Love, sex, and pride

Love, a word that immediately evokes images of grand romance. For many, it’s the picture of a man standing at an altar and a woman walking down the aisle—a cultural obsession treated as the holy grail of what it means to live a happy and fulfilling life. And sex, known by some as the ultimate pleasure, by others as the greatest sin, and for others still, both definitions simultaneously. It’s impossible to express how loaded these two words are for so many people, myself included.

For a long time, my experience with sexuality as a queer person was one of self-hatred and shame, not helped by having grown up in a Catholic environment where sex, sexual desire, and procreation outside of marriage were considered taboo. More than most other kids, aspirations of finding true love were always on my mind, but these dreams never strayed far off the rules set by Disney movies. Heteronormative love was the only type of love I believed could lead to happiness. Queer love was simply out of the question. And yet, it was only in certain moments—like when that one boy in my class in whom I had taken an inexplicable interest glanced my way and made butterflies erupt in my stomach—that I could understand why so many people held love up like a holy grail. However, still unable to accept my queerness, to take even a sip from the grail in front of me felt tantamount to Eve biting the apple. So, I walked away from my feelings, crushing hope under my heels and leaving a trail of bloody butterfly wings in my wake.

For a long time, I considered sex and desire a curse. In turn it acted as a brimming well of internalized disgust and shame. Love, on the other hand, was more of a cruel practical joke: the ultimate goal of life, something that everyone around me will eventually find while being forever out of my own reach, incompatible with my very design. And I don’t think either of these are uncommon feelings. The struggle with sexual shame and the torment of seemingly incurable lovelessness plagues all of us, each to various degrees, and each for our own reasons. But this pain isn’t by any means all there is to love and sex.

I’ve been on a few dates since coming to accept my queerness, but despite my extensive Tinder history, I’ve still never been in an actual relationship. To be completely honest, I’ve never had sex either and I’m not sure I even ever want to. Still, I’ve come to reconcile the pain that love and sex have caused me with a more hopeful outlook. There is beauty in sex and sexual diversity, in the personal relationships each of us has to sex (or lack thereof), and of the communities and cultures that stand strong around sexuality. And while love can still feel like it’s taunting me at times, I can also finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Because love is not just romance: love is my friends laughing at my jokes over Zoom; love is my mom making an effort to use my chosen name and pronouns; love is taking time for myself and doing things that make me happy without guilt.

In this issue, you’ll see an exploration of the complexities of love and sex, a celebration of those aspects that are joyful or silly, a dissection of the pressures and the struggles, and more beyond. In this issue’s Unravelled story, Associate News Editor Emma Mackenzie provides the rundown on the Divest Vic! campaign. VicPride member Riley Switzman provides an aromantic perspective on love in the Opinions section. In Science, Editorial Assistant Kieran Guimond writes about a number of inspiring queer scientists. In Arts and Culture, Catherine Der proposes polyamory as the solution to love triangles while Baran Seyedi writes about breaking the stigma surrounding sex. Saucy Suzy provides her signature dating advice in Stranded. And Date the Strand is back and better than ever with a special appearance from a couple VicPride members.