Whether it’s Clairo, Chappell Roan or girl in red my Spotify knows I’m going through it. With a playlist of 35 songs that spans two hours and four minutes, an absolute wreck dedicated to a girl who isn’t part of my life anymore, it’s safe to say that I’m going through at least three stages of grief.
But I swear it wasn’t always like this. Whenever I would talk with other queer women and their experience of heartbreak, I never used to take it seriously. Which, honestly, was incredibly stupid, because the average WLW situation has more emotional investment and more wreckage than any hetero situation.
Now hear me out: It was the first day of year eight when I walked into the locker bay, and I met this boy who I genuinely thought would be the love of my life. 13-year-old me was absolutely gaslighting herself. Anyway, this mess was on and off for two years leaving me with more baggage than I ever needed. Although we haven’t been in touch, I recently found out that he came out. Whilst there were many things about him that just didn’t sit right with me, I’m glad he can now be himself which, ironically, applies to both of us.
But none of that compares to my experiences with girls. If I had the time, I could write pages on the absolute gut-wrenching experiences I’ve been through, and maybe I just might. I know so many women who have had beautiful, fulfilling relationships with other women. So why can’t that happen to me? Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something. Who knows?
There was this girl in high school, God, she was perfect. She was so smart, beautiful, and kind. Everything about her was perfect until it wasn’t. I wanted it to work. I wanted her to want me the way I wanted her. I walked her home, stayed with her in the library after school, and helped her revise. I made handmade gifts, bought her favorite things, and gave them to her just before the bell rang for the first period. She was clueless about how I felt. Unreciprocated love – that’s what they call it, right? For nearly three years, she was my closest friend and incredibly important to me. We ended up having a falling out and now she has a boyfriend. We haven’t properly spoken for months. I do think It’s quite strange how things turn out, how people you thought would be in your life forever end up as just another viewer on your Instagram story.
Then there was her.
It was my friend’s birthday dinner at Chin Chin – by the way, if you’re looking for incredible Asian fusion, I highly recommend it. But this is where I met her. She sat across from me and I remember being absolutely mesmerised by her dark curls. Her voice dropped every time she spoke to me. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that she would end up being a someone. But I guess that’s why they call it unexpected love – you find it when you’re not even looking.
A month later, we met at another party. I think a part of me knew that there could be something, but I was already dealing with the absence from the girl in high school and I wasn’t ready to start talking to someone. But she had this gift of just knowing when something was off. Eventually I opened up. She just sat there, listened, and hugged me. She made me feel so safe and secure, something that I hadn’t felt in a long time. My brain didn’t even register the possibility that she could see me more than a friend. It wasn’t until last December that I realised – oh shit, I like her. But I was so scared of making a move, I mean what if it ends the same way as it did with the girl from high school? What if she’s not emotionally available? What if I have to play a waiting game? Or what if she is the one? After one month of daily messaging and literally crying myself to sleep I finally got the courage to ask her out which resulted in my first real kiss, it felt like something that came out of a dream.
But in my case all good things seem to come to an end. That’s when I learned that just because you like someone doesn’t mean you’ll end up together. There are so many factors to a relationship, especially when it’s a queer one that must be kept a secret. The thing is secrecy changes everything. It makes you question the realness of the relationship. The constant need to be careful, making sure your texts can’t be interpreted to something more than a friendship, being careful in family settings and eventually it turns lying into second nature, just to be with the person you love, it’s exhausting.
And let’s not even get into the emotional intimacy of constant vigilance that comes with being a secret that makes you wonder if this is even a relationship? Or why am I being hidden? It brings back trauma of internalised homophobia and stress of questioning why it had to be a big deal in the first place. If I like someone, I shouldn’t have to put a label on it. If I like a girl, I like her. That shouldn’t be something to feel guilty about. I should be able to love her loudly, not be kept in the dark.
My relationship shouldn’t have to be a topic of discussion. Who I love is my choice. So why does love have to come from a place of fear? Why does something so deeply personal become subject to the expectations and judgements of others I simply don’t understand.
Whilst this seems to be a recurring theme in queer relationships, it’s something I’m not prepared for.
Liking girls makes me feel like a fool. Here I am always “waiting for the right time” but it never really is the right time. She either sees me as a close friend, isn’t emotionally available, or isn’t out. As I sit in my room, staring at my blank wall with nothing but a 2025 calendar, my phone decides to play Bags or Feel Something by Clairo. Maybe I should just accept that being with a girl is somewhat near impossible. Or at the very least, I should fall for an emotionally available woman next time.
But maybe this is how it needs to be right now. Or maybe I just need to hit the clubs and get drunk. I guess time will tell.
