Words by: Alina Ivanova
Art by: Tessa Cameron

As with any uncertain and overthinking teenager, I knew that if I wanted to know something about myself, I’d self-ruminate to the point that my brain was stewing.

I would ponder on beaches and breathe in sea salt air and boat fumes, thinking about a certain thought. Yet I didn’t go outside at all when that daunting, orienting question jump-scares me.

It was in a Melbourne lockdown, at that awkward age of 14 in an all-girl public school, when I realised I wasn’t straight. And it was clear to me that the only way to know for certain was through an ‘Am I Gay?’ quiz, a YouTube advertisement recommended to me. The algorithm was truly one step ahead!

It was all a laugh at first, but then the questions became serious to me. “Have you ever had feelings for a same-gender close friend?” Yes, no, did I? She’s cute and — “Do you ever fantasise about being with someone of the same gender?” Well, to be fair, there were some days when the thought was so vivid that I couldn’t help but smile while on a video call, but do I?

I answered as honestly as I could, but I wondered why they bothered me, why my answers still felt false, and why these questions didn’t seem to be getting any closer to what I really wanted to be asked. And then, with a click, there it was. The result felt too accurate. “You’re… Pansexual!”. Virtual confetti rained down on the screen.

I did my own research, read every variety of definitions for the tag, and found out that I liked how free it was from gender. How much more it mattered about the content of a person than anything else. Yet, unlike the experience of so many where a tag validates and provides space for you in the world, I felt closed in, abruptly boxed in. Did I dress pansexual? Do I act pansexual?

After realigning, confessing (embarrassingly, but bravely) to my girl best friend, meeting someone else with the same tag, having a new crush at the end of high school, and confirming to myself that I indeed was attracted to intelligence and charm in a human being rather than their gender, the box is now a window. The tag ‘Pansexual’ became just that. A tag. A Myki pass into another part of who I was, but not anything else. It wasn’t everything, it wasn’t the whole of me.

Now, as I near 19 years old, at the end of my teens and heading into my twenties, I see that I’ve grown to be a person where a partner’s gender is an afterthought. And, in the end, all I really care about is if they drink coffee or tea.