THROUGHOUT THE month of February, traces of romance linger across the Ateneo campus in heart-shaped notes, flowers, and serenades. Yet for some queer students, the fixation on romantic love feels more like quiet exclusion.
Within the Ateneo, norms surrounding queer relationships exist in a delicate balance between progress and restraint. While student-led groups like past gender-advocacy organization Dollhouse and the Sanggunian Commission on Gender Equality have emerged as spaces of belonging, other queer students still deem it difficult to express themselves freely.
Negotiating belonging
Even on a typical campus day, interactions with peers shape queer students’ ideas on inclusion. For instance, Ana*, a student in a same-sex relationship, claims that some students are not as open-minded to queer relationships, which can contribute to a fear of discrimination. She does, however, feel relatively more comfortable expressing her love with her partner on campus compared to spaces beyond it.
Yet, Ana also acknowledges that certain identities remain less visible, as those who identify as asexual and intersex, for example, are still sidelined.
Sociology and Anthropology Department Lecturer Mark Remington Tan notes that distinguishing the two is important: aromanticism is marked by little to no desire for romantic relationships, while asexuality refers to the absence of sexual attraction.
Emma*, a student who identifies as aromantic and asexual, likewise understands aromanticism not as a lack, but as a different configuration of love. She engages in “romantic” gestures within queerplatonic partnerships, wherein love is not devotional.
At the same time, she expresses her annoyance with reto culture, particularly whenever her casual remarks about someone’s appearance are interpreted as signs of attraction. Although she acknowledges when someone is handsome or pretty, friends often respond with attempts at reto.
Such dynamics extend to how Emma discloses her identity. She finds that explaining her orientation can be challenging, as these are less familiar to her peers and require repeated clarification.
Specifically, during Valentine’s Day, Emma often feels set aside as peers prioritize romantic partners in social plans. In her experience, student-led Valentine’s Day and Pride Month initiatives seem to tackle romantic love exclusively and only highlight “mainstream” queer identities, which she believes is counterproductive to the cause.
For Theology Department Instructor Raphael Yabut, this emphasis on romantic love stems from the way Ateneo campus culture has become “centered” around the idea of romantic relationships. “Even in queer relationships, the ideal is a romantic partnership, but there are different forms of love that are out there,” he points out.
Amid this, Emma leverages intentional discussions to help others understand her experiences as an aroace individual. Tan likewise underscores the need to increase funding for queer activities in the Ateneo, as well as the University’s responsibility to raise awareness on queer injustices.
However, in spite of these calls for progress, Ateneans like Emma and Ana continue to navigate and fight for their place within the Ateneo community, especially amid institutional norms that have long stood as Atenean values.
Balancing identity and doctrine
Given the Ateneo’s establishment as a Catholic university, it naturally cultivates values such as love and family in everyday behavior. This is evident in A Theology of Marriage, Family, and Vocation (THEO 13), which reflects teachings on marriage as both a human institution and as a sacrament.
According to Yabut, he uses different experiences of students regarding love to ground THEO 13 course discussions. With this, he mentions keeping an open mind when talking about queer relationships, acknowledging tensions surrounding these experiences and Church teachings.
Ana appreciates this effort to include non-heterosexual relationships. “Whatever you believe in, you will find holiness wherever you are,” she says, believing that there are no fixed rules on what love should be.
Despite this, she voices her frustration in a lesson which framed sexual intercourse as an act that should lead to conception, as this emphasizes heteronormative assumptions of intimacy.
On the other hand, Emma often cannot relate to THEO 13 discussions, especially when some Theology professors are insistent on marriage as an inevitable life path. Because this perspective does not hold any personal significance to her, she admits that it disengages her from discussions.
As a sex-repulsed asexual, Emma also distinguishes between biological arousal and sexual attraction, noting that physical response does not automatically imply desire for sexual connection.
Her experiences reflect implicit concerns about how companionship and sexuality are discussed in classrooms. Tan shares that discussions regarding marriage and sexuality require careful dealing with hetero-, amato-, and allo-normativity perspectives.
He also points out how institutional teachings sometimes focus on gender roles and predetermined life paths that contribute to heteronormative views. As such, his classes tackle how heteronormativity shapes the lives of queer people, encouraging his students to think critically about the overlap between teachings and lived experiences.
These normative expectations continue to extend into students’ realities. In a society that promotes certain forms of companionship as ideal, queer students reveal how many ways of loving continue to take shape in the margins of campus life—persisting, evolving, and waiting to be fully seen.
Inclusion in practice
For students whose ways of loving deviate from the norms, belonging necessitates being recognized in daily interactions. For one, Ana appreciates that professors increasingly include queer communities in their discussions, but notes that some teachings in THEO 13—such as framing sex as an act solely rooted in procreation—can still feel exclusionary.
Yabut admits that bridging faith with gender and sexuality remains an ongoing challenge. While efforts toward gender justice continue, he says that these gaps reflect differing perspectives between students and long-time faculty, emphasizing the need for deeper intergenerational dialogue.
Reflecting on campus visibility and affirmation, Ana says that the University Gender Hub and annual Pride events are meaningful reminders that people like her deserve to be celebrated. Still, Emma hopes that school organizations explore events that focus on love of all kinds, including love for friends or family.
Cultivating a culture of belonging in the University, hence, means valuing the many ways students experience relationships and accommodating more diverse discussions on vocation, family, and companionship.
As Emma puts it, “You don’t have to remove the culture of loving people, but you also have to include the other forms of love that are equally important as romantic love.” Beyond cultural change, she also advocates for more inclusive policies and initiatives on campus that do not merely appease queer people, but create meaningful changes in their lives.
Taken together, these perspectives reveal that inclusion cannot remain symbolic–it must be lived out both systemically and socially. A truly inclusive Ateneo, then, is not defined by a single vision of love but by its willingness to recognize and affirm the many ways care, commitment, and companionship already exist within its community.
*Editor’s Note: The names of the interviewees have been changed to protect their identity and privacy.
