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New Paper
24-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New Paper
No sex, no problem? What it means to be asexual in Singapore
When Mr Wayn Lau was 16, he began to notice how different he was from his peers. "It was at that age that people were starting to go on their relationship journeys, maybe even doing physical stuff, and I never really understood that," says the now 25-year-old freelance artist. While his classmates experienced crushes and infatuations, what Mr Lau felt was fundamentally different - closer to friendship than romance. "I kind of had a feeling that I wasn't straight, but I didn't really see myself as gay, and being (bisexual) didn't really click either," he adds. For a time, he even immersed himself in romance novels to try to understand what he was missing out on. It was not until he encountered a YouTube video of someone describing what it was like to be "aro-ace" - short for aromantic and asexual - that things clicked into place. Being aromantic refers to experiencing little or no romantic attraction, while being asexual refers to someone who experiences little or no sexual attraction. By age 18, he had found the words to describe his experiences, and now identifies as aro-ace. He is not alone in feeling this way. Singapore's largest community of asexual and aromantic people, who call themselves Aces Going Places, set up in 2016, now counts more than 300 members - though the actual number of asexual or aromantic people is likely to be higher. Love and sex as a "spectrum" To the community, asexuality and aromanticism exist on spectrums and are explained through the "split attraction model" - a model in psychology which posits that romantic and sexual attraction can be separate experiences that do not necessarily align. For instance, someone who has sexual desire but no romantic feelings might identify as aromantic but not asexual. Mr Teng Yong Ping, 39, a public relations consultant who founded Aces Going Places nine years ago, explains: "I am both gay as well as asexual. The gay part is what people would also call homoromantic. I am attracted to guys, but I just don't really feel the need for sex." Mr Teng Yong Ping, holding the asexual flag, started monthly meetups because he was looking for others who shared the same complicated feelings as him. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG This "spectrum" includes other labels, some of which occasionally enter the mainstream. "Demisexual" refers to feeling sexual attraction only after forming a deep emotional bond, and is increasingly used as a descriptor on dating apps, while "greysexual" refers to experiencing sexual attraction rarely or only under specific circumstances. Despite growing awareness of such labels, misunderstandings are common. "When I first started coming out as ace, one of the first friends I told this to told me that I just haven't had good sex yet," says Mr Teng. "You just need to find the right person. How can you not want sex?" "I think that's a very common dismissal of asexuals that a lot of aces encounter, the idea that lacking sexual desire is unnatural, when, actually, it's a normal part of human variation," he adds. Finding words to describe feelings Mr Ang Ming Wei, a PhD candidate at Nanyang Technological University studying relationships and aromanticism, says that as society places a high premium on romantic love and sex, those who identify as aromantic or asexual are often stigmatised. "It is important to recognise that people's intimate needs are naturally diverse for any combination of social, psychological and biological reasons," he says. "The feeling that being aromantic or asexual is abnormal results from social pressures and expectations." Indeed, Mr Lau observes that most aromantic and almost all ace people are confused about their feelings - or lack of - at some point and where they stand. "Most of us would be, because we're brought up in a society where people have this kind of cookie-cutter idea of life," he says. In Singapore and elsewhere, there is a common societal expectation that the arrival of adulthood means a search for love that often results in marriage and children. "Everywhere around you, in movies and TV - even in shows that are action-based or whatnot - there's romance involved," says Mr Lau, who lambasts the frequency at which shows tend to incorporate explicit or implied sex scenes that add nothing to the plot. Such prevailing attitudes mean there are few alternative narratives that shed light on - much less validate - feelings of asexuality or aromanticism. For 29-year-old Lyndon Ang, who uses they/them pronouns and first encountered the term "asexual" in secondary school, the internet was a lifeline to seeking understanding and solidarity. "While people my age were probably exploring both romantically and sexually, I neither had the interest in it nor really thought about it that much," says the community manager at a video game company. Lyndon Ang, holding the asexual flag, says the community has played an important role in helping them come out of their shell. