult to be with if you lack the knowledge to help them.

In dogs like Quimey, on top of the confusing teenage state, fear takes up their minds when they’re around a trigger and they basically lock themselves in a never-ending fight or flight response; in that scenario, they won’t listen to you not because they’re being disobedient, but because they can’t. Their bodies are fighting for survival and the last thing they need is having you screaming desperately because they’re pulling at the leash or barking, so, in order to get her to calm down, the first thing I had to learn was to be calm myself. What an impossible task! Years and years of trying had proved I couldn’t do it, but I needed to. I had to.

Dogs mirror our emotions; if I wanted to show her there was nothing to fear, I had to believe it first.

.

Dogs, as well as anyone else, are unique and what could work for one won’t do much for others. Each of them has its own process and sometimes it’s ok to just wait for things to pass and manage what you can until it gets better. As a teenager, Quimey was constantly trying to escape, barked at everything that moved, and got up in the middle of the night looking for things to play with or food to steal. It was the worst six months I experienced as a dog owner because all the progress we’d achieved until then was lost. Luckily, my sister, who’s had a similar experience with her own dog, helped me with some advice. Once I understood what was happening, I took a deep breath and established a routine. 

As I said before, Quimey is high energy and needs help managing it in a way that’s safe and productive for her. So we implemented longer walks in a route that felt good for her, added scent games to stimulate her mind, practiced simple commands to control her impulsivity, and ran a few laps at night to burn all that pent-up energy that prevented her from having a full night's sleep. And it's working. Taking the time to assess the situation and try a solution is helping and something that was torturous at the beginning became bearable because I took my time. I was patient. The routine helps Quimey feel safer and more sure of herself because she no longer has to guess what is going to happen next; she is in the process of regaining control and lowering her guard, allowing her to enjoy what is around her instead of trying to run away from everything. And, what’s even more surprising, her routine is also helping me.

I’ve had trouble sleeping since I was a kid thanks to an overactive brain, and switching to full remote work due to the pandemic completely fucked any resemblance of a good sleep schedule I had so far, which wasn’t really impressive, to begin with. Routines had never done anything for me and, sometimes, having to keep a schedule for school or work even worsened my insomnia, which is the exact opposite of what one would expect. Having Quimey with me now, on the other hand, has improved my sleeping habits, not only allowing me to sleep most nights all night but also reducing the nightmares considerably.

Over the years I tried all kinds of tricks to sleep better and other things to lower my anxiety that never worked, but having a routine for Quimey did. What makes this one different? That I have a purpose. Getting better for oneself is what we all should aim for, but sometimes that’s not a good incentive when you don’t consider yourself worth it. Doing things for others can be a good first step towards healing and I already knew it’d worked for me in the past.

A few years ago, what took me out of a very long period of bad mental health was working with kids. Being surrounded by children whose parents neglected them in ways most people would dismiss pushed me to try to be the adult they needed and the one I didn’t have while growing up. I not only had to guide them academically, I also had to be able to be fully there to accompany them in their journey and that’s how I, almost accidentally, broke the streak of abnormal eating patterns and sleepless nights I'd been suffering from since I left college; adopting Quimey had more or less the same effect on me. 

Somewhere along the way I figured she, just like me, struggles to understand the world around her and her fear comes from a place of feeling inadequate to handle it. She needs someone to give her the tools to work around her big emotions and translate the things she still hasn’t fully grasped in terms she’s more familiar with. And, much like with those kids, I had to step in and be the support she needed and the one I didn’t have. And I’m trying to do that every day.

.

Two years later, we still do most of the things we started her routine with, varying between the activities she gets tired of and adding stuff that fits her better as she ages. And we’re doing pretty well now.

I used to wonder what people did with reactive dogs before our generation got so obsessed with them that we started to treat them more like living things and not like objects, but then it occurred to me that, even if you think there’s more of them now because of the way the world has changed, most of the problematic dogs back in the day were abandoned or euthanized without giving them a chance or helping them overcome what had made them that way. Most of them still are even now. That, for better or worse, is part of why I keep trying with Quimey.

