I'm finally home after a 9 hour shift at work. I feel tired, yet serene. 2014 has had its share of ups and downs, and on the whole, I would say it has been a good year.
Despite the fact that my job doesn't really fit me, I have somehow managed to do it the best I could. I know my employer is happy with me, and I get the feeling he'd be sorry to see me go. I may not be able to fulfil all of the duties that come with the post, but he appreciates some other qualities I bring to the job - such as being able to deal with foreign customers! I get called whenever someone in the shop needs something but can't speak French, and most of the time, I manage (even though my Dutch is sketchy at best).
I have some truly lovely customers, like the lady who offered to drive me home when I was feeling very ill, or the one who gave me a 5-euro voucher "to thank me for my kindness and helpfulness".
Nicholas and I are really happy together. Our relationship is growing strong and committed. I feel extremely blessed: he is a kind, considerate and funny man; and we communicate very well.
2014 has also been a year of spiritual growth - delving deeper into the complexities of faith, the Bible, the person of Jesus and what a living relationship with him implies. I have joined an online faith community that I really value.
At some point in the past year, I set myself some goals. There were as follows:
- Pass my driving license. Done! It was a tedious and at times frightening process, but now I drive on my own and my confidence grows every day.
- Set myself up as a freelance translator. All the paperwork is sorted, but I really struggle to find customers. On the other hand, I have a lot of requests for private tuition in English, and maybe that is a better avenue to explore in 2015!
- Start saving up into a pension fund: done, after years of telling myself, "I really ought to do this!"
- Keep working on the stories I have started writing. Unfortunately, I have made little progress with this. However, I have set up two blogs that I update regularly, and I really enjoy blog writing.
So what would I like to achieve in 2015?
I would really like to find a new job. I need to set myself smart targets for this to work out: specific, measurable, achievable, realistic, and timely. So at some point in January, I will sit down and translate this into a practical plan.
I want to keep writing, and especially, write in French on the subject of autism and Asperger's (which is the theme of my other blog, written in French).
And of course, I would like all my relationships to keep growing strong and healthy: Nicholas, my family, my close friends, and God.
I feel positive about 2014, and also about 2015. Bring it on!
Musings is a pretty word. So here are the musings of an Aspergirl with a love of life, a passion for stories, and an ongoing faith journey.
Wednesday 31 December 2014
Friday 26 December 2014
What is church for, anyway?
Possibly the most significant aspect of my life is faith.
I told elsewhere how I came to it, and why I still believe despite going through hard times and wrestling with difficult questions. Faith is my breath of life; it's what motivates me, keeps me going, challenges me. It runs through my veins.
When talking about the Christian faith, soon enough the question of church comes into play. Is it compulsory? Is it useful?
When I first became a Christian, going to church was a normal part of my life. The reason for this was simple: it was my main social circle as an expatriate. When I went back to Belgium, I joined a church with my mother and joined a student Bible study group at university.
Back then, I thought church had two main uses: worship and teaching. I love singing as a form of expression, and worship songs enable me to express my faith and my love for God. Then there was the teaching: church was the main place where I could learn about Jesus, God, the Bible, and how I should live my life. This latter aspect seemed very important back then - preachers spent a lot of time telling you how to interpret what the Bible says about how you should live and what you should believe. I took it all in and strove to live up to it - usually not very successfully, but that's the topic of another post.
The community aspect of it was more complicated for me. I guess most people find it easy to mingle with similar-minded people. In my case, it's a little different. I need structure. If I can join a Bible study/discussion group, it usually works out. The purpose is clear: I know what to do, I love asking questions, learning, enquiring, throwing ideas around. The tricky time is on Sundays, right after the service has ended. People form loose groups and make small talk, and I never quite know what to do. I linger around, flick through some books, and try to find someone I know who isn't busy chatting to someone else. Most of the time I feel uncomfortable. I know now that this is because of my autism, but I didn't know that back then.
At some point in my life, I struggled with depression. That is when church and I started to have our issues. Church wasn't there for me in my time of trial. So I wasn't there for church, either.
Eventually, though, I overcame depression - and one significant aspect was that I found a church that helped me. Did it help me through teaching or worship? Nope. It helped me through community. They welcomed me in very practical ways: inviting me over for Sunday lunch or just for a cup of tea, offering genuine friendship, and supporting me in my struggles without judging me.
Since then, I have thought and read a lot about the concept of church.
The French word for church, "église", comes from the greek word ἐκκλησία (ekklesia), meaning "assembly".
I feel that is what church really is.
Church is not primarily a building. Church is not primarily a place of worship or teaching. Church is a community of people. My friend Mike put very simply what those people have in common: "Ordinary people who know someone extraordinary". We believe - trust in - Jesus.
Another one of my friends, Robert, wrote about the hypocrisy of those who think coming to the Sunday service is enough. I tend to agree with him. Sunday service is not enough. A church I used to attend closed its service with those words: "The worship has ended, let the service begin".
Church is solidarity. Church is organising a Christmas meal for those in your neighbourhood who would otherwise spend that day alone. Church is ringing up someone who is going through tough shit, and listen to them ranting without interrupting them with unasked-for advice or trite words of wisdom such as, "God only gives you as much as you can handle". Church is supporting people and people supporting you; people helping you to grow in faith and in love, to grow into the person God intended you to be.
This is why I still go to church, even though I don't always agree with the teachings, or the songs are not as inspiring as I'd like: because of the people. Because they're my community, my family, warts and all.
Whenever you are kind to someone, whenever you lend a helping hand, whenever you pray for someone: you are church. Whenever you stand up against injustice and speak up for those who are suffering: you are church. Whenever you get together for support, you are church. Whenever you do all this, and you do it because of Jesus, you are church.
It is so much more than a Sunday thing.
I told elsewhere how I came to it, and why I still believe despite going through hard times and wrestling with difficult questions. Faith is my breath of life; it's what motivates me, keeps me going, challenges me. It runs through my veins.
When talking about the Christian faith, soon enough the question of church comes into play. Is it compulsory? Is it useful?
When I first became a Christian, going to church was a normal part of my life. The reason for this was simple: it was my main social circle as an expatriate. When I went back to Belgium, I joined a church with my mother and joined a student Bible study group at university.
Back then, I thought church had two main uses: worship and teaching. I love singing as a form of expression, and worship songs enable me to express my faith and my love for God. Then there was the teaching: church was the main place where I could learn about Jesus, God, the Bible, and how I should live my life. This latter aspect seemed very important back then - preachers spent a lot of time telling you how to interpret what the Bible says about how you should live and what you should believe. I took it all in and strove to live up to it - usually not very successfully, but that's the topic of another post.
The community aspect of it was more complicated for me. I guess most people find it easy to mingle with similar-minded people. In my case, it's a little different. I need structure. If I can join a Bible study/discussion group, it usually works out. The purpose is clear: I know what to do, I love asking questions, learning, enquiring, throwing ideas around. The tricky time is on Sundays, right after the service has ended. People form loose groups and make small talk, and I never quite know what to do. I linger around, flick through some books, and try to find someone I know who isn't busy chatting to someone else. Most of the time I feel uncomfortable. I know now that this is because of my autism, but I didn't know that back then.
