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.

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.

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.


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.

Faith does give me a sense of purpose, of being loved and cared for no matter the circumstances. But the reason I believe boils down to one person. Jesus of Nazareth.

Sunday 12 October 2014

Aspie planet

A few years back, I wrote a piece about how I see the world - or rather, how I function and how I kept getting hurt because the world doesn't work that way. I thought I'd share it here.

On my planet, people say what they mean and mean what they say, they don't pretend to be someone they're not. When they promise you something, they stick to it, and when they say and do kind things, it's not because they want something from you. On my planet, people don't try and use you.

On my planet, when you're nice to people, they're nice back to you; they don't take advantage of your kindness and they don't walk all over you.

On my planet, it doesn't matter if you're black or white or blue, because everyone sees beauty in everyone else's difference. People accept one another as they are and rejoice at diversity.

On my planet, there are things that are actually more important than money and power. Serious meetings are cancelled when the sun is shining so everyone can go outside and enjoy it. Parents never prioritise their career over quality time with their kids, and business men sit down on the grass in their suit to share a chocolate ice cream with their daughters.

On my planet, it's OK to cry if you're sad, even in public; it's OK to dance, jump up and down, run, or laugh loudly if you're happy. It's OK to be happy-clappy or happy-flappy! It's OK to talk excitedly about the things that you're passionate about, as long as you also let others share their passion.

On my planet, when you notice something pretty or beautiful, like a flower, a shiny bug, a butterfly, an interestingly-shaped cloud or a rainbow, it's good manners to point it out to the people around you.

On my planet, when men smile at you a sweet smile and take you in their arms, it is because they love you very much; and when they make love to you, they give you their heart as well as their skin. When they look at you like you are the most amazing thing they've ever seen, it is because that's exactly how they feel... not just because they want to take advantage of your naivety.

Unfortunately, my ship crashed on earth.

Saturday 11 October 2014

Whatever you did (not do) for one of the least of these...

It's been a while since my last blog post, and I'm sorry I've let you people down. My head's been buzzing with ideas, but I have lacked the time and energy to put them down in writing. Now that life is getting a little calmer - hopefully - I'll have time to write again, and just today something struck me enough to post about it.




This draws from two different contexts, obviously. Malala Yousafzai just won the Nobel Peace Prize for her action for the education of children - girls, especially. At the same time, the Ebola virus is spreading, and more cases are being detected in Europe now, triggering understandable fear in most Westerners.

Of course, the point they attempted to make in this caption is unsound, because Malala didn't have a life-threatening disease: she was shot by an Islamic extremist. 

That being said, I strongly disagree with Nigel Farage's statement (unsurprisingly).

If foreigners arrive to another country with any kind of disease, should simple human compassion not move us to help, regardless of where they're coming from and what the disease is? Of course, I am not naive enough to think doing so is necessarily straightforward. For a start, there is the issue of limited resources to provide for unlimited needs. When people use the argument that "we cannot welcome everyone", I understand that indeed, we do not have the material resources to shelter, feed, and care for every immigrant to comes to our doors. I am also very much aware of the risk that a disease such as Ebola has a greater chance to spread within our borders if we decided to let sufferers into our country to care for them.

However, we musn't forget a few things. First, as Westerners, we are more fortunate than most of the world's inhabitants. The simple fact that you can read this makes you luckier than a vast proportion of your fellow human beings. What did we do to deserve access to food, clean water, shelter, healthcare and education? Nothing. Rien. Nichts. Nada. We were born in the right place, with the resources to provide for ourselves reasonably well once we were old enough. Granted, we work in order to pay for these things - but we can afford them because we grew up somewhere we could have education, get jobs, etc. If I had been born in a slum in Calcutta, I wouldn't have started with the same chances and opportunities, would I?

Secondly, people who want to live here, among us, usually have very good reasons. Whether they're fleeing war, persecution, death, torture, or famine, seeking a place where they can (or think they can) be safe and provide for themselves is more than understandable. Sure, some *may* want to come and take advantage of the benefit system, but I can assure you that many citizens who were born here do exactly that. Trying to take advantage of a system, or of other people, is part of the dark side of the human heart - it is not the prerogative of one group of people.

Thirdly, even if, sadly, we need to somehow draw a line somewhere, surely the neediest people are those whose life is threatened, either by a disease or by war, and should be the first ones we reach out to.

I admit it. I am a reckless idealist. I feel compassion towards those who suffer. You see, the man I strive to follow, Jesus, said this:

"Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.  For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in,  I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was ill and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.” 

 ‘Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you?  When did we see you ill or in prison and go to visit you?”

 ‘The King will reply, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” - Matthew 34-40.

The God I believe in has compassion on those who suffer. To me, that is the bottom line, and that it why I believe in compassion, in welcoming those in need, in caring for those who suffer.