There’s something people with reactive dogs say constantly, but that’s worth repeating here: as much as a bad time you’re having trying to train your dog, you can be sure they’re having it way worse. Reactivity can be genetic or a result of past trauma, but whatever the cause is, your dog is struggling to adapt to this world and it’s your job to help them get there.

Quimey’s not perfect and never will be. She gets incredibly anxious if her routine changes, still won’t accept any stranger (human or dog) to get too close to her no matter how friendly, and is afraid of the simplest things like bubbles or the sound of a door closing in the distance. She sometimes has to take natural remedies to help her anxiety when her triggers are just too much to handle and we’re still working on teaching her how to stay alone in the house without a panic attack. But she’s also the most affectionate dog I have ever had.

Learning to accept and love her the way she is and my job as her advocate has strengthened our bond and has helped me accept and work on most of my own struggles as well. Identifying and naming her emotions in order to offer a safe space has created one for me, too, one I never knew how to get before, and that, without realizing, she guided me to.

Working on doing better for her helped me do better for myself as well. 

.

Calm, down, stay… you’re safe now.

.

[anastasiapullingteeth]

(Don't) Touch Me

A short story about sensory issues I wrote for this years AAS22 held by @aggressivelyarospec

CW: sensory issues, touch aversion

itch, itch, itch

His new shirt was killing him. He'd already cut out the tag of the damn thing, but the seam ketp rubbing the lower part of his neck.

itch, itch, itch

He took a deep breath and continued typing on his computer. It was ridiculous he was forced to wear that damn shirt to work. No one needed it to do their job. Except maybe Renee from Accounting, that woman was weird like that.

itch, itch, itch

What was he doing? Oh, right. The planning. When was the meeting again? He hoped next week, maybe by then the fucking shirt would be finally behaving.

itch, itch, itch

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands and kept his face hidden behind them for a few minutes. He finally got up, announcing to his cubicle neighbor he was going out to get some snacks. "Get me some chips," Josh yelled when he was closing the door. He made a mental note- No, he pulled out his phone and wrote the request on the Notes app. He wasn't sure he wouldn't forget either way.

itch, itch, itch

He rubbed the back of his neck as he walked slowly to the store, trying to ease the burning sensation the shirt was leaving on his skin. He wanted to rip that shit off, but he still had 3 hours left at work. He wondered what were the chances of getting through them shirtless. (Not very high, sadly. Fuck.)

itch, itch, itch

At the store, he picked a pack of mints and Josh's chips (he didn't ask which kind. Whatever, everyone loved cheese) and approached the counter. There were three people already waiting, all of them with just a couple of things in their arms, the bigger being a can of soda.

itch, itch, itch

"Oh, sorry," the woman in front of him in the queue said after accidentally dropping the change she'd been handed. He bent over to help her pick it up and her fingers touched the back of his hand. He suppressed the horrible chill that followed, only frowning a little as he moved his hand away. "... Thank you," the woman said, accepting the money. He smiled as calmly as he could and stepped forward to pay for his goods.

itch, itch, itch

He decided to take the long way back to the office, ripping open the package of mints to take a couple. He placed them on top of his tongue and pressed them against his palate, savoring the blissful sensation. It wasn't ice, but it was enough to trick his brain. As he walked, he scratched the hand the woman had touched. It didn't feel better.

itch, itch, itch

Back in the office, he handed Josh his chips ("Great, cheese!") and sat back down to keep typing. He took another mint from the package and left the rest on his desk. The planning. Right. Work on the planning. He hoped he had enough mints for the rest of the day.

itch, itch, itch

16:22, less than two hours to go.

type, type, type

itch, itch, itch

17:09, he was so close...

