Whenever somebody finds out that I am a lesbian, it always garners a mixed bag of reactions. Some people would immediately have this expression on their face like things suddenly clicked into place, while others would have such a huge reaction like they weren’t expecting me to be one. It was sort of understandable, given that I never really… look like a lesbian? Maybe it’s the lack of carabiners.

When I was born, I wasn’t a woman, but a blank canvas. But because of my sex, I was already assigned the role of a woman before I could even pronounce my name. The physician who tended to me likely wondered what kind of husband I would have in the future, and my parents probably speculated how many children I would give birth to someday, even when they only held a creature with no sense of self-identity in their arms.

Off to the right of my peripheral vision was this mysterious orange glow just outside our bedroom door where our altar was. My parents rushed to and from the bathroom and the bedroom door with buckets of what I can only assume was water as I sat on the bed, confused and with no idea of what was going on. It was past midnight, and I was half asleep. Everything seemed like a blur to me. I had not known it yet, but a candle that was not properly put out a few hours ago had just grown into something that we almost could not control.

Housework is the single most significant unpaid labor in all of history. Whether it is appreciated or unnoticed, it remains existent in all households. While the gap is prominent in eastern countries such as China, Japan, South Korea, and Taiwan, with some men reporting that they do zero hours of domestic work, and not so much in western countries such as Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Denmark, where men on average still do household chores yet still lags an hour less than their female partners, the fact remains the same.

I want people here to be familiar with the term “mamimikpik”, it's our native term for potter. Historically, it was used to refer to the notion of a Supreme Deity among the Visayans, as God Himself was reckoned by the ancients as a potter who spinned the proverbial clay to make man.

The next day, I took several “Are you Aromantic?” tests, and most of the results came back positive. However, it was challenging for me to accept it at first. I kept invalidating myself with various “what ifs” like: What if I’m just avoidant? What if I do have commitment issues? What if I’m just bitter towards romantic love which is why I’m so repulsed?