By: Tam Nguyen, Staff Writer
I saw S. through the glass window of the restaurant as I walked across the street on a gloomy afternoon. Almond-shaped eyes, long brunette hair, red lipstick, dressed in black from head to toe. First impression: she seemed mysterious and distanced, living up to her dark academia Tinder profile. As the conversation moved forward and S. started to open up, I realized she was a completely different person from her profile. I guess she was still trying to figure herself out. I liked listening to people talking about themselves, however, this date made me feel quite conflicted. She barely asked me any questions about myself. It wasn’t a bad experience, however it struck me that Tinder encouraged people to curate an image of themselves without embodying it. If people try to live up to the image they curated, it feels like nobody is getting a chance to know their date’s authentic self.
Maybe I’d have more luck joining different dating sites, I thought. I tried Bumble and went on a thrifting trip with my new date, K. It was going well until K. made a comment that caught me off guard — saying I spoke English very well for someone who was Vietnamese. I laughed it off at first. She went further by suggesting I should marry a Canadian for citizenship if I wanted to stay after finishing my studies. I wasn’t sure how to respond for a moment, then I decided to point out that it was microaggression. She reacted defensively, as many do when their biases are called out — rather than reflecting she succumbed to white fragility, leading to an uncomfortable and defensive reaction. Existing as a queer person of color, racism and microaggressions are a constant reality, especially within queer spaces dominated by white fragility.
These encounters seem minor but once they add up, they can make you feel isolated in a space where you’re supposed to belong. It’s not easy to balance setting boundaries and maintaining connections with others because most of the time, they don’t mean harm intentionally. But if someone isn’t willing to admit that their behaviors are hurtful and problematic, you probably don’t want to hang around them in the future.
I considered myself a hopeful romantic, so of course I didn’t give up. I deleted both Tinder and Bumble to clear room for Hinge. So there I was, on a Saturday night, sitting next to B. inside a jazz club. It was a nice ambience, and B. was no doubt beautiful. However, she tried to project in me expectations of a man, saying how easier it is to date a masc woman compared to a man, because we are essentially the same, minus the toxic masculinity. In a society dominated by heteronormativity, I wasn’t surprised that people still misunderstand what it means to be in a sapphic relationship.
My dating journey in Vancouver ended that night. For the longest time, I blamed the city for being so expensive and how antisocial people are in real life — I felt forced to turn to dating apps. However, once I hung out with some decent, whose feelings I couldn’t reciprocate, I thought maybe I was the problem. I had a chance to have a good relationship, yet I turned it down. Is it because I’m only attracted to toxic people and deep down, I’m self-destructive and don’t think I deserve any affection? Or because I’m lowkey in love with my best friend and she’s the only one I need? Maybe it’s not that deep and I’m overthinking, but who knows?
Growing up in a country with queerphobic laws and a culture based on homophobic and patriarchal views, being aware of my queerness early in life was not easy. Watching classmates enter heterosexual relationships in highschool, while I struggled to make peace with my sexuality, left me feeling alienated and lonely. I turned to movies and TV shows looking for comfort. Instead I saw unrealistic portrayals of high school romance, which only deepened the FOMO (fear of missing out). This conditioned me to crave love and believe that a relationship would make me feel whole and fulfilled, even with the wrong partner.
It took me a long time to realize how bad my perspective on relationships has been twisted, and I can say that I’m happy on my own. I want to focus on myself and build friendships rather than romantic relationships. If you are going through the same thing, know it’s not your fault the dating scene is horrible, and the right person will come along eventually. One of the best ways to meet new people and maximize your chances in dating is by joining an organization, club, or social movement that aligns with your values and beliefs.
“Just be yourself” sounds cliché, I know, but for me, it means living up to my core values, spending time doing things that matter to me, and fostering relationships with people who value the same things. Activism is where I find my support community and life-long friendships. Good luck on your journey, and remember, take care of yourself first and foremost!
