Every language has thousands of words, and the ones we choose, I believe, almost always reflect who we are, what we feel, and what we want to communicate. I say “almost always” because I have never been fond of certainties, and I consider doubt an essential element of life, as to not judge people based solely on what they say.
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Finding Community in Identity: Discovering My Autism in Adulthood
I've spent my whole life feeling like I didn't truly fit in with anyone around me. I’ve always felt there was something “off” about me. It was as though everyone except me received a user manual for how to be human. It took me 25 years to realize that the reason I felt different from most people is that I’m autistic. But due to my lack of education on the subject, I went that long without even knowing.
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A Change
My mother always told me that I was her sunshine. Not only is this because my name is Summer, but also because I was the only daughter in the family and was thus treated like a princess. I was told I would do great things in life and to always follow my dreams, so I grew up having many ambitions. I wanted to be a princess like many of the other girls in preschool. In elementary school, I wanted to be a teacher and an FBI agent.
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In Experience: Reflections of a Settler
It's all in the reflections. This account is one of my fondly revisited ones, a space for self-discovery and conscience. Aah, I’m exhausted! It was half past two on a Delhi late August summer afternoon in 2021 when I was attending one of my tutorial classes at my college. These sessions were calming ones where we would think about life and sort of relax through such reflections. In the hustle and bustle of assignments and deadlines, I sometimes lost the excitement of these sessions as a result.
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Sole Searching
I took a deep breath and gave away my dance shoes. It was a bittersweet moment. It felt like admitting defeat and releasing pressure on myself at the same time. They were these super chic black leather heels, complete with a suede patch (for easy turns) and padded insoles; Gorgeous, really. A birthday gift from two years ago, I kept them for this long but only occasionally put them on. I always clung to the hope that my feet would magically adjust to them, but that never happened. I could barely stand in those shoes, let alone dance. They were excruciatingly painful.
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Growing up Wasian in Australia
After my first Chinese lesson as an adult, I called my Grandma to tell her what I had learned. I speak my mother’s language — the language of the country I was born in and the language of the country I live in now — but I have never been able to properly learn Chinese, despite being half Chinese myself. My inability to speak Chinese has made me feel like I’m bad at being Asian.
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Being a Depressed Mom
It’s hard feeling depressed. And it's really hard to be a depressed mother. It takes a lot of effort to get up in the morning and much more effort to take care of others. Depression is thought to be one of the fiercest mental illnesses, one that nearly paralyzes its patients. Nothing is ever easy. Waking up, eating, going to work or school, even going out with friends is difficult.
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Ingredients for Love: The Unspoken Language of My Grandma’s Kitchen
As years go by, I spend more and more time making memories in my grandma’s kitchen. It took me a long time to realize that food is how she shows her love. I’ve come to understand that the food we make together isn’t just something to eat; it’s also my grandma’s way of connecting with me and sharing her life story.
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My Virtual Interview in a Pakistani Ice Cream Parlor
I’ve been in the telecoms field for the last 20 years and writing for the last five. During my professional life, I have sat through multiple job interviews, all held in quiet office meeting rooms. Dressed professionally, having already researched the company, I maintained a good and attentive posture and was aware of my body language. I stayed focused on the interviewer and paid full attention to their questions and responses, striving to impress with my personality, tone, manners, and knowledge.
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A Hāfu in Japan
Two passports. Two last names. Two identities. From a very early age, my life has been characterized by how I am half-American and half-Japanese. In elementary school, my mom tried to teach me Japanese by putting me in a “Japanese as a Second Language School (JASL)” on Sundays. Being a child, of course, I was very averse to going to more school on the weekend.
