a touch of the…

LINK: a touch of the…

Currently listening to: Fast Car – Tracy Chapman & Luke Combs

You got a fast car
Is it fast enough so we can fly away?
We gotta make a decision
Leave tonight or live and die this way

Maggie and I were talking when she paused, looked at me and asked, “Do you think you have a touch of the ’tism?” I smirked and said, “Nah, but I do have traits—like most people do.”

To preface, her son carries a diagnosis of ASD, he and I were vibing right away when I met him for the first time. His mother told me that it usually takes a while before he warms up to people. I told her that I have a lot of experience with kiddos on the spectrum.

She’s not wrong. I do have some traits:

• limited eye contact (but this is because I’m Korean, it’s considered rude to look at elders or those with high ranking positions in the eye in the motherland)
• I am sensitive to smells. I’ve been told that I have a nose of a bloodhound.
• attention to detail
• difficulty making friends as a child, but this is due to being a minority and bullied
• prefer text versus talking
• strong memory

On the flip side, I work in an environment that is constantly changing. It is utter chaos and I just roll with it. I can read the room, pick up on nonverbal cues, and tune into other people’s emotions easily. Stimming isn’t something that I do, and while I have tons of interests, they’re a variety of things rather than hyper-focused.

It made me think of Victor, a boy from church, I knew in grade school. He was Korean, a couple of years older than me and at the time he was undiagnosed growing up but later in life was diagnosed with ASD (level 1). He liked me because I was one of the few people who was kind to him. As we got older, he’d follow me around singing, “Here comes Korean girl.” He asked me out nearly every Sunday and every time I said, “No, but we can be friends.” This caused him to spiral and crash out every time, yet it didn’t stop him from asking me the same question every week. Victor could also recall in perfect detail, the exact moment we first met—the room we were in, the date, the time, what I was wearing. I thought my memory was good but damn, he puts me to shame. He could remember geography like his life depended on it: subway maps, train systems, world maps… all of that. Not me, I get lost even with Google Maps.

We lost touch after his family moved to Boston, but I’m sure if I were to see him again, he could tell me in great detail about the first and last time we met.