At some point in my life, I struggled with depression. That is when church and I started to have our issues. Church wasn't there for me in my time of trial. So I wasn't there for church, either.
Eventually, though, I overcame depression - and one significant aspect was that I found a church that helped me. Did it help me through teaching or worship? Nope. It helped me through community. They welcomed me in very practical ways: inviting me over for Sunday lunch or just for a cup of tea, offering genuine friendship, and supporting me in my struggles without judging me.
Since then, I have thought and read a lot about the concept of church.
The French word for church, "église", comes from the greek word ἐκκλησία (ekklesia), meaning "assembly".
I feel that is what church really is.
Church is not primarily a building. Church is not primarily a place of worship or teaching. Church is a community of people. My friend Mike put very simply what those people have in common: "Ordinary people who know someone extraordinary". We believe - trust in - Jesus.
Another one of my friends, Robert, wrote about the hypocrisy of those who think coming to the Sunday service is enough. I tend to agree with him. Sunday service is not enough. A church I used to attend closed its service with those words: "The worship has ended, let the service begin".
Church is solidarity. Church is organising a Christmas meal for those in your neighbourhood who would otherwise spend that day alone. Church is ringing up someone who is going through tough shit, and listen to them ranting without interrupting them with unasked-for advice or trite words of wisdom such as, "God only gives you as much as you can handle". Church is supporting people and people supporting you; people helping you to grow in faith and in love, to grow into the person God intended you to be.
This is why I still go to church, even though I don't always agree with the teachings, or the songs are not as inspiring as I'd like: because of the people. Because they're my community, my family, warts and all.
Whenever you are kind to someone, whenever you lend a helping hand, whenever you pray for someone: you are church. Whenever you stand up against injustice and speak up for those who are suffering: you are church. Whenever you get together for support, you are church. Whenever you do all this, and you do it because of Jesus, you are church.
It is so much more than a Sunday thing.
Thursday 25 December 2014
Christmas
I guess I could write a long post about what Christmas is really all about. The incarnation, and/or love, peace, sharing, all of that.
But you know, lots of people have already written brilliantly about that.
So I'm just going to wish you all, my beloved readers, a fun, joyous, lovely Christmas. Enjoy your day, enjoy the winter holidays and time with your loved ones.
Merry Christmas everybody!
But you know, lots of people have already written brilliantly about that.
So I'm just going to wish you all, my beloved readers, a fun, joyous, lovely Christmas. Enjoy your day, enjoy the winter holidays and time with your loved ones.
Merry Christmas everybody!
Monday 22 December 2014
A chilly feel of 1933?
The Belgian Immigration office would like to be able to search people's homes without a warrant if they suspect they might harbour "illegal" immigrants. Theo Francken, the Immigration Minister, is looking into making this legal. Francken is from a party called N-VA (Nieuw-Vlaamse Alliantie - New Flemish Alliance), a Flemish nationalist and conservative party.
Such disregard for people's fundamental rights, violating their very home, terrifies me. Is my country governed by fascists?
I can only recall Martin Niemöller's words:
Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.
Such disregard for people's fundamental rights, violating their very home, terrifies me. Is my country governed by fascists?
I can only recall Martin Niemöller's words:
First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.
Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.
Monday 15 December 2014
Meltdown
Today, I had a meltdown on may way home.
Nothing happened in particular.
I'm just so sick and tired of my job, of feeling cold all the time, of the constant noise, and of having to constantly wear my "kind and polite supermarket employee" mask when people irritate the hell out of me with their familiarity, their rudeness, their mean-spirited "humour".
I try so hard to look at the positive and to be grateful, knowing full well that there are far worst jobs, and that some people in the world are being exploited and enslaved, and that others struggle to find work. I try. I really do.
But on days like today I just hate it, hate it, hate it; and I guess it's healthier to aknowledge that, than pretend I'm OK.
So I cried and vented and ranted.
And tomorrow... is another day.
Nothing happened in particular.
I'm just so sick and tired of my job, of feeling cold all the time, of the constant noise, and of having to constantly wear my "kind and polite supermarket employee" mask when people irritate the hell out of me with their familiarity, their rudeness, their mean-spirited "humour".
I try so hard to look at the positive and to be grateful, knowing full well that there are far worst jobs, and that some people in the world are being exploited and enslaved, and that others struggle to find work. I try. I really do.
But on days like today I just hate it, hate it, hate it; and I guess it's healthier to aknowledge that, than pretend I'm OK.
So I cried and vented and ranted.
And tomorrow... is another day.
Friday 12 December 2014
What popular Christmas songs taught me
- The old "car's broken down" routine is nothing new.
"A day or two ago
I thought I'd took a ride
And soon Miss Fannie Bright
Seated by my side
The horse was lean and lank
Misfortuned seemed his lot
He got into a drifted bank" - Jingle Bells
"A day or two ago
I thought I'd took a ride
And soon Miss Fannie Bright
Seated by my side
The horse was lean and lank
Misfortuned seemed his lot
He got into a drifted bank" - Jingle Bells
Tuesday 2 December 2014
Taking off the rose-tinted glasses
I guess my latest post may have puzzled some of you.
Back in October, I wrote about finding the positive in my work. That is what I have been striving to do for almost two years, because I don't want to be ungrateful for what I do have, and because looking at the positive helps me feel better.
However, the more time goes by, the less I can deny this very simple truth:
I actually hate my job.
Obviously, there is the fact that it doesn't fit my training, experience and skills at all. I have two university degrees - one in languages and translation, and the other one in teaching. Over the years, I have worked in the administrative field at first, then in the education field, mainly as a teaching assistant and holiday carer for children with special needs. Now I work in a supermarket. I have no training in sales or marketing, and no affinity for those kind of things.
In fact, the more I work in sales, the more appalled I am by the tactics used to make people buy things (I wrote a little bit about that in my post about advertising). For instance, we regularly have a "Buy one, get one free" offer on crates of cheap beer - and this, in a town where alcohol problems are rampant. I find that criminal, but, "That's just business". Not to mention the conditions in which many of the things we sell are made - think about slave-harvested shrimp or chocolate. So I am part of an industry that goes against everything I believe in.
There is also the work environment itself. I have an autistic spectrum disorder. I have sensory issues - I am extremely sensitive to noise, and my brains struggles to process more than one information at once. In my shop, there is the buzzing of fridges, neon lights, and air conditioning, the beeping of the tills, the constant background music - and I cannot shut it off. As a result, I struggle to concentrate on my work, and at the end of the day, I am mentally exhausted even though my job isn't intellectually challenging. Sensory overload, coupled with my low tolerance to stress, has brought about many a meltdown.
Another issue is having to interact with a lot of people. Don't get me wrong, I usually like people and enjoy helping them. However, having to deal with customers' requests while carrying out other tasks I need to focus on is difficult. And I really struggle with people's familiarity. Customers see me every day, and they seem to think I'm somehow close to them. Of course, this means the culturally expected greeting kiss, but it also means some customers feel it's OK to squeeze my shoulder or even, I kid you not, affectionately slap my bum (I politely asked the lady who did it every time she saw me to stop doing it. She took it well, but what made her think it was OK in the first place?).