type, type, type

itch, itch, itch

17:34

type, type, type

itch, itch, itch

17:48

type, type, type

itch, itch, itch

17:59

type, itch, type, itch, type, itch

At 18:00, he stopped typing and turned off his computer. Josh frowned at him when he saw him standing up and grabbing his things, but he ignored him. He normally waited at least 15 minutes after the hour to keep up appearances, pretending he actually gave a fuck about his work and wasn't desperate to get back home, but he'd barely kept it together during the time he was requested to stay there, there was nothing holding him now.

itch, itch, itch

As he passed the bathroom door, he wished he'd brought a spare shirt with him to change into now that he was free, but that morning he didn't think it'd become as unbearable as it was at the moment, so it didn't occur to him. He'd have to keep one in his bag from now on for moments like this. He played with the packet of mints in his jacket pocket, waved good-bye to everyone from the door, and headed out into the street.

itch, itch, itch

He walked back home, occasionally rubbing the back of his neck or pulling at his shirt to keep the seam from touching his skin. He still felt a weird tingle on his hand, but that was easier to ignore. He took another mint from the package and pressed it against his tongue as he felt his phone buzzing in his pants. "Hello"?, he answered, rolling the mint around his mouth.

"Dude, are you on your way home?"

Rob, his roommate.

"Yeah, why?" itch, pull

"No reason. See you here." Rob hung up, but didn't give him enough time to frown before calling him again. "It's nothing bad, just dinner," he assured, hurriedly. "But I wanted to make sure it wasn't cold by the time you got here. I'm still not telling you what we're gonna eat. But don't worry, you'll like it."

He snorted. "Okay, thank you."

"Sure, see ya."

He didn't like surprises, but truly appreciated Rob's effort for planning them without giving him anxiety. They'd been roommates for almost five years, they knew each other pretty well and had learned the hard way how to navigate each other’s personalities with minimal harm. It was pretty good now.

itch, pull, itch, pull

He got home and the smell of cheddar invaded his nostrils. He went straight to his room to get rid of the damn shirt before anything else could happen. If he wanted to act like a person, he needed that fucker off right now.

Relief

Once he was properly dressed, he walked inside the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck, and peeked inside the pot on the stove: cheesy ground beef pasta.

Rob had learned how to cook it last month and now was obsessed, cooking it at least once a week. He didn't mind, ground beef was pretty much the only beef he would willingly eat. The texture wasn't as bad as literally everything else.

"Ah ha ha!" Rob said behind him. "I hope you're hungry, because that," he pointed at the pot, "has to go tonight."

They sat down to eat mostly in silence. Well, he was in silence, Rob only stopped talking to chew his food, but it was nice. Surprisingly enough, the constant chatter of his roommate calmed him down. He didn't even notice when his hand stopped tingling or when his neck no longer felt like burning. He was focused on the sound around him, the taste of tomato sauce and cheddar in his mouth, and the soft fabric of his favorite shirt against his skin. He took a long, calming breath, and pushed his empty plate away from him.

"Good?" Rob asked, smiling.

"Really good."

Rob lifted his open palm, waiting for a high-five. After considering it for a moment, he complied. Rob trapped his hand and tangled their fingers together, shaking both their hands like they were celebrating something. He let him.

His mom was the only one who still held his hand way into adulthood, whether because the both of them were clinging to his lost childhood or because she knew about the bad habit of his of crossing the streets like a deer caught in the headlights: zero caution whatsoever and a complete inability to calculate how long it'll take a car to get to where he was. It didn't feel like thousands of microscopic ants were crawling up his hand when she held it, nor did it happen when she hugged him, that was why she was the only person he could find comfort in when he was feeling overwhelmed. But she wasn’t around anymore.

The ants didn't invade him either when Rob touched him. He liked it when Rob touched him.

"Sarah lent me her macaroni salad recipe", Rob announced, still holding his hand. "And you, mister, are gonna be the first to try it once I figure out how to make it."

"I can hardly wait," he replied, emotionless.

