My whole generation had the idea of planning drilled into us. We needed to always know what we were doing next. Anything to the contrary was a failure. To be standing still was to be sinking in quicksand.
I actually rather liked planning. I ended up building career experience around it. A few years ago, I ended up crafting a GANTT chart with somewhat made-up dates on how to get a legislative bill through the UK Parliament in record time. It was planning that gave everyone a sense of reassurance despite the whole project being a terrible mess.
Yet here I sit without a plan. It’s the antithesis of what I’ve been taught and know.
Planning for planning’s sake is a creature comfort in delusion. The truth is that there is little point in planning too much right now, as I have little grasp of where my life is heading. Any time I’ve tried to plan anything, I’ve ended up trying to rush my recovery, and life has hit me hard.
So now my focus is simply taking it day by day. Sometimes there are too many moving parts to be able to actually plan our lives. That’s probably true for more of us than we would like to admit. Coming to terms with the fragility of our lives is too frightening to deal with.
Planning is good when we have a clear goal in mind. There is certainly a place for it in many aspects of our lives. But attempting to plan everything in our lives becomes impossible when we live in such a complex world. With the world changing as much as it is, it’s becoming practically impossible to predict what might be happening in five years time, let alone in twenty.
At its worst, creating delusional plans can end up being harmful. It often gives people a false sense of security, or creates blind allegiance to a truth that never was. Many people fail to see the warning signs that something might be wrong because the idea that their neatly crafted plan going off-track is too scary to contemplate.
In my last job, the idea of planning sounded nice, yet nobody had the discipline to follow it. When a plan got knocked off course, it was far easier to blame external circumstances for the problems, rather than taking a genuine look as to whether things were set up correctly in the first place.
I think there is a level of radical honest in saying that we simply do not know. It’s a statement people are absolutely frightened of, particularly in overly-educated, intellectual circles. We’ve spent so long learning how to sound convincing that we are scared of being ‘found out’ as not having all the answers.
But the truth is that nobody can really have the answers right now when so much is unclear. It’s okay to not have a plan when there is so much we do not know.
I’ve been feeling frustrated with my health. Despite building what is a rather aggressive approach through supplements and powders, it’s hard to see much empirical change.
The first moment I’ll truly know whether things have shifted is when I next get a blood test. My hope is that I can have demonstrably better insulin sensitivity, reduced liver fat and an increase of HDL cholesterol.
In the meantime, all I can do is interpret the subtler signs. My energy is a bit better, and I have been doing more exercise. My eating is objectively better, and I’m generally improving in sleep.
At the same time, I have new woes that have appeared. My knees feel far more delicate with additional walking, and I’ve been consistently waking up with a headache in the mornings. It’s hard to tell whether this is genuine progress when each stage seems to have a new issue crop up.
When I get so caught up in analysing my health everyday, the temptation is to delve ever deeper. I’ve been watching videos, reading books and getting AI interpretations with some attempt to understand what each daily shift might mean.
But at some point, I have to recognise that there are some things that I can’t really know. And to be honest, even if I did, it would probably not change a whole lot anyway. I can vaguely infer that my body is getting better. And even if that’s not the case, my approach is not likely to change right now anyway. Any attempt to push harder will cause more harm than good. I’m better off just letting things be for a while.
It’s a trap that nearly all of us fall into. When we get so caught up in a goal, we can end up making them our whole existence. The irony is that when we focus too much on that one issue, the lack of progress ends up hitting harder and we end up doing much worse.
Of course, recognising the pattern is one thing, shifting the behaviour is another. Although I have experienced such a challenge before, I recognise that this test is probably bigger than any other I’ve had. This challenge to my health and wellbeing spans multiple years, and honestly, despite my imperfectiosn I think I’m handling it better than most people would. Nonetheless, it’s tapping into lifelong difficulties around weight, which has been the one area that I’ve never really succeeded in getting to grips with, despite numerous substantive efforts.
So I’m giving myself some grace. I’ll follow the approach I’ve come up with, then see how it lines up with the next blood test. If I then need to do something different, I can adapt. But there’s little point in fretting on the details on a day to day basis. Even in the most optimistic of scenarios, sizeable, sustained change will take months. Realistically, it may even be years.
I’m better off shifting away from overanalysis and instead focus on living life. It’ll probably be more beneficial for my health anyway.
‘Do you ever feel like you’re playing whac-a-mole?’
Someone asked me this once. They explained the situation where you try one thing which only partially solves the problem. This then leads to other issues popping up.
It’s a metaphor that has stuck with me, because it describes my experience in many different domains exceptionally well. When I try one thing, a plethora of new moles seem to pop up. I find myself in a perennial battle of reactivity.