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG Browsing social media platform Tumblr in his late teens introduced him to posts from users discussing what it means to be "ace", as well as content from American non-profit group Asexual Visibility and Education Network, which provided a vocabulary for framing his thoughts and experiences. "That was how I discovered that asexuality is something that is not only valid as an orientation, but is also a budding community," he says. "So in that sense, I wasn't broken, I just happened to be different." Tumblr is a common source of information for asexuals and aromantics. PHOTO: SCREENGRAB FROM TUMBLR Similarly for Ms Li, a 26-year-old software engineer who declines to share her first name, recognition of her asexuality and aromanticism came through a 2022 YouTube video by her favourite American content creator Jaiden Dittfach, also known as "Jaiden Animations". In it, Dittfach reveals she is aro-ace. "The more she told her story, the more I was like, is this not what everyone experiences?" Ms Li recalls thinking. When she sent the video to her friends, none of them found the content relatable. But her own resonance made Ms Li realise that she, too, could be an aro-ace. Ms Li, who declines to share her first name, says it is a misconception that all asexual or aromantic people do not want relationships. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG Although some aces have adopted the practice of wearing a black ring on their right middle finger to identify themselves to one another, the group remains largely invisible both to larger society and one another in everyday life. This lack of identifying markers is one reason many ace communities begin - and thrive - online. "I think aces have always been around since ancient times," says Mr Teng. "But it's easier nowadays for asexuals or aromantics to find one another and to build community with one another. The internet has helped a lot." Not just a youth phenomenon For some others, the realisation of their asexuality comes later in life. Kris, a freelancer in her 50s who declines to share her last name, says: "I wasn't as privileged as the rest to realise my orientation at the age of 18 or 20." Previously married, Kris identifies as biromantic (having romantic feelings towards men and women) and greysexual (someone who rarely experiences sexual attraction). She says growing up in the pre-internet days meant there were few discussions on asexuality and such matters. "I now have to educate the rest of my lesbian friends on what being demi or grey means," she says. She pushes back against the prevalent belief that asexuality and aromanticism are modern phenomena primarily experienced by the young. She argues that the older generation simply did not have the same access to information and vocabulary to express what they were feeling. "When I connected with people who were my age, I was so happy," she recounts of meeting others in their 40s and 50s at a recent Aces Going Places meetup. She adds that she has since reconsidered her previously held view that these labels are unnecessary. Embracing these newfangled labels shows that self-discovery can occur at all stages of life "regardless of age", she says. Misunderstood by society As a largely invisible minority, common misconceptions plague asexuals and aromantics. When they come out to non-asexual and non-aromantic friends and family, the younger ones tend to be more accepting, but many still incorrectly conflate asexuality with celibacy or prudishness. Others assume they are repressed or missing out. "Part of the problem is that the ace and aro spectrums are spectrums," says Mr Teng. "It's complex. I don't really blame people because it's hard to wrap your head around if it's something you've never heard of." It is fine to ask questions if you are curious to know more, he says. However, community members tend to push back against invasive questions about sex drive or assumptions of inadequacy in the romance department. Mr Wayn Lau says society often incorrectly assumes that those who are asexual or aromantic are missing out. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG Observing the most common reactions, Mr Lau says: "Some people assume that ace people are just gay people who are still oppressing themselves, or they think that ace people are just straight people who want to feel special. "Or they assume that aces or aro people lack emotions - like you don't feel anything. But you can feel emotional bonds in different ways. It doesn't have to be of romantic or sexual origins." He recalls being advised by a therapist to seek a polyclinic referral to a sleep clinic for his insomnia. He was 17 at the time and mentioned he was aromantic and asexual in response to the polyclinic doctor's questions about his personal life. After this disclosure, the doctor referred him to a psychiatrist for "psychosexual dysfunction" - something that the psychiatrist he went on to see thoroughly debunked. This routinely happens, says Mr Lau, who notes that others in his community have also experienced therapists or doctors telling them asexuality is unnatural and treating it as a