The content of the job itself is the same week in, week out. It's not interesting, and most of the time I'm really cold, because I'm in the refrigerated foods department.
So all in all, and not matter how many fun little sides I may found to it, and no matter how much I want to be grateful to have a job in the first place, I hate it, and I struggle more and more.
I need a new job, but I don't even know where to start...
Back in October, I wrote about finding the positive in my work. That is what I have been striving to do for almost two years, because I don't want to be ungrateful for what I do have, and because looking at the positive helps me feel better.
However, the more time goes by, the less I can deny this very simple truth:
I actually hate my job.
Obviously, there is the fact that it doesn't fit my training, experience and skills at all. I have two university degrees - one in languages and translation, and the other one in teaching. Over the years, I have worked in the administrative field at first, then in the education field, mainly as a teaching assistant and holiday carer for children with special needs. Now I work in a supermarket. I have no training in sales or marketing, and no affinity for those kind of things.
In fact, the more I work in sales, the more appalled I am by the tactics used to make people buy things (I wrote a little bit about that in my post about advertising). For instance, we regularly have a "Buy one, get one free" offer on crates of cheap beer - and this, in a town where alcohol problems are rampant. I find that criminal, but, "That's just business". Not to mention the conditions in which many of the things we sell are made - think about slave-harvested shrimp or chocolate. So I am part of an industry that goes against everything I believe in.
There is also the work environment itself. I have an autistic spectrum disorder. I have sensory issues - I am extremely sensitive to noise, and my brains struggles to process more than one information at once. In my shop, there is the buzzing of fridges, neon lights, and air conditioning, the beeping of the tills, the constant background music - and I cannot shut it off. As a result, I struggle to concentrate on my work, and at the end of the day, I am mentally exhausted even though my job isn't intellectually challenging. Sensory overload, coupled with my low tolerance to stress, has brought about many a meltdown.
Another issue is having to interact with a lot of people. Don't get me wrong, I usually like people and enjoy helping them. However, having to deal with customers' requests while carrying out other tasks I need to focus on is difficult. And I really struggle with people's familiarity. Customers see me every day, and they seem to think I'm somehow close to them. Of course, this means the culturally expected greeting kiss, but it also means some customers feel it's OK to squeeze my shoulder or even, I kid you not, affectionately slap my bum (I politely asked the lady who did it every time she saw me to stop doing it. She took it well, but what made her think it was OK in the first place?).
The content of the job itself is the same week in, week out. It's not interesting, and most of the time I'm really cold, because I'm in the refrigerated foods department.
So all in all, and not matter how many fun little sides I may found to it, and no matter how much I want to be grateful to have a job in the first place, I hate it, and I struggle more and more.
I need a new job, but I don't even know where to start...
Monday 1 December 2014
A giraffe on an ice field
Once upon a time, some poachers captured a young giraffe to sell him to a zoo. They bound him in thick ropes, so he couldn't escape without injuring himself; and put him on a boat headed to a country where they didn't have giraffes. Children would be delighted to gaze at him, no doubt.
The journey lasted for weeks and weeks, and the weather was getting colder and colder until the boat ran into a storm. In the chaos that ensued, the giraffe fell overboard just before the boat sank.
By some stroke of luck, however, he managed to swim to a very close shore.
It was very odd and unlike anything he had seen before. First of all, it had no colour - just an endless field of blinding white. Then, it was cold - as cold as the water he had been in moments before. He started to shiver as he took a few hesitant steps. Boy, was it slippery!
He had landed on an ice field.
Now our giraffe was a very clever creature. His height and long neck allowed him to reach the highest foliage to feed, and his tongue was grooved to easily strip leaves from branches.
Pity there were no trees to feed from, only ice.
His patches of brown and tan made great camouflage on the yellow, sun-beaten grasslands of Africa.
But the giraffe wasn't in a brown and tan grassland. He was on a dazzling white ice field, and he really stood out.
The giraffe had beautiful, long lashes around his eyes that were very useful to keep insects out.
Only, there were no insects on the ice field.
His wide hooves and nimble legs gave him good balance and the ability to run fast.
However, his hooves slipped on the ice and he couldn't run.
All of our giraffe's wonderful characteristics were completely useless, sometimes even a hindrance, because he wasn't in the right environment.
That giraffe, my friends, is me.
The journey lasted for weeks and weeks, and the weather was getting colder and colder until the boat ran into a storm. In the chaos that ensued, the giraffe fell overboard just before the boat sank.
By some stroke of luck, however, he managed to swim to a very close shore.
It was very odd and unlike anything he had seen before. First of all, it had no colour - just an endless field of blinding white. Then, it was cold - as cold as the water he had been in moments before. He started to shiver as he took a few hesitant steps. Boy, was it slippery!
He had landed on an ice field.
Now our giraffe was a very clever creature. His height and long neck allowed him to reach the highest foliage to feed, and his tongue was grooved to easily strip leaves from branches.
Pity there were no trees to feed from, only ice.
His patches of brown and tan made great camouflage on the yellow, sun-beaten grasslands of Africa.
But the giraffe wasn't in a brown and tan grassland. He was on a dazzling white ice field, and he really stood out.
The giraffe had beautiful, long lashes around his eyes that were very useful to keep insects out.
Only, there were no insects on the ice field.
His wide hooves and nimble legs gave him good balance and the ability to run fast.
However, his hooves slipped on the ice and he couldn't run.
All of our giraffe's wonderful characteristics were completely useless, sometimes even a hindrance, because he wasn't in the right environment.
That giraffe, my friends, is me.
Sunday 30 November 2014
I need your input.
I haven been pondering about the reasons why I still go to church, and this gave me an idea. I would like to write a blog post about church, what it is for, what it means to us, and what our perception of it is.
So today, I have an open question to my readers:
What does "church" mean to you? It can be positive or negative; it can include your own experience. You don't necessarily have to be a church-goer to give me your thoughts. You can either share them in the comments section below or message me. Just be aware that will probably use your input to write a blog post - so if you're not happy for me to do so, please let me know.
So today, I have an open question to my readers:
What does "church" mean to you? It can be positive or negative; it can include your own experience. You don't necessarily have to be a church-goer to give me your thoughts. You can either share them in the comments section below or message me. Just be aware that will probably use your input to write a blog post - so if you're not happy for me to do so, please let me know.
Friday 14 November 2014
What autism isn't (and what it is)
A lot has been done to inform and educate people about autism, but a
lot of stereotypes still need to be challenged. As a person with an
autistic spectrum condition – I have Asperger’s syndrome – I thought I’d
share with you a few things I am not:
1. I am not a “retard”. The word itself is offensive anyway, and you shouldn’t use it to describe anyone. In addition, autism has got nothing to do with IQ. Some people with autism are extremely intelligent; others have developmental delays and very low IQ – and everything in between those two extremes. Autism may impair a person’s ability to function independently, but it does not mean they’re stupid.
2. I am not sick. Autism is not a disease, it’s a neurological condition. That means you cannot “cure” it, much like you can’t “cure” Down syndrome. I can develop strategies to help me function better and reach my full potential. However, if I am successfully doing this, it doesn’t imply I am “cured”. It just means I have learnt to adjust and thrive.
