My love life (part 2)

As a child, the only extra curricular activity I regularly engaged in was catechism. Being from a strong catholic background, it was mandatory I attended these classes in order to be eligible for the required sacraments.

In May 1989, as I got ready for my first communion, I struck acquaintance with one girl, Aurore, and her friend whose name never registered. She walked up to me, asked for my name and introduced herself because I never asked. She enquired about my school among other things. All I did was to answer her questions.

I didn't meet her again until the Retreat, a religious outing to Lourdes, in the north of France. During the lunch break, a pretty girl, around the age of 11, approached me and boldly asked for one of the sweets I was having. She had a lovely round face bordered by smooth straight dark brown hair. Her skin was of a dark Mediterranean complexion. Her most beautiful green eyes were almond shaped, giving her a slightly  oriental appearance with a barely noticeable minute scar between right eyebrow and the eye socket . As she smiled at me, she revealed a pair of dental braces on both rows of teeth. That was Aurore again. A subliminal attraction to her had began in me.

I didn't look in the best of shapes at the time. A week earlier, I had tripped on the vacuum cleaner's lead and knocked my head unto the edge of the wall, causing a deep cut to my forehead. My mother had treated it with cotton wool which had gotten stuck in the closing wound.

 I generosity handed her three of my sweets and these were her exact words: " Merci! Tu es romantique ..."

We didn't have much to say afterwards so she walked away with her friend, leaving me to wonder whether or not we both felt the same way about each other. 

On the day of the first communion, she wore a white flowery dress with a little flowered straw hat. We smiled to each other and didn't speak. For the next year, I would see her every Wednesday on my way to catechism. She was part of the second group and I was in the first, meaning, when I was on my way home, she would be on her way to the class. Our paths often crossed midway. Sometimes I would avoid her, other times I would smile. But I  always, always prayed that I would meet her, just to look at her once more. I thought about her always, especially in the mornings as I woke up. I also noticed something. When I'm missing someone, and I think about them strongly, I suddenly lose the ability to remember what their face looks like. Until I see her and my heart misses a beat.

I kept living a fantasy with Aurore without ever giving her a hint about what I felt. I was scared I would ruin our friendship if I told her I had feelings for her. I was also scared of the sudden realisation that the fantasy I'd been living in my head would be a one sided affair. I decided to never let her know. And the dream lasted for nearly  two years.

My family had to return to Africa in September 1990 and that was the end of Aurore and I...well not quite. I didn't have her address so I couldn't write to her. But I could still think about her and I did so for months. I never forgot her. I never even knew her surname. She crosses my mind every now and then.

Time passed and...

Having lived a solitary lifestyle throughout infancy in a world of total cluelessness about social protocols, I made my first steps into the teenage world on my 13 th birthday in Ghana, west Africa .  I didn't see much change in me apart from the odd hairs in the nether regions. My voice never "broke", my shoulders failed to expand, and though there was a barely noticeable interest in the opposite sex it still was a no-go area for me; my mind blindness and my inability to detect non verbal cues made it impossible for me to anticipates reaction to any eventual approach that I might make. So, just like when it came to making friends, I steered well clear from the daughters of eve to avoid making a fool of myself.

At school, not many boys had girlfriends because of the strict African culture and the stiff punishment administered to anyone caught in any amorous enterprise. I also realised one thing: all the girls were taken.

Though I was unusually skinny and weak looking, I considered myself far more attractive than their boyfriends. They were plain ugly wicked bullies with absolutely nothing to offer. But because they could lie their way to the girls' hearts and were good at football. And they could make small talk, which I couldn't. I was usually subjected to ridicule by the boys in front of their girlfriends to entertain  them. There was one girl , who overlook all of it and became my friend. Her name was Kirsty and she was in my class. We were often seen together in class, chatting during break times. Everybody thought she was my girlfriend. I never denied or refuted the claims because I liked her and assumed she liked me too... 

Then one day, when one boy decided to tease her about me in class, she finally seized the opportunity to set the record straight: " Who the hell is he to me that he should be my boyfriend? The cheek of that! Don't I have eyes? Haven't I got taste? Don't you Think I respect myself enough??!?" Then she angrily stormed off, leaving me in the classroom with 25 other boys and girls who had just witnessed my very public disgrace.  I can't put a name to my emotions at that time... All I can say is that it felt deeply unpleasant. I recoiled from Kirsty , and from other attempts at getting a girlfriend.