condition to "recover" from. "I have known aro-ace people who say they are afraid of opening up to their medical professionals about being aro-ace because they're scared of stuff like that," he adds. Dr Kenneth Tan, an assistant professor of psychology at the Singapore Management University, points to research that estimates around 1 per cent of the population reports no sexual attraction whatsoever. Asexuality and aromanticism are distinct from each other, with aromanticism remaining most understudied. Dr Tan adds that past research in psychology indicates that asexuality should not be "pathologised" (treated as an illness) as there is no impairment to daily life, and being asexual does not result from trauma. "Instead, distress might arise from the stigma of having a minority identity and might explain feelings of loneliness and alienation from others," he says. "Interestingly, emerging research highlights how support for asexuals can be linked to higher life satisfaction." Different kinds of relationships Another mistaken notion is that aromantic and asexual people cannot develop meaningful bonds with others, or tend to avoid relationships entirely. Ms Li, who identifies as aro-ace, has been in a relationship with her boyfriend for 1½ years. The couple, who have known each other since secondary school, successfully applied for a Build-To-Order flat a few months into their relationship. Although she says she does not feel attracted to her partner sexually or romantically, they both value companionship, friendship and mutual trust - the same attributes that keep other healthy relationships going. She argues that even in heterosexual relationships, bonds are not built solely on sexual attraction or romantic feelings. "You can also have kids or want to have kids when you're asexual or aromantic," she says, adding that she plans to have kids after marriage. When Aces Going Places began in 2016 under a different name, its monthly meetups drew fewer than 10 attendees. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG Because of the constant "emotional labour" of having to explain oneself to others, groups such as Aces Going Places offer a rare reprieve to members of the asexual and aromantic community. "Sometimes it's nice to be in an environment where you don't have to keep explaining your identity to people - most people already understand," says Mr Lau. While many of Aces Going Places' members joined the group in search of solidarity and to meet new friends, participants agree that its most defining feature is its makan sessions. Monthly meetups typically feature overflowing potlucks (often involving pizza and cake), as well as board games and karaoke. These usually take place at Proud Spaces, a community centre in Alexandra Road, with 20 to 50 members attending each time. Online, more than 300 members participate regularly on the social media platform Discord. "The running joke is that aces would rather eat nice food than have sex," says Mr Teng. Looking back, he recalls the group's humble beginnings in 2016, when he started the group SG Asexuals on the social media platform Then, the gatherings he organised saw fewer than five members each month. "I still remember the first meeting at TCC Cafe in Orchard Road. There were just three of us, including me," he says. The community remained small until 2022. That was the first year the group secured a booth at Pink Dot's community tent for LGBTQ+ organisations. Asexual and aromantic people generally consider themselves as part of the broader queer community. "In a picnic meetup right after Pink Dot, I thought, 'Wow, 12 people. Our biggest meetup ever,'" recalls Mr Teng with a chortle. "And now, we regularly have more than 30." For the members, the growing visibility has helped. An Aces Going Places mooncake potluck event in 2024. PHOTO: ACES GOING PLACES Lyndon recalls an encounter at the 2022 Pink Dot when a Chinese man in his 50s tentatively approached the Aces Going Places booth. After Lyndon explained to him in Mandarin what the community represented and handed him an asexual flag, the man burst into tears. "He said that was the first time he'd heard this term spoken to him that fit him so well," recalls Lyndon. Ms Li first found the group at Pink Dot in 2023, and says that attending her first Aces Going Places meetup was "mind-blowing". "It was the first time I saw so many aces in the same room," she says, recalling that around 30 were present. "It kind of felt like maybe I had a fake identity before I came here, like I didn't think it was real. It felt so validating to see so many other aces who share the same experiences." Being part of the group also helped her loved ones understand her identity better. Aces Going Places allows members to bring guests who do not identify as asexual or aromantic. "It's easier to introduce my partner to how I feel by showing him this small part of my world," she adds. For Ms Li, the most important achievement of the group is affirming that nobody is alone in his or her experiences. "We exist. We look invisible, but we're normal people. We're just regular people walking around, nothing special," she says.