3. I am not broken. I don’t need to be fixed or mended. My brain functions differently from yours and at times that makes it difficult for us to understand each other or get on, or for me to live independently. However, I am a whole person with a lot to offer. I can be given strategies to adjust to mainstream society. I would be happy if you too made an effort to try and understand my points of view and adjust to the way my brain works. If we both take steps towards each other, we’ll get along much better.
4. I am not an “idiot savant”. As I highlighted before, autism and IQ are not related. Yes, some people with autism are geniuses in one or several areas – it can be maths, music, drawing or anything else. However, not all of us are geniuses. Don’t assume I’m going to pull some incredible intellectual skill out of my sleeve just because I have autism – trust me, I experience enough difficulties as it is without having to deal with painfully unrealistic expectations.
5. I am not selfish or unsympathetic. I struggle to understand other people’s point of views. Body language, facial expressions, subtext, and implied or hinted meanings are very mysterious to me. This means I do not always understand or realise what emotions you are going through. However, if you make it plain and simple and tell me, you will find me very sympathetic and eager to help. I do care. I just don’t always have the tools to understand your emotions. Equally, because I lack the ability to imagine what you feel or think, I might not realise how my words or actions will impact you before it’s too late. I might upset you without meaning to. Yet, once I realise this, I will be mortified and very willing to make it right – possibly making things worse with my awkwardness. Please be patient with me.
6. I am not antisocial. Some people have told me, "How can you have Asperger's? You've got friends, you get along with people!" While it is true that some people with autistic spectrum disorders have little interest in people and friendship, don't assume this is true for all of us. Some of us desperately want to make friends, but really struggle to do so (see point 5). Some of us have acquired enough social skills to make friends and socialize, even though it is often taxing (I avoid socializing in large groups because it exhausts me to interact with so many people and have to deal with so much information processing - my brain cannot cope). And most of all, those of us who have good friends are probably blessed to have met understanding, open-minded people who looked beyond our social akwardness and love us just as we are.
7. We're all on spectrum, aren't we? ... I should think not.
I have become increasingly annoyed by people saying "We're all on the spectrum" (meaning the autistic spectrum) after describing one of their idiosyncracies.
To all you neurotypicals (i.e., whose brains functions in typical fashion, as opposed to autistic brains) out there:
- Being organised does not make you autistic. It just makes you, well... organised.
- Sorting out your socks by colour does not make you autistic. At best, it makes you slightly OCD.
- Getting annoyed by last-minute changes to a plan doesn't make you autistic. There is a difference between being annoyed by change, and experiencing significant anxiety and distress because of it.
- Being very focused on a particular task at a particular time does not make you autistic. Being unable to focus on anything else does.
- Preferring to be alone doesn't necessarily make you autistic. As I mentioned above, autistic people are not all antisocial.
If you don't experience significant difficulties in the areas of social communication, social interation and social imagination (and theory of mind), as well as sensory difficulties, you are not on the autistic spectrum; and by saying you are, you are belittling the difficulties those of us who really are experience on a daily basis.
1. I am not a “retard”. The word itself is offensive anyway, and you shouldn’t use it to describe anyone. In addition, autism has got nothing to do with IQ. Some people with autism are extremely intelligent; others have developmental delays and very low IQ – and everything in between those two extremes. Autism may impair a person’s ability to function independently, but it does not mean they’re stupid.
2. I am not sick. Autism is not a disease, it’s a neurological condition. That means you cannot “cure” it, much like you can’t “cure” Down syndrome. I can develop strategies to help me function better and reach my full potential. However, if I am successfully doing this, it doesn’t imply I am “cured”. It just means I have learnt to adjust and thrive.
3. I am not broken. I don’t need to be fixed or mended. My brain functions differently from yours and at times that makes it difficult for us to understand each other or get on, or for me to live independently. However, I am a whole person with a lot to offer. I can be given strategies to adjust to mainstream society. I would be happy if you too made an effort to try and understand my points of view and adjust to the way my brain works. If we both take steps towards each other, we’ll get along much better.
4. I am not an “idiot savant”. As I highlighted before, autism and IQ are not related. Yes, some people with autism are geniuses in one or several areas – it can be maths, music, drawing or anything else. However, not all of us are geniuses. Don’t assume I’m going to pull some incredible intellectual skill out of my sleeve just because I have autism – trust me, I experience enough difficulties as it is without having to deal with painfully unrealistic expectations.
5. I am not selfish or unsympathetic. I struggle to understand other people’s point of views. Body language, facial expressions, subtext, and implied or hinted meanings are very mysterious to me. This means I do not always understand or realise what emotions you are going through. However, if you make it plain and simple and tell me, you will find me very sympathetic and eager to help. I do care. I just don’t always have the tools to understand your emotions. Equally, because I lack the ability to imagine what you feel or think, I might not realise how my words or actions will impact you before it’s too late. I might upset you without meaning to. Yet, once I realise this, I will be mortified and very willing to make it right – possibly making things worse with my awkwardness. Please be patient with me.
6. I am not antisocial. Some people have told me, "How can you have Asperger's? You've got friends, you get along with people!" While it is true that some people with autistic spectrum disorders have little interest in people and friendship, don't assume this is true for all of us. Some of us desperately want to make friends, but really struggle to do so (see point 5). Some of us have acquired enough social skills to make friends and socialize, even though it is often taxing (I avoid socializing in large groups because it exhausts me to interact with so many people and have to deal with so much information processing - my brain cannot cope). And most of all, those of us who have good friends are probably blessed to have met understanding, open-minded people who looked beyond our social akwardness and love us just as we are.
7. We're all on spectrum, aren't we? ... I should think not.
I have become increasingly annoyed by people saying "We're all on the spectrum" (meaning the autistic spectrum) after describing one of their idiosyncracies.
To all you neurotypicals (i.e., whose brains functions in typical fashion, as opposed to autistic brains) out there:
- Being organised does not make you autistic. It just makes you, well... organised.
- Sorting out your socks by colour does not make you autistic. At best, it makes you slightly OCD.
- Getting annoyed by last-minute changes to a plan doesn't make you autistic. There is a difference between being annoyed by change, and experiencing significant anxiety and distress because of it.
- Being very focused on a particular task at a particular time does not make you autistic. Being unable to focus on anything else does.
- Preferring to be alone doesn't necessarily make you autistic. As I mentioned above, autistic people are not all antisocial.
If you don't experience significant difficulties in the areas of social communication, social interation and social imagination (and theory of mind), as well as sensory difficulties, you are not on the autistic spectrum; and by saying you are, you are belittling the difficulties those of us who really are experience on a daily basis.
Tuesday 11 November 2014
I picked you.
There were three kittens in the sheep pen that day.
We'd always had cats growing up. The first one was a Siamese who lived to be 20, but we also adopted countless strays that'd come to beg at our door or kittens we found in my Dad's workshop. We once had a black cat we named Zaïre (the former name of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, how politically incorrect!), and a white female (very unfortunate colour) who hated baths even more than most cats. There was the ginger tom that hadn't been weaned properly, so for the rest of his life, he'd suck on my Mum's cardigan whenever he was on her lap. Even now, my parents have three cats - Albus, the lazy fat white cat, Yala, the sleek black female, and Jacob, the crazed kitten Mum found in the woods when he was a only tiny furball.