 By the time I'd gotten to high school, I'd joined a christian group and was actively involved in bible studies. The pressure to fit in by getting a girlfriend was nonexistent so I could finally get on with life. I was in a boarding school and at the end of each term. I would come home for the holidays. 

When I was 16, my mother and a few other people became the founding members of a new parish church not far from my house. I came home for the Christmas holidays and one Sunday, the priest asked us to go round and welcome one another in the church. That was when I befriended two girls who were around the same age as me. The first one was Wilhelmina ,or Mina for short. She was a very pretty, light skinned girl with coloured ribbons in her long plaited hair. She was very well dressed and attended an international private school. Her companion wasn't as attractive. She was of a dark skin colour that made her eyes look very bright. Her hair was short like a boy's hair. 

She went by the name Dee and she attended a top public girls school. I later understood that Dee had been adopted by Mina's family, where she worked as an orderly when she wasn't in school.

We exchanged addressed and the three of us wrote to each other once a term. I found Mina very attractive but I knew better than to go telling her. Also, as a religious leader in my school, the last thing I wanted was for romance to steal my heart away from the ministry. But most of all, I knew too well that she'd be too happy to tell me 'No' if I ever asked her out. So to avoid any embarrassment I never gave a hint that I found her beautiful. After a while, they stopped coming to church in favour of a bigger church in town.

One day, out of the blues, someone knocked on our gate. When I opened it was Dee, Mina's plain adopted sister. She had an invitation for a party at their house. But when I set eyes on her, I froze.  She was the same but Some unexpected attraction to her had rocked my life. Her eyes and smile...and even her untreated hair made my heart fall in love. It wasn't like the little crushes I had as a kid. This one was gripping and captivating, almost debilitating. I would think about her non stop for days. 

I never attended the party. I hate parties . I can't dance. Can't stand loud crowds. I'm usually miserable in such environments. So I went to visit Dee a day after the party. I thanked her for having invited me though I couldn't make it. In the days that followed, we became really close friends. We wrote letters to each other, with hearts and xxxs, shared our happy and sad moments. I heard a song called "Pilot of the Airwaves" during a time I was thinking of her. Ever since I associate that song with her. I would read and re-read her letters in absolute moments of obsession. I had eyes for no other girl apart from Dee. We gave each other gifts on Christmas and in the new year. Mina's mum took a dislike to me for reasons I know not of. I once met Mina and she told me" you don't write to me anymore. If you did, I'd be writing to you so much that you'd beg me to stop!" I smiled. Wasn't sure whether she was joking or not. But for me, it was Dee I wanted to marry and build a future with. I studied hard in class so we could build a secure future.

She once came to visit me. I took her to my room to show her my collection of cassettes. I only bought one type of music from a Christian Contemporary band called Maranatha. They had a Logo of a dove at the bottom of the cassette sleeves and when properly arranged, my collection would have 2 rows of 15 identical doves accurately aligned on my desk. I would play her one song after the other, then I would childishly use my Walkie talkie to transmit my voice onto a radio frequency I had discovered. I acted as the DJ and dedicated every song I played to her.

Dee had earlier on informed me that she would begin to leave as soon as it's half past the hour. I fiendishly turned back the hands on the table clock anytime she wasn't looking and got her to stay for an hour more than she had planned!

On her birthday,  the 14 th of April I finally decided that she would be the first ever girl I would ask out. I didn't know how I would go about it so I decided to use a card. I spent my meagre savings on a beautiful Blue Mountain card that said " To the One I Love " in a pearly textured design. I attached a letter detailing how I've always felt about her. To me that was the ultimate birthday gift. I would have been over the moon to receive someone's life and love on my birthday.

I went over to her's  and waited as she was called to meet me on her porch. She walked to me, bypassed me and went to sit on a chair at the other end of the porch, patted the chair right next to her and said "Come and sit here!"

I sat next to her and handed her the envelope. Our fingers touched for the first time. We'd never had any previous physical contact.. I nervously but excitedly wished her a happy birthday and listened to her as she narrated the events of the week. I requested of her not to open her card in front of me or in front of anyone else. 

When we parted ways, I played the waiting game. How would she feel about my card and letter? Would it be a dream come true for her as it would be for me if she said yes? 