... Okay, he did actually want to try it. He only hoped Rob found another hobby where they didn't have to wash so many dishes.

FIN

[anastasiapullingteeth]

Thirty, Flirty and... Thriving?: An Aro (Short) Story

How does it feel to be 30 and a perma-single aro surrounded by people in romantic relationships? It's not as funny as it sounds. (Warning for general negative thoughts).

1990 doesn’t seem so far away, but, in reality, three decades have passed since then. That year, the Human Genome Project officially began, the Hubble Space Telescope was launched, the first web server was created, the World Wide Web was funded and the first content web search engine was introduced. That was also the year the official demolition of the Berlin Wall began and when the first episode of Twin Peaks aired. 1990 is also the year I was born.

Thirty years are a lot and that’s exactly the amount of time I’ve been alive (biologically, not mentally and certainly not emotionally. Those have felt like twice as long). Since 1990, I’ve seen the economic crisis in my country, the devaluation of our national currency, protests and rallies, some of which I was part of when I was only 7 years old.

I saw our football team winning a gold medal at the Olympics, the rise and fall of pop punk music, the evolution from walkman to discman to mp3 player to streaming. I’ve owned Beta videotapes, DVD’s and a Netflix subscription. I was there when the first Spider-Man movie premiered in 2002 and I’m still here after our third live-action Peter Parker on the big screen (Andrew Garfield is the best, by the way. You can’t change my mind).

I got a college degree, I’ve traveled to another country, attended four music festivals, learned a language different than mine, written 40 fanfics from start to finish, changed jobs, successfully moderated a blog for four years and, currently, I’m taking care of my mom. I got through the influenza pandemic in 2009 and I’m now trying to survive the COVID-19 pandemic. I’ve made friends, I’ve lost friends and, this year, I said goodbye to the last of my grandparents. I could’ve probably done more, but I’d said it’s been an eventful life; however, compared to what other people around me have done, it seems like nothing.

In the last six years, my sister moved in with her boyfriend, two of my friends got married and two others had babies —those last two points only in the span of three years. Everyone in my inner circle has settled down except me and I can’t help but to feel betrayed by a generation that promised me we were going to be different, that we weren’t going to settle for normal, that we were going to be a revolution.

All these promises of long-lasting and committed friendships were forgotten once adulthood fully hit us and all the expectations about family and kids were hot on our heels. It was then when they began to cancel plans, when the texts became scarcer and meeting twice a year was considered almost an excess.

“True friendships are those in which you can spend years without talking, but still love each other as if nothing had happened”… Do we really have to be satisfied with that?

I know it’s not fair to blame them for choosing a life that doesn’t include me in the way I’d like, after all they maintain other friendships just fine, but then I wonder if it’s really a me problem or if it’s a circumstantial problem.

Is this a consequence of my inability to form long term relationships of any kind or it’s just that I can’t relate to them anymore for lack of shared experiences? Because here’s the thing: me being aromantic actively makes my relationships different from others. Not stronger, not better and not purer; just different.

When you’re 30, aromantic and perma-single, maybe you can talk with your allo friends about your jobs, but you can’t talk about dinner with your mother-in-law. You can talk about not making ends meet, but you can’t talk about the baby’s first words. You can empathize, you can be happy for them, but you can’t truly relate.

You become a listener and not an avid participant, and that breach between you and your friends turns you into someone who lives on the margins (to borrow Hannah Gadsby’s wise words) with little to nothing to share in a world that prioritizes the impossible dream of the nuclear family.

How many conversations about the latest episode of your favorite tv show can you maintain when there’s more important things to talk about, like the husband who’s looking for a house he can pay for with his new raise? How many times can you attempt to talk about random things before the conversation drifts to the baby that hasn’t stopped crying since his teeth started to erupt?

How much of this disconnection can you keep ignoring before you realize there’s nothing keeping you together?