I don’t think anything better epitomises this better than my current health challenges. Recently, I’ve been looking to walk more. Unfortunately, at one point walking seemed to cause bad back pain. The back pain led me to go to the physiotherapist for mobility exercises.
Whilst the physiotherapy helped, the practice also led to more phystical fatigue. The fatigue meant that I ended up staying at home to rest. The rest meant that I had deconditioned, so by the time I started walking again, the soles of my feet would start hurting so much it restricted my movement. Eventually, I tried a few solutions, eventually realising that I needed to do certain ankle stretches and replace my old shoes. Now that I’m able to walk more, I’m now starting to get knee pain. It’s like every step has some new weird obstacle crop up.
Most people understand the concept that the body is far more complex than we often describe it as. Yet such an explanation often takes a lot of energy, and often requires overcoming a natural scepticism. For example, I had to strongly advocate that exercise was making me more sick rather than healthy
I feel like this appraoch to trying to solve every issue individually is symptomatic of the overly specialised, interventionist healthcare system based upon the western approach. When everything turns into a problem that must be solved, it can often neglect the bigger picture.
Unfortunately, our whole system is built upon solutions that are made within a ten minute appointment. With such time constraints it’s no wonder doctors must prescribe easy, catch-all solutions. When my GP once prescribed me antidepressents, I had no explanation of it’s effects or what it actually would do. It was instead left to me to research all of this myself. I knew intuitively that they were probably not right, but I took them anyway because my doctor suggested it.
My natural conclusion has been to hone my natural instinct and listen deeper to my body’s signals. ‘Listening to your body’ is a cliché that is oft repeated, and it is not a monolith. But it is repeated because we are in a system that discourages ourselves from doing so.
It feels like my life is hitting a new equilibrium point. My energy fluctuations feel less chaotic, and basic tasks are no longer feeling like a struggle.
Yesterday, I went to the sea-side on the Belgian coast. I went with a similar group of people to the ones I went with a year ago. It was a nice day, and the ocean waves are always a calming sight.
But what was noticeable was how much calmer I was about life compared to a year ago. Things are certainly not perfect, but I feel like things feel more settled.
In 2025, I felt like I was caught in a whirlwind. I was in a continuous anxious state of how to heal myself, but with little to show for my work. Meanwhile, I was constantly plagued by worry around what I was meant to be doing with my life.
Today, the noise just feels lower. I’ve made peace with a lot of things. Lots of them are probably small, but I think they have now added up enough to be making a substantive impact. I have certainly not figured out the big questions, most notably what I actually am meant to be doing in life. But I also feel less pressed to worry about it.
A big change is that I now feel like I’m progressing. Rather than constantly searching for solutions, I finally think I understand my underlying health problems better. The neurodivergence explaining the chronic tension. I feel like I’ve also found an answer to my perennial weight problems, which stems from very high insulin resistance. I can now actually target it as a problem, rather than attempting general weight loss tactics that were ineffective.
The real world impact is that I find myself strategising around my life far less. The big things like career and work are not worth worrying about until my health gets better. Meanwhile, the moderate improvements mean that I don’t need to be so careful about every aspect of my life, compared to what it was before.
At the beginning of my burnout, I would strategically decide when to go to the supermarket based upon whether I had the energy to get out of bed. As time went on, my capacity increased somewhat. Nonetheless, I still needed to be extremely careful to not overextend and crash out.
Basic things having a higher cost meant that they came with more tension. There was far more pressure for basic social events to be ‘worth it’ because they took so much energy. When I went to something that didn’t feel good, it ended up hitting harder because of how much energy it took.
As time goes on, this barrier to entry is slowly decreasing. I can go without a sense of expectation. Life is a lot easier without worrying about such things.
An important factor is that I’ve cut out areas that have given me consistent friction. Social settings where there’s either always some level of drama, or where I feel like something is of. I think I’ve dearly underestimated how big of an effect that has had on my health over the long term.
It’s probably why I also feel more confident that this moment will be a genuine recovery signal rather than a single positive blip. In the past, a good moment often was followed by one where I felt like I was getting dragged back down. Now, I feel like I’ve removed a lot of the things that would have that negative effect, whether internally or externally.
Still, it’s important to be patient. Walking passed important-looking people in the EU quarter is a big reality check. Their busy hustle and bustle is not something I can currently do, and certainly not five days a week.
Yet If the next few months are simply slow and peaceful progress, I’d be ever so grateful for it.
For some, birthdays are about celebration, and having a moment to feel special. For others, it elicits a sense of worry, confronting us to the inevitable march of time.
My somewhat surprising reaction when the clock struck midnight was a sense of lightness.
I think the honest response is that I’m somewhat grateful to be alive. Making it to the age of 33 feels like an achievement, particularly after the few years I’ve had. It may sound grim, but surviving the extreme confusion of my own existence in an increasingly hostile world does feel like an achievement.