Straits Times
24-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Straits Times
No sex, no problem? What it means to be asexual in Singapore
Members of Aces Going Places say society often misunderstands what it means to be asexual or aromantic. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG No sex, no problem? What it means to be asexual in Singapore SINGAPORE – When Mr Wayn Lau was 16, he began to notice how different he was from his peers. 'It was at that age that people were starting to go on their relationship journeys, maybe even doing physical stuff, and I never really understood that,' says the now 25-year-old freelance artist. While his classmates experienced crushes and infatuations, what Mr Lau felt was fundamentally different – closer to friendship than romance. 'I kind of had a feeling that I wasn't straight, but I didn't really see myself as gay, and being (bisexual) didn't really click either,' he adds. For a time, he even immersed himself in romance novels to try to understand what he was missing out on. It was not until he encountered a YouTube video of someone describing what it was like to be 'aro-ace' – short for aromantic and asexual – that things clicked into place. Being aromantic refers to experiencing little or no romantic attraction, while being asexual refers to someone who experiences little or no sexual attraction. By age 18, he had found the words to describe his experiences, and now identifies as aro-ace. He is not alone in feeling this way. Singapore's largest community of asexual and aromantic people, who call themselves Aces Going Places, set up in 2016, now counts more than 300 members – though the actual number of asexual or aromantic people is likely to be higher. Love and sex as a 'spectrum' To the community, asexuality and aromanticism exist on spectrums and are explained through the 'split attraction model' – a model in psychology which posits that romantic and sexual attraction can be separate experiences that do not necessarily align. For instance, someone who has sexual desire but no romantic feelings might identify as aromantic but not asexual. Mr Teng Yong Ping, 39, a public relations consultant who founded Aces Going Places nine years ago, explains: 'I am both gay as well as asexual. The gay part is what people would also call homoromantic. I am attracted to guys, but I just don't really feel the need for sex.' Mr Teng Yong Ping, holding the asexual flag, started monthly meetups because he was looking for others who shared the same complicated feelings as him. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG This 'spectrum' includes other labels, some of which occasionally enter the mainstream. 'Demisexual' refers to feeling sexual attraction only after forming a deep emotional bond, and is increasingly used as a descriptor on dating apps, while 'greysexual' refers to experiencing sexual attraction rarely or only under specific circumstances. Despite growing awareness of such labels, misunderstandings are common. 'When I first started coming out as ace, one of the first friends I told this to told me that I just haven't had good sex yet,' says Mr Teng. 'You just need to find the right person. How can you not want sex?' 'I think that's a very common dismissal of asexuals that a lot of aces encounter, the idea that lacking sexual desire is unnatural, when, actually, it's a normal part of human variation,' he adds. Finding words to describe feelings Mr Ang Ming Wei, a PhD candidate at Nanyang Technological University studying relationships and aromanticism, says that as society places a high premium on romantic love and sex, those who identify as aromantic or asexual are often stigmatised. 'It is important to recognise that people's intimate needs are naturally diverse for any combination of social, psychological and biological reasons,' he says. 'The feeling that being aromantic or asexual is abnormal results from social pressures and expectations.' Indeed, Mr Lau observes that most aromantic and almost all ace people are confused about their feelings – or lack of – at some point and where they stand. 'Most of us would be, because we're brought up in a society where people have this kind of cookie-cutter idea of life,' he says. In Singapore and elsewhere, there is a common societal expectation that the arrival of adulthood means a search for love that often results in marriage and children. 'Everywhere around you, in movies and TV – even in shows that are action-based or whatnot – there's romance involved,' says Mr Lau, who lambasts the frequency at which shows tend to incorporate explicit or implied sex scenes that add nothing to the plot. Such prevailing attitudes mean there are few alternative narratives that shed light on – much less validate – feelings of asexuality or aromanticism. For 29-year-old Lyndon Ang, who uses they/them pronouns and first encountered the term 'asexual' in secondary school, the internet was a lifeline to seeking understanding and solidarity. 'While people my age were probably exploring both romantically and sexually, I neither had the interest in it nor really thought about it that much,' says the community manager at a video game company. Lyndon Ang, holding the asexual flag, says the community has played an important role in helping them come out of their shell. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG Browsing social media platform Tumblr in his late teens introduced him to posts from users discussing what it means to be 'ace', as well as content from American non-profit group Asexual Visibility and Education Network, which provided a vocabulary for framing his thoughts and experiences. 'That was how I discovered that asexuality is something that is not only valid as an orientation, but is also a budding community,' he says. 'So in that sense, I wasn't broken, I just happened to be different.' Tumblr is a common source of information for asexuals and aromantics. PHOTO: SCREENGRAB FROM TUMBLR Similarly for Ms Li, a 26-year-old software engineer who declines to share her first name, recognition of her asexuality and aromanticism came through a 2022 YouTube video by her favourite American content creator Jaiden Dittfach, also known as 'Jaiden Animations'. In it, Dittfach reveals she is aro-ace. 'The more she told her story, the more I was like, is this not what everyone experiences?' Ms Li recalls thinking. When she sent the video to her friends, none of them found the content relatable. But her own resonance made Ms Li realise that she, too, could be an aro-ace. Ms Li, who declines to share her first name, says it is a misconception that all asexual or aromantic people do not want relationships. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG Although some aces have adopted the practice of wearing a black ring on their right middle finger to identify themselves to one another , the group remains largely invisible both to larger society and one another in everyday life. This lack of identifying markers is one reason many ace communities begin – and thrive – online. 'I think aces have always been around since ancient times,' says Mr Teng. 'But it's easier nowadays for asexuals or aromantics to find one another and to build community with one another. The internet has helped a lot.' Not just a youth phenomenon For some others, the realisation of their asexuality comes later in life. Kris, a freelancer in her 50s who declines to share her last name, says: 'I wasn't as privileged as the rest to realise my orientation at the age of 18 or 20.' Previously married, Kris identifies as biromantic (having romantic feelings towards men and women) and greysexual (someone who rarely experiences sexual attraction). She says growing up in the pre-internet days meant there were few discussions on asexuality and such matters. 'I now have to educate the rest of my lesbian friends on what being demi or grey means,' she says. She pushes back against the prevalent belief that asexuality and aromanticism are modern phenomena primarily experienced by the young. She argues that the older generation simply did not have the same access to information and vocabulary to express what they were feeling. 'When I connected with people who were my age, I was so happy,' she recounts of meeting others in their 40s and 50s at a recent Aces Going Places meetup. She adds that she has since reconsidered her previously held view that these labels are unnecessary. Embracing these newfangled labels shows that self-discovery can occur at all stages of life 'regardless of age', she says. Misunderstood by society As a largely invisible minority, common misconceptions plague asexuals and aromantics. When they come out to non-asexual and non-aromantic friends and family, the younger ones tend to be more accepting, but many still incorrectly conflate asexuality with celibacy or prudishness. Others assume they are repressed or missing out. 'Part of the problem is that the ace and aro spectrums are spectrums,' says Mr Teng. 'It's complex. I don't really blame people because it's hard to wrap your head around if it's something you've never heard of.' It is fine to ask questions if you are curious to know more, he says. However, community members tend to push back against invasive questions about sex drive or assumptions of inadequacy in the romance department. Mr Wayn Lau says society often incorrectly assumes that those who are asexual or aromantic are missing out. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG Observing the most common reactions, Mr Lau says: 'Some people assume that ace people are just gay people who are still oppressing themselves, or they think that ace people are just straight people who want to feel special. 'Or they assume that aces or aro people lack emotions – like you don't feel anything. But you can feel emotional bonds in different ways. It doesn't have to be of romantic or sexual origins.' He recalls being advised by a therapist to seek a polyclinic referral to a sleep clinic for his insomnia. He was 17 at the time and mentioned he was aromantic and asexual in response to the polyclinic doctor's questions about his personal life. After this disclosure, the doctor referred him to a psychiatrist for 'psychosexual dysfunction' – something that the psychiatrist he went on to see thoroughly debunked. This routinely happens, says Mr Lau, who notes that others in his community have also experienced therapists or doctors telling them asexuality is unnatural and treating it as a condition to 'recover' from. 