Filipino Aromantic and Asexual Stories of Reclamation

Art by @aryenyendesarapen & @aryenready

“And they lived happily ever after…”

Ever since childhood, we’re fed stories of characters and people finding happiness, love, and fulfillment through sex and romance. More than just fairytales, they become blueprints for how we’re expected to live. So when someone says they identify as asexual or aromantic, confusion often follows. Most people struggle to understand how asexuality and aromaticism can still lead to happiness and fulfillment. Their lives imagined in grayscale. But when you actually ask aro and ace individuals what their lives actually look like, a different picture materializes: a life not of emptiness and deficiency but a life of clarity and liberation.

Asexuality and aromanticism describe identities on the spectrums of sexual and romantic attraction. Asexual (ace) people experience little to no sexual attraction while aromantic (aro) people experience little to no romantic attraction. For many, these labels for identity offer language that helps them make sense of themselves. For others, they’re invitations to step outside narrow expectations of society and discover a fuller, freer life.

This is not a story of what’s missing, but of presence. The presence of autonomy, chosen love (romantic or otherwise), purpose, and the personal, radical joy of living a life that doesn’t need to conform to societal standards or mirror anyone else’s.

Reclaiming Desire and Relationships in Your Own Terms

One of the first shifts that happens when someone begins to identify as ace or aro is internal: possibly some sense of release from pressure. Suddenly, the messages that once felt suffocating and smothering (you’ll be complete when you fall in love, sex is essential to connection, or you’ll change your mind someday) begin to lose their grip. 

Many aces and aros describe they may find a feeling of relief in labeling their orientation, not because they stop wanting things, but because they finally know that they don’t need to want. That internal clarity and acceptance of who they are becomes a kind of power. Arien, 20, shares, “As time passed, I figured out that not liking someone was perfectly okay and is much better than pretending or forcing myself to like someone else.”

Whether it’s choosing to live single without guilt, setting firm boundaries in relationships, or skipping traditional romantic “milestones,” aro and ace individuals often find themselves reclaiming a sense of agency over their time, their energy, and their bodies. What might seem “unconventional” from the outside often feels like alignment from within.

From that autonomy comes a new way of valuing connection. When sexual and romantic attraction are no longer treated as the default or the pinnacle of human intimacy, other forms of love (may it be platonic, communal, creative, or something else entirely) can emerge with equal weight. 

Once he de-centered romantic love and sex from the things he found valuable in life, Noli, 32, says “I find that joy in making art, writing, and especially in organizing and political work as a community organizer. There’s heart in those activities—solidarity, connection, meaning—that doesn’t hinge on romance or sex. And that has helped me feel whole on my own terms.”

Love, it turns out, can look like showing up every week for a friend’s chemotherapy, or two people living together for decades without being “a couple,” or building mutual aid networks that hold people through crisis. It can look like care, commitment, and presence without the need for sexual or romantic frames. And when we allow intimacy and connection to take multiple forms, life becomes far more expansive.

In the Philippines: Between Erasure and Emergence

This power to shape one’s life is deeply resonant as well as deeply complicated in the Philippine context. Religion, family expectations, and deeply rooted patriarchal and heteronormative culture often map out a fixed path: courtship, marriage, children, devotion. Not following this path is equal to risk judgment and erasure.

Arien finds the country’s patriarchal structure and gender norms define people by their relationships and marriage, affecting especially those who are born as women. They say, “Women from a young age are expected and  pressured to become mothers and wives when they grow up, only belonging and answering to a husband as she plays the role of a mother.” And when a woman refuses to marry or bear children, they are labelled as “matandang dalaga” or “old maiden.”

Similarly for those born as male, Noli shares that there has always been pressure to "look for a girl," to start a family, and to eventually play the role of the breadwinner husband or father that passes on his family name’s legacy. He further elaborates, “There’s this unspoken assumption that to be a man is to marry, settle down, and provide—and that resisting or deviating from that script is a form of failure, selfishness, or immaturity”

For many aro and ace Filipinos, that erasure begins early and often only gets worse as you approach your adolescent years. There are often no words for what they feel; or rather what they don’t feel. The words “late bloomer” or that “you just haven’t met the right one,” becomes a kind of social script that comes with expectation kkkof compliance.

Still, something is shifting.

More and more Filipinos are finding language that feels right to them and each other. On social media, in forums and discussion, and through progressive organizations and communities, aro and ace stories are being told. Peer support groups are forming, ace and aro flags are appearing at pride marches, and local collectives are beginning to take note.

These acts of identifying yourself, of being seen, and of building even the smallest forms of community are everyday acts of resistance. They are also acts of joy. And while not everyone can come out or live openly, each story chips away at the silence, making it easier for others to breathe.

The Spaces We Make

Asexual and aromantic people continuously make space often in quiet, deliberate ways for lives that don’t follow anyone’s expectations. Beyond personal choices, living unapologetically can be considered as acts of resistance in a society that treats romance and sex as universal goals.

Arien likes to incorporate their values and principles in the things they pursue, mostly in mixed media artworks and the articles they write. They pursue these interests not just as simple hobbies but also as platforms where they can stand up for what they believe in.

Whether it’s choosing not to marry, prioritizing friendships, living alone without shame, or building networks of care outside traditional family structures, these decisions redefine what is considered valid or complete. They assert that there is no single way to live a meaningful life.

The spaces we make, whether they are online communities, shared apartments with friends, or even just the language to describe our experiences, push back against isolation. This isn’t about being “too independent” or anti-relationship. It’s about saying yes to what resonates and no to what doesn’t without shame. More importantly, they show others that opting out of the expected path doesn’t mean opting out of connection, joy, or purpose.

As Noli remarks, “Queer identities like aroace have been bravely named, interpreted, and made visible—often against great resistance. But visibility alone is not enough. The point is to change the very structures that render us invisible, deviant, or broken in the first place.”

By refusing a one-size-fits-all model of intimacy and success, aro and ace people are not withdrawing from the world, they are actively remolding it. And in doing so, they make more room for everyone to live honestly and without apology.