And so I had always wanted a cat of my very own. He'd be black and I'd give him a cool geeky name like Spock or Dr Sheldon Cooper.
About a year ago, a customer of my shop told me a female cat kept giving birth to kittens in his sheep pen, and asked me if I wanted one. So I set off with him to find my very own cat.
There were three kittens in the sheep pen that day. An older, sleek, black-and-rusty one who really wanted to make friends, a terrified fluffy grey female, and a slightly-less-terrified fluffy tabby. That was you.
There were three kittens in the sheep pen that day. The older one kept flirting with me, rubbing his head against my legs and asking for cuddles. But I picked you - the scared, fluffy, wide-eyed one.
The man picked you up and gave you to me. I held you close and I could feel how terrified you were. I brought you back home and as soon as I let go, you ran off and hid under the sofa. You didn't come out for about a week, and even after that, you wouldn't let me come close.
One day though, we started playing together with a piece of string. You loved it. After that, you warmed up to me, and eventually you let me stroke your back and hold you.
I named you Isaac, after the man who gave you to me.
Now you love lying streched out on my tummy and resting your head in the crook of my shoulder. You purr so loud it sounds like a little motor. You're no longer a tiny fluffy kitten: you're a big, strong cat - but still fluffy.
There were three kittens in the sheep pen that day. I could have picked any one of them, but I picked you, Isaac, my very own cat.
We'd always had cats growing up. The first one was a Siamese who lived to be 20, but we also adopted countless strays that'd come to beg at our door or kittens we found in my Dad's workshop. We once had a black cat we named Zaïre (the former name of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, how politically incorrect!), and a white female (very unfortunate colour) who hated baths even more than most cats. There was the ginger tom that hadn't been weaned properly, so for the rest of his life, he'd suck on my Mum's cardigan whenever he was on her lap. Even now, my parents have three cats - Albus, the lazy fat white cat, Yala, the sleek black female, and Jacob, the crazed kitten Mum found in the woods when he was a only tiny furball.
And so I had always wanted a cat of my very own. He'd be black and I'd give him a cool geeky name like Spock or Dr Sheldon Cooper.
About a year ago, a customer of my shop told me a female cat kept giving birth to kittens in his sheep pen, and asked me if I wanted one. So I set off with him to find my very own cat.
There were three kittens in the sheep pen that day. An older, sleek, black-and-rusty one who really wanted to make friends, a terrified fluffy grey female, and a slightly-less-terrified fluffy tabby. That was you.
There were three kittens in the sheep pen that day. The older one kept flirting with me, rubbing his head against my legs and asking for cuddles. But I picked you - the scared, fluffy, wide-eyed one.
The man picked you up and gave you to me. I held you close and I could feel how terrified you were. I brought you back home and as soon as I let go, you ran off and hid under the sofa. You didn't come out for about a week, and even after that, you wouldn't let me come close.
One day though, we started playing together with a piece of string. You loved it. After that, you warmed up to me, and eventually you let me stroke your back and hold you.
I named you Isaac, after the man who gave you to me.
Now you love lying streched out on my tummy and resting your head in the crook of my shoulder. You purr so loud it sounds like a little motor. You're no longer a tiny fluffy kitten: you're a big, strong cat - but still fluffy.
There were three kittens in the sheep pen that day. I could have picked any one of them, but I picked you, Isaac, my very own cat.
Sunday 9 November 2014
Cast the first stone
I wrote this poem a few years ago and it feels quite fitting today, relating to a situation I won't get into because it's personal.
"Cast the first stone
Cast the first stone, why don't you?
Cast the stone on the adulteress who's crouching in the dust
never mind the nameless man who was with her
"Cast the first stone
Cast the first stone, why don't you?
Cast the stone on the adulteress who's crouching in the dust
never mind the nameless man who was with her
Cast the stone on the drug addict who's shaking all over
never mind the one who first sold him powdered dreams
Cast the stone on the loser who cannot pull his life together
never mind that he never had any hope to stand upon
Cast the stone on the lost child looking for boundaries
Cast the stone on the lost soul looking for purpose.
Cast the first stone, why don't you?
Cast the stone of your judgement
Cast the stone of your fears
Cast the stones of your own shortcomings and insecurities.
Cast the first stone, why don't you?
Condemn with your righteous hearts
Cast your cursing stones upon the sinner.
Have you forgotten?
You'll be buried under the stones you've thrown
They will be the monument on your grave
Because Jesus said:
He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone. (John 8:7)
Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. (Luke 6:37 and Matthew 7:2)
Have you forgotten?
It was the tax collector
the sinner
the outcast
who went home forgiven
not the religious man boasting about his own spirituality.
(Luke 18:9-14).
Because Jesus said:
It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners. (Mark 2:17)"
never mind the one who first sold him powdered dreams
Cast the stone on the loser who cannot pull his life together
never mind that he never had any hope to stand upon
Cast the stone on the lost child looking for boundaries
Cast the stone on the lost soul looking for purpose.
Cast the first stone, why don't you?
Cast the stone of your judgement
Cast the stone of your fears
Cast the stones of your own shortcomings and insecurities.
Cast the first stone, why don't you?
Condemn with your righteous hearts
Cast your cursing stones upon the sinner.
Have you forgotten?
You'll be buried under the stones you've thrown
They will be the monument on your grave
Because Jesus said:
He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone. (John 8:7)
Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. (Luke 6:37 and Matthew 7:2)
Have you forgotten?
It was the tax collector
the sinner
the outcast
who went home forgiven
not the religious man boasting about his own spirituality.
(Luke 18:9-14).
Because Jesus said:
It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners. (Mark 2:17)"
Friday 7 November 2014
The car made me love the song (or how advertising failed)
According to Wikipedia, advertising is "a form of marketing communication used to encourage, persuade, or manipulate an audience to take or continue to take some action" - usually, to buy a product. I find it interesting that the term "manipulate" is used in this definition, because that's exactly what marketing does, in the end: it manipulates you into thinking you really need this product (even though you probably really don't).
I work in a supermarket, so I see it everyday. Offering free trinkets with every purchase - for instance, "if I buy this packet of biscuits I usually don't eat, I'll get a batman wallet" (ok, I fell for that one. And I'm not even using the wallet!). So-called discounts spreading the lie that the more you buy, the more money you'll save ("buy two, get the third one free"). 100% reimbursed products - but how many of us are really going to bother sending back the product packaging and receipt to the manufacturer along with our contact and bank details in order to get a few euros/pounds/dollars back?
Advertising uses carefully crafted images to convey its message, and its bottom line is "buying our product will make you happier". It pulls all of our strings, from our need for security to our desire for sex - how many brands use irrealistically beautiful and "sexy" models to make us long for what we see? As Tyler Durden famously said in Fight Club, "Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need". I find that to be increasingly true now that I make a conscious effort to be aware of it. There are so many things I see in shops and on TV that, truth be told, I really don't want at all. Of course, I still have some weaknesses. I am a sucker for clothes, as I have explained elsewhere (1); yet, I don't feel the urge to buy new clothes as much as I used to, and I rarely look twice into a shop window these days. I'd rather buy secondhand (if anything, it's cheaper!). Socrates is reported to have said, while looking at a mass of things for sale, "How many things I have no need of!". I would like that to be my philosophy when it comes to shopping.
