As a queer woman of color, I actually blend in well into the background. I have the privilege of hiding my identity away in a crowd. When you first picture a queer woman of color, you would not picture me. And for that, I’m lucky.
But as a queer woman of color, I am also invisible to fellow queer women of color. I look like I don’t belong with them. And for that, I’m lonely.
I am Asian. Asian-American as a term covers a wide diaspora, yet we are frequently left out of the conversation. We’re so often missing on the graphs about bias, the tables about discrimination, the papers about health disparities. So does that mean we don’t experience them? That’s certainly what I thought growing up. I’m never concerned I’ll be stopped at the airport. Never afraid I’ll be arrested for unfounded reasons. Never worried I’ll die from receiving poor healthcare. No one taught about us in school, so our suffering did not exist. But our names were Westernized to erase our differences and our foods tamed to wipe clean our oddities. Our bodies fetishized and our eyes mocked. We’re still never going to be White. The conversations were never about us. We sit quietly in the corner, watching as our fellow BIPOCs rightly stand up against their oppression. Am I allowed to join them? Is my suffering sufficient? I’m the robot math nerd, the humorless weakling.
I am asexual. Asexual as a term also covers a wide spectrum, but usually the queer acronym is too long and we’re cut off. We’re also usually missing on those same graphs, tables, and papers. So again that must mean we don’t experience those same biases, discriminations, health disparities. Right? I never have to fear about being assaulted on the street for holding hands with a person I love. Never wonder if I’ll be denied service because of the person I’m attracted to. Never worry about which bathroom I can use. I only have to live in this sex-positive world where everyone should love sex. Where we let doctors try to fix us because sex is “fundamentally human.” Where we can be subjected to corrective rape until we “find the one.” But we’ll never be heterosexual. Is Pride even for us? How do we be proud of something we lack? I’m the robot again, the freak show alone.
Sometimes I feel like the straight White man of queer women of color. I don’t have the same entitlement, but I have the same privilege of blending in to today’s society. But I’m still a queer woman of color. And erasure hurts. It leaves me lost, like my existence doesn’t matter. How can I find a chosen family if my options are faking it with the majority or feeling unwelcome by the minority?
Maybe this is tone-deaf, if it is let me know. And for the love of god, if you’re an Asian asexual woman, please scream out your existence.
M.D. M.D. in Training 