There’s also a secondary feeling of peace. For most of my life, birthdays have actually been one of the worst days in the calendar. I would hate it. Rather than a joyous occasion, it felt a day that highlighted social isolation and family dysfunction more than celebration. If I were to think about my birthdays, I have overwhelmingly negative memories.
In adult life, I felt an intense social pressure to do something ‘special’. These would often be special activities or trips. Although these could be nice, the idea of doing things that I wouldn’t necessarily do anyway felt quite performative. I even considered taking a trip away this year, but that felt more like running away from the world rather than actually ‘treating myself’.
I went through a phase of hosting parties. In practice, this was a ritual of sending invitations and hoping people might turn up. Some did. Some didn’t. Some said they would, but then didn’t bother. I, meanwhile, took up the mental and emotional pressure of having to organise everything. I’d often end up feeling more solemn and hurt by people’s selfishness than anything selse.
So some years ago, I decided that I’d stop caring. ‘What’s in a day anyway?’ I used to say. It made for good bravado, and from a spiritual perspective it sounded enlightened. But in the end, I was somewhat lying to myself. I did still feel hurt, but I just pretended I didn’t. I remember rather regretting I didn’t do anything for my 30th birthday. It took me a while for me to actually admit this to myself.
What makes today’s sense of peace interesting is that nothing has really changed. If anything, I seem to be living a more socially isolated life than I ever have before. Yet, I think I’m also making peace with my existence. When I now see people having lavish celebrations, I realise I’m comparing apples to oranges.
Whilst I would dearly love to have the nice part, the truth is that I also don’t want the rest of the things that come with it. Many people exist in social groups that quell their individuality and independence. Oft, such parties are also a proof of social happiness rather than a byproduct. Such concepts mean little to me. It’s probably why they have always felt a bit false. If people want to celebrate me, they’re welcome to. But I’m not going to make it an enforced social interaction.
I’ve not really done anything special today. In fact, I even had quite a bad night’s sleep thanks to a mosquito visiting me in the night. But there’s something calming about having a peaceful Sunday without any obligations and performances to make.
My birthday has seemingly gotten to that point that I wanted several years ago. A day for some enjoyment and reflection, but certainly not worth stressing over.
I’ve been intentionally looking to walk more. Walking more however can sound a little dumb. After all, most of us walk everyday. It’s become so programmed into our living that the idea of intentionally walking just sounds like adding more needless travel into our day.
Yet for me, I’m finding walking one of the most adapted and well-suited forms of exercise I’ve intentionally done.
If you’ve been following my writing, you may be aware that a few months ago I was having terrible back pain. For one reason or another, a short walk would cause enough agony that I could no longer really move. So simply being able to walk around uninhibited has already felt like a massive relief. Sometimes, losing the ability to do something we take for granted is the impetus for us to really value it.
Over the years, I’ve tried so many different exercise routines. None of them, unfortunately, have really stuck. That’s not for a lack of effort or discipline, but I found that I would eventually break down. Yoga was causing shoulder problems. My gym routine eventually led to an insurmountable body fatigue. Other exercise classes would wipe me out.
Yet with walking, I’ve seemingly found something that I can actually control properly. If I’m tired, I can have a rest without being scolded at by a teacher. Going on a solo trek also doesn’t lead to social embarrassment that my fitness is not as good as other people. Nor is there any big competitive element.
I’ve been intentionally going out to walk every day over the last few weeks. My minimum is to get my 5000 steps, but I’ve ended up regularly going far beyond that. Admittedly, this has been a pretty tough week to do a whole lot of physical activity. The hot weather has been extremely punishing, but at least I’ve ended up taking advantage of Brussels numerous forests and woods. The greenery is a great shelter from the sun, not to mention getting out of the city which absorbs heat so intensely.
But most fundamentally, I feel like I’m getting the more normal physical feedback from walking. I actually feel good after moving, and I’m noticing the positive effects on my body. This is a pretty great contrast compared to previous exercise classes. I would end up actually feeling terrible after them.
This brings me to the larger critique of modern fitness and wellness. Everything is about efficiency. Exercise classes are made to squeeze as much calorie burning in the shortest amount of time. There’s little time or effort placed on finding the right pace, or adapting it to an individual’s body. I feel like this actually makes exercise less accessible than it probably was in the past. If you’re not already a fitness freak, it’s very hard to actually get into it. Most regular people seem to go to such exercise classes out of a sense of obligation, rather than because they actually enjoy it.
It’s been quite frustrating personally having to navigate fitness professionals who would constantly push my body in ways that I felt like was doing it harm. I was for a long time convinced that my aches and pains were things to fight through. Unsurprisingly, my body would eventually break down.