I can get really annoyed at TV adverts. Take so-called breakfast biscuits. Advertisers would have us believe that they are healthy, nutritious, and will fill you up until lunchtime, when at the end of the day, they're no more than glamourized biscuits - or so I shouted at the TV, much to my boyfriend's amusement.
Lately, I saw a car advert on TV and I quite liked it. It had interesting aesthetics, changing a cityscape into an Arizona landscape, together with elderly people throwing crumbs to eagles rather than pigeons. It also used a very catchy tune that I hadn't heard before.
But the advertisers completely failed in their goal. I have never had any interest in buying their car. However, I did really want to know about the tune they used. So now, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros can thank Peugeot for directing me to their song, "Home".
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(1) If you remember this story, where I wrestle with the idea of buying a new dress, you may want to know that I didn't buy it new. I found a similar one of the same brand on a second-hand website. Yay!
I work in a supermarket, so I see it everyday. Offering free trinkets with every purchase - for instance, "if I buy this packet of biscuits I usually don't eat, I'll get a batman wallet" (ok, I fell for that one. And I'm not even using the wallet!). So-called discounts spreading the lie that the more you buy, the more money you'll save ("buy two, get the third one free"). 100% reimbursed products - but how many of us are really going to bother sending back the product packaging and receipt to the manufacturer along with our contact and bank details in order to get a few euros/pounds/dollars back?
Advertising uses carefully crafted images to convey its message, and its bottom line is "buying our product will make you happier". It pulls all of our strings, from our need for security to our desire for sex - how many brands use irrealistically beautiful and "sexy" models to make us long for what we see? As Tyler Durden famously said in Fight Club, "Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need". I find that to be increasingly true now that I make a conscious effort to be aware of it. There are so many things I see in shops and on TV that, truth be told, I really don't want at all. Of course, I still have some weaknesses. I am a sucker for clothes, as I have explained elsewhere (1); yet, I don't feel the urge to buy new clothes as much as I used to, and I rarely look twice into a shop window these days. I'd rather buy secondhand (if anything, it's cheaper!). Socrates is reported to have said, while looking at a mass of things for sale, "How many things I have no need of!". I would like that to be my philosophy when it comes to shopping.
I can get really annoyed at TV adverts. Take so-called breakfast biscuits. Advertisers would have us believe that they are healthy, nutritious, and will fill you up until lunchtime, when at the end of the day, they're no more than glamourized biscuits - or so I shouted at the TV, much to my boyfriend's amusement.
Lately, I saw a car advert on TV and I quite liked it. It had interesting aesthetics, changing a cityscape into an Arizona landscape, together with elderly people throwing crumbs to eagles rather than pigeons. It also used a very catchy tune that I hadn't heard before.
But the advertisers completely failed in their goal. I have never had any interest in buying their car. However, I did really want to know about the tune they used. So now, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros can thank Peugeot for directing me to their song, "Home".
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(1) If you remember this story, where I wrestle with the idea of buying a new dress, you may want to know that I didn't buy it new. I found a similar one of the same brand on a second-hand website. Yay!
Wednesday 5 November 2014
Top anxiety triggers for people with autism
As you probably know if you've been reading my blog, I have Asperger's syndrome, which is an autistic spectrum disorder. Today, something happened at work that reminded me of how fragile I can be, and I decided to share what happened and how it affected me.
I had just begun my shift. It was early in the morning and I was putting fresh loaves of bread on the shelves. All of a sudden, a loud hooting sound resonated behind me.
It made me jump. It made my heart race and my head swim; my hands became clammy. It brought tears to my eyes and a sudden feeling of rage rose in my chest. I turned around and saw my colleague standing on the forklift truck, laughing. He realised straight away I was upset and shrugged, "Smile, it was just a joke!"
A joke isn't funny when it's at someone else's expense. As it happens, loud, sudden noises cause me a lot of anxiety, and it can affect how I feel for the rest of the day. Here are the top 3 anxiety triggers for people with autism - people like me.
1. Uncertainty - not knowing what is happening or what is going to happen, or not knowing what is expected of us. You may know that people with autism need routines. What you may not know is that this is not just a preference. When something unexpected happens, we feel completely at loss, and we panic.
Most daily rules and routines change because of circumstances, but people with autism really struggle with that. For instance, you may have forbidden your autistic child from going in the laundry room because you don't want them to touch the washing machine. But today, your child has been playing outside and their clothes are covered in mud, so you take them straight to the laundry room to undress. The child will not understand why they're being taken in a place that is forbidden. The resulting tantrum or lack of compliance is not a display of bad behaviour, but a display of deep anxiety. You need to either stick to the rule, or, if your child has enough understanding, explain how, under those circumstances and under your supervision, they may come into the previously forbidden room.
2. Social interactions. We may struggle to understand social cues (or even language) or to communicate appropriately. Or, if we have been trained to act in the socially appropriate way, it still doesn't come naturally, and the effort is exhausting. If we have to interact with people we don't know well, or not at all, we have the extra stress of not knowing how that person will act. Social norms that we find difficult may be imposed on us. For instance, in my area, most people like to greet each other with a peck on the cheek. Refusing to do so is considered as rude as refusing to shake hands (something that many autistic people don't like, either!). Yet, letting someone touch my face requires trust, so I feel really uncomfortable when colleagues or regular customers insist on greeting me in that manner. I daren't refuse because I don't want to be rude, but it makes me feel anxious and stressed.
3. Sensory issues. Most of us are highly sensitive to light, noise, or touch. Sudden, loud noises cause me physical discomfort or pain, and set me on edge for a long time. So do unexpected touches - people may touch my shoulder in what they mean to be a friendly manner, but if I do not expect it, I will jump. Always make sure an autistic person is fine with you touching them before you do so - and by the way, should not that apply to everyone? My body isn't public property. I am the only one who should decide when it's OK for someone else to touch it.
People with autism struggle with things that most people take for granted. Please, keep those things in mind.
I had just begun my shift. It was early in the morning and I was putting fresh loaves of bread on the shelves. All of a sudden, a loud hooting sound resonated behind me.
It made me jump. It made my heart race and my head swim; my hands became clammy. It brought tears to my eyes and a sudden feeling of rage rose in my chest. I turned around and saw my colleague standing on the forklift truck, laughing. He realised straight away I was upset and shrugged, "Smile, it was just a joke!"
A joke isn't funny when it's at someone else's expense. As it happens, loud, sudden noises cause me a lot of anxiety, and it can affect how I feel for the rest of the day. Here are the top 3 anxiety triggers for people with autism - people like me.
1. Uncertainty - not knowing what is happening or what is going to happen, or not knowing what is expected of us. You may know that people with autism need routines. What you may not know is that this is not just a preference. When something unexpected happens, we feel completely at loss, and we panic.