It’s not that what you care about doesn’t matter, but when the world is so strongly ruled by the amatonormative idea of companionship, it is difficult to relate to something that’s not relevant to you.

Your life suddenly feels meaningless and, for some, it really is. You are stuck.

My life, as an aro person in a country that’s generally quite closed-minded, is different. For me, there’s no one I can consider a partner for life. My goals aren't focused on marriage or motherhood, or anything remotly close to what society considers normal. This is when the challenge to celebrate my own victories appears, because they're not what people expect of me.

At 30, it's not enough to have some success at something you love; what good is it when you have no one to share it with? And you start to be too old for the many other things you want: Too old for friends, too old for fun, too old for new experiences, too old not to have figure out life already. Too old to find someone that feels the way you do.

Am I asking too much? How do you know what the limit is when the rules were specifically designed to exclude people like you? Who gives you the guideline to communicate your emotional needs effectively without them being dismissed? How similar to them do we have to be to be included?

The goal is, then, to learn how to recognize my own value, despite following a path no one else seems too fond of. It's saying "It's great your kid has taken his first steps. I've finally made some progress on that story I've been working on for six months" or "Jeez, it's fantastic you went on that trip for your anniversary. I've recently managed to catch up on that podcast I've wanted to listen to for a long time."

The dream is to form a community. A diverse community integrated by true conviction and not because the people in it had no choice due to the high cost of living around the world. One with people that say “This is what I want” and not “This could be a lot worse.” “I chose you”, not “This was the last thing I had”.

How many chances of getting that do you still have left as you age?==================================

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Back in February when I turned 30, it really hit me that I've lived through a lot and things have changed so much since I was a kid, so I decided to write this little something for @aggressivelyarospec‘s #AggressivelyArospectacular week.

I hope this... expands your horizons? And, if you're aro and over 30, hit me up with a message; together we're stronger. Fuck, do it either way if you're younger, I'm so up to talk about all this with you guys.

[anastasiapullingteeth]

Green Light by anastasiapullingteeth

A young woman forgets about the world during the ride back home from her job, but that suddenly changes when she falls asleep on a stranger’s shoulder.

{written for @aggressivelyarospec’s #AggressivelyArospectacular}

Luisa hated her job. She honestly hated it.

Working in a grocery store wasn’t her dream, of course, but it helped to pay the rent and a part of her sister’s college tuition that wasn’t covered by the scholarship she’d won. This was her life: bus, academic workshop, subway, job, bus. Every day of every week of the last year.

It seemed silly, but she sort of clung to that hour and a half that lasted the last ride from work to the apartment she shared with Anna, her younger sister. It was there when she could get some time for herself after the long day at work and before she got home to the endless responsibilities that were always waiting for her. More often than not, she spent that time getting some decent sleep; during that hour and a half, she didn’t even remember her own name.

It wasn’t her proudest moment, she admitted: neck bent forward with her head hanging almost lifeless over her chest, long, dark hair covering her face, and eyes firmly closed like her eyelids were glued to each other. She kept her arms wrapped tightly around her to prevent any major incident —like losing her purse to some malicious hands or falling over after losing her balance—, and avoided as much as she could making any kind of contact with the unfortunate occupant of the seat next to her. But other than that, it was actually a refreshing sleep until they arrived to her stop, where she would miraculously wake up from her momentary coma, right on time to climb down of the bus.

Yes, this was her life. Monotonous, boring, draining, and incredibly predictable, so she wasn’t really expecting it to change any time soon, but she was mistaken.

Read more

[anastasiapullingteeth]

Ciudad de México, México

Aquí vivimos, en las calles se cruzan nuestros olores, de sudor y páchuli, de ladrillo nuevo y gas subterráneo, nuestras carnes ociosas y tensas, jamás nuestras miradas. [...] Aquí nos tocó. Qué le vamos a hacer. En la región más transparente del aire.

{La región más transparente, Carlos Fuentes | 📸: anastasiapullingteeth}