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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The day I set off

In my very first post, I mentioned being a Christian. So today, I thought I'd share with you how that journey started...

I was raised vaguely Catholic. I say vaguely because it was more of a tradition than anything else. Babies were born and Christened, we'd go to mass at Christmas, weddings and funerals; children would receive their First Communion and later be confirmed - this would be the occasion for a big family party, a large meal, and plenty of presents. It was just what people did where I grew up - I was no different and never questioned it.

I always believed in the existence of God - someone up there looking down on us - but it wasn't particularly clear to me who or what God was. Catechism talked a lot about the life of Bible characters and saints, but it didn't mean much more to me than school: it was just stuff you were supposed to know about, that's all.

When I was 18, I went to London for a year to study English. While I was there, I attended an Anglican church that some friends had recommended. I guess what struck me most about those people is how seriously they took their faith. This was rather new to me and intrigued me: it must have been something important. They ran something similar to the Alpha Course and I decided to take part.

The course addressed issues such the reliability of the New Testament, the identity of Jesus as God's Son incarnate, sin, and God’s plan of salvation through Jesus. This is when I really understood the phrase “Jesus died for our sins”- a phrase I had heard in the Catholic church before. I had never realised what sin was - rejection of God, and any action that demonstrates that rejection; how we fall short of what we were meant to be. I had never realised either that what Jesus did was take upon himself the guilt and consequence of human sin when He died on the cross. He received what we deserve, so we could be forgiven and receive God's love once more - the love we have a natural tendency to reject.

I realised then that if a Christian was simply someone who trusted in Jesus and in what He had done for us, then I wasn’t one.

At about the same time, I met a Muslim. We discussed God and religion, and I read some booklets about Islam. As a result, some of my beliefs were challenged. Indeed, I had always thought that all religions all led to God. However, in Islam you had to obey lots of rules and do good deeds, and then maybe, if you were found good enough, God would accept you. On the other hand, I was being told in Church that as a sinner, there was nothing I could do to make myself acceptable to a perfect, absolutely good God, and that all I could do was accept what Jesus had done for me and commit my life to Him. That wasn’t the same thing at all – one belief system told me I had to work hard to deserve God’s acceptance, and the other told me there was nothing I could do and nothing I needed to do, because God had already done it all for me… all I had to do was receive His gift.

I was extremely confused. I could see both beliefs couldn’t be true at the same time, because in all logic they were self-excluding. But I had no idea which one was right. Both seemed to make sense. I knew I had to choose one or the other, and I did want to please God and do what He required, but I simply didn’t know which way was the right one.

I was more attracted to Islam because it fitted my views about God and religion: God wanted us to obey a certain set of rules and be good, and when we'd die He would weigh our good and bad deeds on a pair of scales and see which way it tipped. But I could not dismiss Christianity, because it could make sense too.

One day as I was walking through Regent’s Park pondering all these things, a woman I came up to me and asked me “Do you know if you’re going to heaven when you die?” She gave me a little booklet explaining the same things I had been told in church about Jesus and salvation. That woman didn’t know me and had no way of knowing I was precisely wondering about Christianity at the time she asked me that question. I do believe it was a sign from God. But even then I couldn’t make up my mind, because I still felt attracted to Islam. I spent days thinking about it, but I couldn’t decide. Then one day I decided that the only person who could make it clear was God Himself. So I started praying, asking Him to reveal Himself to me and to show me which way was the right way, Christianity or Islam. One night as I was praying…it suddenly became clear. It struck me that Christianity didn’t only make sense, but that it was true. It felt as if I had been in a dark room and suddenly someone had turned on the light. I could trust Jesus for my forgiveness and salvation.

And this is how my Christian journey started. It has given my life a sense of purpose and value, knowing that I was loved by God. It hasn't made me perfect, but is has given me the drive to constantly improve out of love for him, and the desire to know him better.

My journey is not over, and I am currently re-assessing a lot of the peripheral beliefs I have been taught for years. I will definitely share more about it at some point.

Life is easier in stories.

I don't know about you, but as a person with Asperger's syndrome, I think life would be much easier if I could work out people's intentions - if little subtitles could appear and tell me what a person really wants or means. So many times I have misread what people meant, or been deceived because I took things at face value.

Maybe this is why I love stories so much.

When you read a book, a lot of the time characters' intentions are made explicit. You get insights into their thoughts and motives. Working out why they act the way they do is therefore easy, and you can understand them better and predict what is likely to happen. When you watch a film and a bad guy comes on, there is often some clue: the music, the way they look or their mannerisms.

Not so in real life. I have absolutely no idea what people truly mean, truly want. I can only go with what they tell me. I take them at face value.

When someone speaks nicely to me, I just assume they're nice. If they bitch about me behind my back or stab me in the back, I have absolutely no idea. And if someone is a bit harsh or abrupt or doesn't smile, I just think they're not friendly or they don't like me; yet sometimes they end up being the ones sticking up for me.

When someone does me a favour or does something thoughtful, I never think they might have ulterior motives: I just think they're being genuinely kind. And this may very well be the case... or not.

It would be much easier if life was like stories; if there were obvious clues about people's real intentions.