Most daily rules and routines change because of circumstances, but people with autism really struggle with that. For instance, you may have forbidden your autistic child from going in the laundry room because you don't want them to touch the washing machine. But today, your child has been playing outside and their clothes are covered in mud, so you take them straight to the laundry room to undress. The child will not understand why they're being taken in a place that is forbidden. The resulting tantrum or lack of compliance is not a display of bad behaviour, but a display of deep anxiety. You need to either stick to the rule, or, if your child has enough understanding, explain how, under those circumstances and under your supervision, they may come into the previously forbidden room.
2. Social interactions. We may struggle to understand social cues (or even language) or to communicate appropriately. Or, if we have been trained to act in the socially appropriate way, it still doesn't come naturally, and the effort is exhausting. If we have to interact with people we don't know well, or not at all, we have the extra stress of not knowing how that person will act. Social norms that we find difficult may be imposed on us. For instance, in my area, most people like to greet each other with a peck on the cheek. Refusing to do so is considered as rude as refusing to shake hands (something that many autistic people don't like, either!). Yet, letting someone touch my face requires trust, so I feel really uncomfortable when colleagues or regular customers insist on greeting me in that manner. I daren't refuse because I don't want to be rude, but it makes me feel anxious and stressed.
3. Sensory issues. Most of us are highly sensitive to light, noise, or touch. Sudden, loud noises cause me physical discomfort or pain, and set me on edge for a long time. So do unexpected touches - people may touch my shoulder in what they mean to be a friendly manner, but if I do not expect it, I will jump. Always make sure an autistic person is fine with you touching them before you do so - and by the way, should not that apply to everyone? My body isn't public property. I am the only one who should decide when it's OK for someone else to touch it.
People with autism struggle with things that most people take for granted. Please, keep those things in mind.
Tuesday 28 October 2014
I am a serial procrastinator.
I have been procrastinating all afternoon. End result: it's dinner time, and no blog post has been written.
I meant to write it, though. I really did. I spent about an hour yesterday, as I was getting the croissants baked and the bread on the shelves at work, writing a blog post in my mind about discrimination. It was very good, except, of course, I couldn't write it down at the time. I just thought I'd do that during my afternoon off today.
Only problem is, all of sudden other things came to my attention, like folding the laundry and putting more laundry up to dry, answering a few messages from friends, reading a few dozens articles about, in no particular order, immigration, the Walking Dead, homosexuality, different opinions on Halloween, and Pope Francis' views on evolution. I also felt the sudden urge to check whether anyone else on the Internet had noticed that little worrying thing in the new credits of The Walking Dead - turns out no one has, except my friend D. in America.
Why does this keep happening? I love writing. I love blogging. Whenever I'm out and about or at work, my mind is buzzing with ideas.
Then, when I turn the computer on, my mind somehow behaves like a squirrel on speed, jumping from one branch of information to the next, and not getting anything creative done. I can't even blame ADHD - I don't have ADHD.
So here is my poor excuse for an apology, dear readers. I shall write that blog about discrimination, I promise. Just not today.
I meant to write it, though. I really did. I spent about an hour yesterday, as I was getting the croissants baked and the bread on the shelves at work, writing a blog post in my mind about discrimination. It was very good, except, of course, I couldn't write it down at the time. I just thought I'd do that during my afternoon off today.
Only problem is, all of sudden other things came to my attention, like folding the laundry and putting more laundry up to dry, answering a few messages from friends, reading a few dozens articles about, in no particular order, immigration, the Walking Dead, homosexuality, different opinions on Halloween, and Pope Francis' views on evolution. I also felt the sudden urge to check whether anyone else on the Internet had noticed that little worrying thing in the new credits of The Walking Dead - turns out no one has, except my friend D. in America.
Why does this keep happening? I love writing. I love blogging. Whenever I'm out and about or at work, my mind is buzzing with ideas.
Then, when I turn the computer on, my mind somehow behaves like a squirrel on speed, jumping from one branch of information to the next, and not getting anything creative done. I can't even blame ADHD - I don't have ADHD.
So here is my poor excuse for an apology, dear readers. I shall write that blog about discrimination, I promise. Just not today.
Wednesday 15 October 2014
Finding the positive
As I said in my latest post, I try to look at the positive in my job. I even made a list!
1. I have been brought up to believe in the value of work. Working, even in a seemingly menial job, is worthwhile for many reasons. By supporting myself, I am ensuring my independence. In addition, I am making myself useful.
2. My boss may be a bit rough around the edges and a very bad communicator, but I believe he is a kind man. He has had to deal with difficult things in his life and did the best he could, and I have a lot of respect for him. He is also quite understanding of my condition, even though he doesn't really get it - apparently, you can be understanding even when you don't understand it all...
3. I get on well with my colleagues. We can have interesting conversations and a good laugh - one them has started reading a science magazine for kids after seeing me doing it, which I think is pretty awesome.
4. I can practice being kind and caring to people even here, as some of our customers, especially the elderly, suffer from loneliness and are happy to have someone to talk to, even for a few minutes. It's a good challenge to try and be kind to people you don't really like, or when you're feeling tired and cranky. And I really think that putting a smile on people's faces is infinitely worthwhile. I can be a positive force in this world, just by doing this.
5. The stress involved with being responsible for consumer goods is not at intense as the stress involved with being responsible for people. As a teaching assistant, a mistake on my part could mean a child would get hurt. In my current job, we may have to throw away some bread I left in the oven for too long from time to time, but no lives are at stake.
6. Talking of which, I love baking the bread. They may be industrial pre-baked loaves and baguettes, but the wholesome smell is wonderful as they come out of the oven all golden and crispy and gorgeous.
7. I have discovered how to use the Force.The big shutter door that separates the storeroom from the store itself opens itself automatically when you walk through it. They think it's because it has sensors... but I know the truth *gestures to the shutter door theatrically and watches it raise in time with her hand*
8. I can see the most dangerous creatures from up close (no, I'm not talking about customers, although...). The first time I had to empty the bin, I was told to bring it to the "Molok". Now, I don't know about you, but in my mind, the name Molok conjures up some kind of underground demon, made of the darkest darkness, with eyes like furnaces and a mouth whose appetite can never be satisfied. Never mind that the Molok is actually a giant, half-buried garbage disposal unit outside the store - in my vivid imagination, he's still some mythical monster. Whenever I bring bins to the Molok, I am really glad he only wants to eat garbage, not me.
9. All this physical exercice is getting me fit. Lifting heavy boxes and carrying them up stepladders, jumping on and off the platform in the storeroom (I can't be bothered to use the stairs), running around trying to get everything done. And even better, I get karate-kid-style training. Cleaning the glass doors of all the fridges in my department means almost two hours of "wax-on, wax-off" arm exercice. I'll be a black belt by Christmas.
10. I can up my resistance to extreme temperature by going from the freezer room (minus 18° Celsius°) to the oven (200° Celsius). With this, and the physical training, I'll be physically ready for the zombie apocalypse.
1. I have been brought up to believe in the value of work. Working, even in a seemingly menial job, is worthwhile for many reasons. By supporting myself, I am ensuring my independence. In addition, I am making myself useful.
2. My boss may be a bit rough around the edges and a very bad communicator, but I believe he is a kind man. He has had to deal with difficult things in his life and did the best he could, and I have a lot of respect for him. He is also quite understanding of my condition, even though he doesn't really get it - apparently, you can be understanding even when you don't understand it all...