I had been a loner all my life. My sister, with whom I often engaged in rivalries over almost everything had never been single for more than 2 months since she was 13 and was at the time in a serious relationship with a young lawyer our mum was paying for him to be her literature tutor for her A' level exams. I told my sister that I now had a girlfriend.

That week, we all returned to our boarding schools and I was due to begin my mock exams. By the end of the week, I received the much awaited letter from Dee. I went in my cubicle and tore the envelope open. It wasn't what I expected. I reread it a number of times to ensure I hadn't missed anything. It said: From your letter and card, I can tell you're in love. Who are you in love with? I'm not the one because we're just friends. So give me the name of your lover."

 I immediately replied saying that she was the one I'd fallen in love with and that it was the first time I'm declaring my love to somebody so if it appears a bit awkward, she should please overlook it."

 Before my reply even got to her , I received another letter from her. It was an angry letter that read: "Dear Billy. I am very disappointed and upset as I write you this letter. The sight of the card and the content of the letter makes me sick. All this while, was this what you were thinking? You should have told me to know my limits. No wonder you didn't want me to open the envelope in front of anyone!!!"

 For  three days I didn't eat anything , nor did I speak to anyone. I hid the letter in my box of talcum powder so that none of my school mates finds it and brings further ridicule my way. I went through depression and grief. People often talk and joke about the fear of rejection. However, nobody really comments on the pain of a rejection. I couldn't believe what had just happened. It hurt terribly, drilling into my heart and soul. I had hit rock bottom and I wish I could go back into time and not send that card, not fall in love. I found the strength to write a reply, to say sorry for letting her down by letting my heart fall for her. I suggested to  her that she could burn my card and letters and pretend none of this ever happened. I apologised for ruining her birthday with the card and asked that we move on from this episode.

 Thereafter, I cripplingly  ill with malaria. I refused to seek treatment because I wanted to die. Life wasn't worth living anymore. 

On the Sunday before I wrote my math mock exam, my sister came to visit me. I was so weak and feverish I couldn't come down to see her. Amid tears of frustration, she left the school and I thought I'd gotten rid of her. She returned with a family friend of ours who owned a taxi. They drove me to the nearest hospital for treatment. At the hospital, my condition demanded they kept me on admission but I begged the doctor to make me an outpatient because I had my math exam the following day.

I was devastated, dejected but determined to live life to the fullest, even if I had to make  it alone.

My love life (part 1)

I began having crushes from the age of 5. The subjects of my crushes were usually girls who didn't like me, like the one who used to bully me in kindergarten, or girls who were a bit older than me, like Krista, that loud but beautiful sister of a friend of mine. She wore braces, that's all I remember of her physique, now.

 When I was 10 years old, I took a serious liking to Sarah, a classmate of my sister, who was already in her teens. I'd always admired her beautiful eyes and had never spoken to her before. I once told my sister that anytime I saw her , my heart missed a couple of beats. She organised a type of play date one Wednesday afternoon for me and her after I confessed that I liked her. We met in front of my school in the 17th arrondissement of Paris . As soon as I saw Sarah with my sister, I sped off in the opposite direction as fast as my legs could carry me... Not that fast, because they soon caught up with me.

"Don't be shy, Billy, " Sarah said. Now, one secret about me is that when my first name is mentioned whilst talking to me! I take it as a sign of affection and all other emotions melt away. I was shy because it was completely out of the ordinary for me to interact closely with someone I fancied. We played "chat bisou", an "it" game where I would chase sarah, catch her and give her a peck on the cheek, then she'd be "it'!

 Later that afternoon, we went to my Parisian flat, which I shared with my sister and my mother. Throughout the date my sister chaperoned us. Sarah was a french girl in my sister's secondary school whose beauty overrode my reasoning to the core. Though I tried to communicate to her that my heart was all hers to steal as much as she wanted, my non-verbal communication skills lacked the much-needed vocabulary to convey my innermost feelings.

The year was 1988. I was hoping to have my first kiss on that day. Unfortunately, my dream of a first kiss wasn't  to materialise until 17 years later.

 After we said our goodbyes and promised a follow up date, I wrote to her on an A4 piece of paper, which I filled with drawings and red hearts. I told her I wanted to marry her and live the rest of my life with her. She replied the following day through my sister who was our carrier pigeon. The paper she wrote on was much smaller than mine. It was sky blue with lines on it. In the middle of it was a large poorly drawn heart, painted red. From the words in the letter, she enjoyed the time spent with me, she called me the prince of her heart, told me I was the handsome prince of her heart and that she loved me.

