There’s something so romantic about the hopelessness of it all. Here are my seven dollars and in exchange I get a tiny band that could bond me to another member of my dispersed, 1%-of -the-population community.
As a casual diver into the #asexuality Tumblr tag and only a recent participant on AVEN, I learned about ace rings only recently. For those who don’t know, asexuality rings are black rings worn on the middle finger of one’s right hand to signify being on the asexual spectrum. They aren’t worn as a sort of awareness initiative but rather to signify the wearer’s sexuality or lack thereof.
My immediate reaction was a sort of exhilaration. A little ring was my gateway ticket to feeling like a part of a larger whole.
As someone who grew up in a very relaxed household, religion was never a large part of my life. Preschool was the best it ever got, complete with grape juice “wine” and songs so dulled down from their original religious meaning that they usually only contained a single, repeated word that had nothing to due with a higher being. (Think of Elmo’s “Fish” song.) While I carried the term atheist around for a bit, the abrasive way in which some of the community promoted itself eventually led me to agnosticism. More importantly, its a better summary of my point of view on the whole matter. I believe in the unexplainable and I enjoy the certainty of uncertainty.
I subsequently never had a religious conflict when facing my asexuality. No, my conflicts mostly surround convincing my mom that she didn’t raise me wrong or that I’m not “closing my options off”. But that’s another story.
All of that aside, I do think that my ace ring flying across the country via Amazon is a neat symbol of faith and asexuality.
While I’m fortunate enough to have a lovely, wonderful ace-spectrum/questioning aro friend, I’ve never met another (out or aware) asexual in my life. My school’s GSA reportedly has one or two but I’ve only heard rumors. For all I know, I might not ever meet another asexual person for another ten years. Perhaps my ring will never attract the slightest of glances. It’s like casting a line into the ocean and for some reason, I have faith that someone will one day, just maybe point it out. A fool’s hope, someone might say, but a little piece of my identity I can wear all the same.
In short: I can’t wait until the package arrives. Cheers.
P.S. With all of the #acediscourse business going on (I’ll save that for another date), does anyone else find it amusing that the allegedly not-queer ace community is adopting a sort of signal system like the handkerchief code from the 1970s?