3. I get on well with my colleagues. We can have interesting conversations and a good laugh - one them has started reading a science magazine for kids after seeing me doing it, which I think is pretty awesome.
4. I can practice being kind and caring to people even here, as some of our customers, especially the elderly, suffer from loneliness and are happy to have someone to talk to, even for a few minutes. It's a good challenge to try and be kind to people you don't really like, or when you're feeling tired and cranky. And I really think that putting a smile on people's faces is infinitely worthwhile. I can be a positive force in this world, just by doing this.
5. The stress involved with being responsible for consumer goods is not at intense as the stress involved with being responsible for people. As a teaching assistant, a mistake on my part could mean a child would get hurt. In my current job, we may have to throw away some bread I left in the oven for too long from time to time, but no lives are at stake.
6. Talking of which, I love baking the bread. They may be industrial pre-baked loaves and baguettes, but the wholesome smell is wonderful as they come out of the oven all golden and crispy and gorgeous.
7. I have discovered how to use the Force.The big shutter door that separates the storeroom from the store itself opens itself automatically when you walk through it. They think it's because it has sensors... but I know the truth *gestures to the shutter door theatrically and watches it raise in time with her hand*
8. I can see the most dangerous creatures from up close (no, I'm not talking about customers, although...). The first time I had to empty the bin, I was told to bring it to the "Molok". Now, I don't know about you, but in my mind, the name Molok conjures up some kind of underground demon, made of the darkest darkness, with eyes like furnaces and a mouth whose appetite can never be satisfied. Never mind that the Molok is actually a giant, half-buried garbage disposal unit outside the store - in my vivid imagination, he's still some mythical monster. Whenever I bring bins to the Molok, I am really glad he only wants to eat garbage, not me.
9. All this physical exercice is getting me fit. Lifting heavy boxes and carrying them up stepladders, jumping on and off the platform in the storeroom (I can't be bothered to use the stairs), running around trying to get everything done. And even better, I get karate-kid-style training. Cleaning the glass doors of all the fridges in my department means almost two hours of "wax-on, wax-off" arm exercice. I'll be a black belt by Christmas.
10. I can up my resistance to extreme temperature by going from the freezer room (minus 18° Celsius°) to the oven (200° Celsius). With this, and the physical training, I'll be physically ready for the zombie apocalypse.
Tuesday 14 October 2014
Is my job worthwhile?
I have been working in a supermarket for almost two years now.
How did someone with two university degrees (one in languages, one in education), experience in administrative work, education, and support of young people with disabilities end up in a supermarket?
The straightforward answer is that it is better than no job at all. The more detailed answer is that finding clients as a translator is harder than I had imagined; teaching assistant positions are non-existent in Belgium; and working with people with disabilities requires a Belgian qualification that I do not have.
I remember telling an acquaintance about my current supermarket work. His immediate response was, "Not really worthwhile, then, is it?"
That's a tell-tale response. Regardless of whether I like my job or not, does working as a supermarket employee make me a lesser person? It shouldn't, yet, in people's expectations, it somehow does. Even in mine - I am always a bit embarrassed and apologetic about it. Why is this? I shouldn't have to be. People seem to consider that if someone works in a supermarket, they must be uneducated and not very smart. They never stop to consider the skills involved in managing tills, for instance - a task so complex that I've proven unable to handle it - or in managing orders of food on a big scale - another task that my manager does in my stead because he knows I don't have the skills for it.
Even if this position doesn't fit my training and skills, at the end of the day, it means I work. I don't take advantage of the benefit system. I try and do my job to the best of my abilities, I work hard, and I endeavour to be pleasant and helpful to everyone (and trust me, being pleasant to people can be challenging when you have Asperger's - more often than not you say the wrong thing when trying to be nice and sociable, and people look at you funny). So why should my job not be considered worthwhile?
I try and look at the positive of my job, even though it's not easy.
How did someone with two university degrees (one in languages, one in education), experience in administrative work, education, and support of young people with disabilities end up in a supermarket?
The straightforward answer is that it is better than no job at all. The more detailed answer is that finding clients as a translator is harder than I had imagined; teaching assistant positions are non-existent in Belgium; and working with people with disabilities requires a Belgian qualification that I do not have.
I remember telling an acquaintance about my current supermarket work. His immediate response was, "Not really worthwhile, then, is it?"
That's a tell-tale response. Regardless of whether I like my job or not, does working as a supermarket employee make me a lesser person? It shouldn't, yet, in people's expectations, it somehow does. Even in mine - I am always a bit embarrassed and apologetic about it. Why is this? I shouldn't have to be. People seem to consider that if someone works in a supermarket, they must be uneducated and not very smart. They never stop to consider the skills involved in managing tills, for instance - a task so complex that I've proven unable to handle it - or in managing orders of food on a big scale - another task that my manager does in my stead because he knows I don't have the skills for it.
Even if this position doesn't fit my training and skills, at the end of the day, it means I work. I don't take advantage of the benefit system. I try and do my job to the best of my abilities, I work hard, and I endeavour to be pleasant and helpful to everyone (and trust me, being pleasant to people can be challenging when you have Asperger's - more often than not you say the wrong thing when trying to be nice and sociable, and people look at you funny). So why should my job not be considered worthwhile?
I try and look at the positive of my job, even though it's not easy.
Monday 13 October 2014
Why do I believe?
One of my favourite bloggers recently posted about his foundational reason to believe in God. To me, that is a very important question to reflect upon.
Blind faith can be very dangerous; it can lead to fundamentalism, extremism,
and the refusal to question one’s own attitudes and actions.
Why do I believe?
I have always believed in the existence of God. It may have
been the result of a vaguely Christian upbringing; in any case, believing in God
came as naturally to me as the belief that my mother loved me. Like so many
people, I look at the breath-taking awesomeness of the universe and I can only
believe Someone is somehow at the source of it all.
When I started looking into Christianity more closely, at
the age of 18, rational arguments, literary parables and personal experience all
played a part in my conversion. The course I attended argued that the New Testament can be considered historically reliable; maybe more so than most ancient texts.
At the same time, I read C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, and Aslan’s offering
his own life for Edmund’s vividly illustrated Christ’s death on the cross to
me. And, as explained in my post, the turning point was praying and
experiencing an inner conviction that the gospel was true.
Over the years, I have seen and experienced suffering, and I
have wrestled with many texts in the Bible that I find difficult to stomach. I
constantly try to understand it all better, and constantly question the way I
have been interpreting things. Yet there is one event that has sustained my
trust in God all these years.
In my early twenties, I visited a Christian community in
Germany and a preacher addressed the issue of God’s love. Can there really be a
God of love, in a world so full of suffering, or is He some cosmic tyrant
enjoying our pain? His proposed answer was simple, yet compelling to me: “You
can die for your children, not for your toys.”
I am convinced that Jesus really was God incarnate, because it
permeates through every page of the gospels. That incarnate God willingly let
humans kill Him in the most gruesome way, and claimed to do it out of love for
us. There may be many things I don’t understand, struggle with, and feel
confused about. I may wrestle with issues and cry out to God, “Why?” I may not
have it all figured out. But because Jesus lived and died, I am convinced of
this: there is a God, and He cares.
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