 I couldn't believe it, it was too good to be true. I, of all the boys in the world, had the best girl! I felt strange sensations in my chest whenever I thought of her. The next day, I felt on top of the world at my primary school. I felt special, mature and felt that I had finally found something to live for...

Then, I had an argument with my sister that week over something I can't quite recollect. In a moment of blind rage, she spilled the beans. "I contracted Sarah to pretend she loved you just to give u a social life and to boost your self esteem!" She said. "I bought her sweets in exchange for that date. She don't love you one bit. She's got a handsome blond haired 17 year old boyfriend with broad shoulders. Why would she want to go out with a "gringalet" like you?!?"

That burst my bubble. I'd been living a one sided lie of a love affair. I never replied to that letter. I did see Sarah a couple of times but we never spoke at length, just a hello here , a hi there. Her family became friends with my family and we often invited them to our parties and celebrations. I never asked her of her new boyfriend. She never spoke of him. But I would forever remember her and the meer fleeting thought of her would always, always cause my heart to skip a beat or two...

 By now she must be married, maybe divorced and remarried...a lot older, life must have put its strain on her, robbing her of her teenage glow. But in my minds eye, she's still the ridiculously pretty 13 year old girl I had my first and most powerful crush on...frozen in time, forever young, eternally loved, perpetually preserved. The following year, my class went on a 3-week excursion to the countryside region of Franche-Comté . We joined another school on this horse riding expedition. Among the things I loved from this experience are the horses, ( I can still list them by name and in order of their boxes in the stable), songs by the fireside, fresh unprocessed whole milk for breakfast, straight from the cows udders. I also loved Albane. Albane was a girl from the other school. She was the first person with Down's Syndrome I'd ever met. She had a thing for boys and she would try to kiss them whenever she had the chance. She never tried it on me, though. She never took notice. They would pull faces in disgust, wipe their cheeks and poke fun at her. At first, I found her awkward and off putting, then with time, I began to wish we were friends. There was something that brought us together... Loneliness and rejection. I never told a soul about my feelings for Albane. What would people think? One guy asked her during lunch, when we shared a table" Why are you not normal?" An anger rose within me. I wanted to pounce on the boy. But I didn't. I kept to myself. Rumours began circulating that people with "mongolism" ( that's how they called it at the time) die at 18 I felt sad for her. I missed numerous opportunities to introduce myself to Albane; one of these opportunities was when I went to the playground to use the swings. I was alone, with the exception of a tall girl with waist length hazel hair on the swing, chatting to an imaginary friend. I watched her from a distance. She was beautiful to watch... then walked away. It wasn't until the end of the excursion that I realise I'd had a crush on her. I thought about her for years afterwards. Thoughts that she knew my name and that things had worked between us.

Group work

Group Work. My worst nightmare. A skill necessary for survival in a neurotypical dominated world. A skill that, if you are open and honest about your lack of it in interviews, you will fail to get any jobs, be subjected to homelessness and starvation resulting in your eventual demise... Unless you lie about it, your chances of earning a livelihood are immensely impaired.

This post comes as a result of a reality show I watched earlier this week, where a number of volunteers were chosen to partake in a social experiment during which they were made to live in Mesolithic conditions, without recourse to modern technology. The survival of the tribe was largely dependant upon groupwork and even among neurotypicals, groupwork turned out to be an issue.

I've been on countless in-service training programmes where I've been bundled in a group with complete strangers and instructed to come up with a solution to a problem. I expend a lot of energy trying to come up with something to contribute to the group, while all the others seem to naturally generate the right words to say at the right time to the right people. It doesn't take long before everyone else in the group become aware of my silence. They miss the tedium I experience in thinking hard about what to say and the painful process of processing their words and conversations and making sense of it all. They weren't there when I woke up in the morning in intensely debilitating fear, dreading what problems I would encounter as a result of my social and communication problems. All they see and all they know is that 'this guy is not talking and for that matter, he's not making any effort. We are therefore choosing to dislike him'. This becomes glaringly obvious in the next item I dread: coffee break times. It's too short for me to dash outside and relax on a nearby park. Yet it's long enough to experience the full force of social isolation. Groups form around me while I stand or sit like a centrepiece, all by myself. I find it impossible to believe that these folks have previously never met and now they're all best friends with so much in common, numbers are exchanged, bonds are formed. Even the person who I befriended because I was the first to arrive at the venue and was able to offer her some assistance, has found a group of people and has formed a stronger friendship than mine. An attempt to join her little group was an eye opener: the group disbanded...and reformed elsewhere...Was it my breath? My dress sense? Do I have B.O.? Or do I simply keep invading people's privacy without realising it?