'I have known aro-ace people who say they are afraid of opening up to their medical professionals about being aro-ace because they're scared of stuff like that,' he adds. Dr Kenneth Tan, an assistant professor of psychology at the Singapore Management University, points to research that estimates around 1 per cent of the population reports no sexual attraction whatsoever. Asexuality and aromanticism are distinct from each other, with aromanticism remaining most understudied. Dr Tan adds that past research in psychology indicates that asexuality should not be 'pathologised' (treated as an illness) as there is no impairment to daily life, and being asexual does not result from trauma. 'Instead, distress might arise from the stigma of having a minority identity and might explain feelings of loneliness and alienation from others,' he says. 'Interestingly, emerging research highlights how support for asexuals can be linked to higher life satisfaction.' Different kinds of relationships Another mistaken notion is that aromantic and asexual people cannot develop meaningful bonds with others, or tend to avoid relationships entirely. Ms Li, who identifies as aro-ace, has been in a relationship with her boyfriend for 1½ years . The couple, who have known each other since secondary school, successfully applied for a Build-To-Order flat a few months into their relationship. Although she says she does not feel attracted to her partner sexually or romantically, they both value companionship, friendship and mutual trust – the same attributes that keep other healthy relationships going. She argues that even in heterosexual relationships, bonds are not built solely on sexual attraction or romantic feelings. 'You can also have kids or want to have kids when you're asexual or aromantic,' she says, adding that she plans to have kids after marriage. When Aces Going Places began in 2016 under a different name, its monthly meetups drew fewer than 10 attendees. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG Because of the constant 'emotional labour' of having to explain oneself to others, groups such as Aces Going Places offer a rare reprieve to members of the asexual and aromantic community. 'Sometimes it's nice to be in an environment where you don't have to keep explaining your identity to people – most people already understand,' says Mr Lau. While many of Aces Going Places' members joined the group in search of solidarity and to meet new friends, participants agree that its most defining feature is its makan sessions. Monthly meetups typically feature overflowing potlucks (often involving pizza and cake), as well as board games and karaoke. These usually take place at Proud Spaces, a community centre in Alexandra Road, with 20 to 50 members attending each time. Online, more than 300 members participate regularly on the social media platform Discord. 'The running joke is that aces would rather eat nice food than have sex,' says Mr Teng. Looking back , he recalls the group's humble beginnings in 2016, when he started the group SG Asexuals on the social media platform Then, the gatherings he organised saw fewer than five members each month. 'I still remember the first meeting at TCC Cafe in Orchard Road. There were just three of us, including me,' he says. The community remained small until 2022. That was the first year the group secured a booth at Pink Dot's community tent for LGBTQ+ organisations. Asexual and aromantic people generally consider themselves as part of the broader queer community. 'In a picnic meetup right after Pink Dot, I thought, 'Wow, 12 people. Our biggest meetup ever,'' recalls Mr Teng with a chortle. 'And now, we regularly have more than 30.' For the members, the growing visibility has helped. An Aces Going Places mooncake potluck event in 2024. PHOTO: ACES GOING PLACES Lyndon recalls an encounter at the 2022 Pink Dot when a Chinese man in his 50s tentatively approached the Aces Going Places booth. After Lyndon explained to him in Mandarin what the community represented and handed him an asexual flag, the man burst into tears. 'He said that was the first time he'd heard this term spoken to him that fit him so well,' recalls Lyndon. Ms Li first found the group at Pink Dot in 2023, and says that attending her first Aces Going Places meetup was 'mind-blowing'. 'It was the first time I saw so many aces in the same room,' she says, recalling that around 30 were present. 'It kind of felt like maybe I had a fake identity before I came here, like I didn't think it was real. It felt so validating to see so many other aces who share the same experiences.' Being part of the group also helped her loved ones understand her identity better. Aces Going Places allows members to bring guests who do not identify as asexual or aromantic. 'It's easier to introduce my partner to how I feel by showing him this small part of my world,' she adds. For Ms Li, the most important achievement of the group is affirming that nobody is alone in his or her experiences. 'We exist. We look invisible, but we're normal people. We're just regular people walking around, nothing special,' she says. Join ST's WhatsApp Channel and get the latest news and must-reads.
