The abundance of labels used to confuse me. I thought that the rainbow pride flag was inclusive enough: the multiple colors were supposed to represent the variety of sexual orientations and gender expressions. There seemed to me no need to have other flags or terms aside from the 4 letters we already had. L, G, B, and T might already have encompassed all available variations. It appeared to be merely common sense to be “demisexual” — after all, don’t people really have sexual attraction with someone after they’ve had some kind of emotional connection? It also makes sense for someone to be naturally “sapiosexual” — after all, we only like people who are on the same wavelength as us. Asexuality is itself a spectrum: from “iamvanosexual” to “lithosexual” and “fraysexual.” And honestly, what is the point of differentiating “polysexual” from “pansexual?” All of it seemed to only add confusion to something straightforward.
So, I used to believe that there was no need for redundant terms or too many flags, but after attending a sensitivity training given by a group of gender advocates, I was convinced to look at it in another way. They asked me to consider that there are people are only discovering their sexualities now, and it is important that those people have a choice of terms to decide which was best to identify themselves with. These labels are handles for people to hold on to: they are valid and unique expressions of being human. Furthermore, these labels have helped raise awareness about social issues that plague particular groups of people: labels make complex issues easier to categorize and comprehend. This is also why I now think that the different flags are useful. Communities that have long been invisible, like the bisexual community, need a symbol that says, “I am here, and I have the right to be noticed!” (READ: [PODCAST] I've Got An Opinion: Bisexuals are super misunderstood)
But one night I was talking to a friend who worked with vulnerable communities, and she exposed another angle to this issue. She said, “Having multiple micro-labels is definitely a class-related thing. You don’t hear someone living in the poverty using ‘demisexual’ to refer to themselves, do you?”
I never thought about it that way. The abundance of the more niche labels seems to be for people with the privilege to choose what they want to be, people who have the time to figure out where they fall on the spectrum. Most people don’t have the time to decide whether they are anything. In the face of hunger and economic instability, making a big deal about labels seems to be the least of their worries. Besides, we already have convenient, widely-used colloquial terms that better describe local expressions of sexuality. The term “halaman” for example, which might as well be an offensively rough translation of “asexual,” is easier to use. People know what it means: “halaman” refers to someone who, like a plant, is not attracted to anyone and doesn’t see themselves in a relationship with another human being. Also, there are better representations of bisexuality — or more accurately, bi-curiosity — using local terms: the term “patola,” for example, refers to “straight” men who, once in a while, engage in homosexual activities. It is, however, a problematic word, as it implies that the activity is a favor to someone beneath them. But that is a discussion for another time. All labels carry baggage that some people would just rather not associate with, and though this may sometimes be a sign of hesitance to embrace struggle, it could also be seen as an assertion of one’s agency, or capacity to make choices. (READ: [OPINION] Who is afraid to mess with the 'bakla?')
All that being said, I admit I’m not an expert in any of this. These are only amateur observations of culture, not serious academic theories. I do understand, however, that context matters, and in the case of labels, it is important to use the language that the person understands. I myself struggle to find the term that best describes me. I’ve long accepted that I’m not absolutely straight. Though many people have closed their minds, or are repulsed by the idea, I feel like we all should leave room for some curiosity. One can, after all, find beauty in anyone — not everyone, though, as we do have our preferences, usually shaped by our childhood. (That, again, is a discussion for another time.)
I’ve been affectionate with people of all genders: I suppose that’s just the way I was raised. I currently have a girlfriend but I have expressed the same romantic tenderness towards guys. This, I think is natural. It’s easy to like people who like you too, especially when you find them cute. Also, some people won’t like this, but I fully relate to the statement, “I like you as a person; you just happen to be born a certain way.” I guess nobody can tell me I’m wrong here, because that’s how I feel: and since we’re all just finding a handle to hold on to as we figure out who we are, we must be open to the idea that a person’s journey towards self-understanding may be different from another person’s.
To some people, labels are important. I understand why there are so many labels people can choose from, and I understand why some terms come easier because of socialization. I also understand that other people prefer not to label themselves and merely enjoy the formlessness of human expression: we are one thing one day, and another the next. We like people as they are; they just happen to be born a certain way. No doubt some people will find it easy to label what I am, and surely that depends on their context, but I would honestly prefer that they do not presume to understand me. I don’t fully understand myself either, so how could they? Besides, do I have to label myself to have an identity? – Rappler.com
Carl Cervantes is grad student who makes zines. He posts his art on Instagram and his other essays on Medium.