My days of hopping from one group to another, putting on a friendly face( wide forced grin) in the hope that one group might ask me about my music or my work or anything of interest that would get me talking to the group are over. I quit trying to be Mr Life and Soul of the Party. Period.

A few years ago, whilst I headed the department of English As an Additional Language (EAL) in a reputable secondary school in inner London, I had the singular opportunity of being invited on board a working party with the aim of revising the standard 'Stages of English Acquisition (threshold, beginner intermediate and advanced) for all the four skills (reading, writing, speaking and listening/ understanding). I felt so honoured to be chosen to influence such an important document that would inform the good practice in schools at the Local Authority level. This was a year before I learned I had Asperger's.

On the day, we all met in a host school. It was a large and daunting group. But when we were split into primary and secondary sections, my group was a lot smaller. It was made up of 4 people. Myself, an outstanding EAL teacher I had the opportunity of befriending months before, another EAL teacher by whom I had been previously mentored at the start of my tenure of office, and a male EAL and English teacher I had never met. What struck me most at first glance was his rebellious hair.

Then came the time for introductions. As I dreadfully waited for my turn to speak, each of the participants one by one listed their accomplishments and accolades. The male teacher spoke of his books and publications. My friend mentioned the trainings she had delivered all over the city, the materials and packs she had developed, passing some samples round. The experienced mentor had volumes to say and by that time, it had become apparent that I was the weakest link.

Mine was short and sweet. I spoke about my recent appointment as head and how I was progressively bringing change in the school with regards to EAL. At this point, the organiser stepped in to announce that she had decided to include me in order to provide me with exposure and experience. By this time, I had become so belittled and downtrodden I couldn't shrink any further. I tried to psych myself into seeing the positive in the situation, and foreseeing the skills and recognition I would gain at the end of the exercise. Did that work? Nope.

As the working party deliberated, each participant had a valuable contribution to make. They spoke of topics I had never heard about though I am an avid reader. They mentioned theories and debated existing stages of language acquisitions with theoretical ones. There was no way I could have made an adequate contribution to something I knew so little of. I suddenly realised that whenever the opportunity arose, I would echo the last words of people in the hope that it would register into people's minds that my voice was also heard. The rest of the time, I battled with anxiety and waited anxiously for the end of the session.

Then, I remembered that my driving lesson was due in an hours time and the commute home was quite a distance. I switched off and began to ruminate about being late for my prepaid lesson, and losing my fee as well as valuable practice time. I was therefore, unable to grant the session any more of my battered attention as my mind was now a blatant battlefield. A carnage of words and thoughts and emotions.  My head and heart pounded like a thousand galloping horsemen launching a brutal assault. My stomach churned with butterflies like a hurricane. I knew I couldn't take anymore. What I did not know was that it had a name. Sensory overload. 

When they finally closed, I was the first to dash out. I survived the commute and made it just on time for the driving lesson. I was a complete wreck during the lesson and it was unusually dark. Outside and inside. I was completely drained and exhausted from all the (attempted) interactions.

In the days that followed, I told anybody who would listen that I was part of the group that is creating the newly revised EAL guidance. I felt extremely proud as I remembered the effort I exerted and the exhaustion I experienced. I felt they had paid off. I was so proud I failed to notice that I wasn't invited to any more sessions. After three months, the very detailed and comprehensive document was ready. A copy was emailed to me. I noticed that everyone's name was printed in the acknowledgement page. Everyone's except mine. And to cheer me up, I didn't pass the driving test for which I sprinted across London to make it on time for the practice.

I start a new job tomorrow. I've told myself that I'm going to put my fears and feelings aside and be a team player. I have read a book on assertiveness. I have read another on teamwork. I'm just hoping and believing that maybe...maybe, tomorrow, things might be a bit different.