Like many aspects of health, I’ve been looking into what Ayurvedic teachings say. Here, it makes clear that good exercise should be moderate. Going too intense burns through our ojas, or life energy. The idea of constantly pushing yourself is not actually healthy.
What is weird is that this is broadly understood, even in modern day contexts. Yet pretty much our whole exercise culture is built instead on speed and convenience. HIIT exercises for ‘optimisation’. 30 day beach body programmes. Yoga classes to look good in Lululemon leggings, whilst the spiritual and philosophical teachings are butchered.
The sad irony is that this only serves to further isolate and divide society. We’re in the midst of an obesity crisis, yet our health and fitness industry seems only to obsess ever more with fads and micro-optimisations. Getting valuable advice around our individual health and wellbeing has become paradoxically near-impossible.
But going back to walking is something that nearly all of us have the ability to do. It takes away so much of the noise. Instead of worrying about muscle groups or calorie burning optimisation, we can keep it very simple.
If the body wants to move, then move. If it wants to stop, then stop. Rinse and repeat each day.
I travelled back to the UK this week for the launch of my father’s biography. That, in of itself is a rather momentous moment. But the whiplash of shifting a recent trip to Spain, back to Belgium, to the UK then a Bangladeshi community event was particularly intense.
I don’t feel such sequence of events is particularly rare in my life. If anything, I feel the sense of being caught between worlds becoming ever stronger as time goes by. I oft feel like I am caught between them all. I exist in many, but I’m never fully in one.
Sometimes it’s the small things that highlight feeling out of place. I was in the UK when Belgium played their first match in the World Cup. By the time England kicked off against Croatia, I was on the Eurostar, having just crossed back into the Belgian border.
I sat at home in my parent’s house watching Belgium play. To an outsider, it would seem weird why I would particularly care about Belgium. On the Eurostar, I seemed to be the only one watching the England game. I read ethnically ambiguous enough that people would probably equally wonder why I cared that much about England either.
The bit that was probably the most culturally complex was the book launch. It’s something that I’d be hesitant to even try to explain to my white, European folk. To be fair, the event wasn’t quite what I had expected either. My father chose this to be a moment of community celebration rather than a traditional book launch. There was known community figures, including politicians and renowned activists. It was speech heavy, with people focussing on testimonies of their relation with my father.
The purpose, moreover wasn’t really to make money by selling books. My dad spent more money hosting the event then he would ever make financially. It was more about bringing people together and building community spirit rather than a commercial enterprise.
Language felt like the elephant in the room. I, working with my father, wrote the book in English. My strong writing skills and native English made it the most logical choice. I always had the concern that anything too complex would not be intelligible by the older Bengali migrants. I tried my best to keep things simple and understandable.
The event itself was held with speeches often in high-level, shuddho (‘pure’) Bangla. There was our local language, Sylheti mixed in too, since the event was majority Sylheti speakers. For people my age, it’s difficult to understand the high-speech of shuddho. We didn’t learn it growing up, and it was not spoken at home. There were parts we simply couldn’t understand.
I gave a speech in English. Honestly, I felt like I needed to fight for a spot to speak. In a space filled with known community figures, these were the speeches people gravitated towards. I found it frustrating. I was the one who did the large majority of the work on the book. I think our community can often get so caught up on performance that it forgets the importance of real dialogue and to give younger people a platform.
I found this a tricky speech to give. Partly because I felt like I wasn’t meant to be giving it. Partly because I wanted to move away from what is often said at such occasions. I wanted to emphasise the more human side of writing the book together, and more fundamentally, that the point of it was not to put my father up on a pedestal.
The book was instead to demonstrate his achievements through perseverance, despite mistakes and challenges. Eulogising people doesn’t actually help a whole lot. It just serves to intimidate, rather than inspire.
Fortunately I managed to get the tone broadly right. Enough humility with a clear message meant people received it well. I got positive comments from people, either directly or from my father. A good number of people understood my point, and were very warm towards me. For some, I don’t think it quite landed.
There was a lot of media coverage. Which makes sense, considering my father is chairman of a TV station. It meant the event itself got an incredible amount of press coverage in both print and visual media. Some reports chose to see the story more broadly – a child writing a biography with their father. Others omitted my name, preferring to focus solely on my father.
My parents reaction was also interesting. The pride in my speech was expressive once they heard how other people received it. Community viewpoint is something they have lived their lives by, and I had somewhat forgotten how important it was from them. Being a neurodivergent person who has lived my life caring very little for expected norms, it’s probably why I would not find a home in such a space.
Alas, I now find myself back in Belgium. My identity confusion will not get a whole lot of respite. I gathered my required documents and I will soon be able to apply for Belgian nationality. Belgium is also playing later today in the World Cup. At the same time, I’m probably feeling as disconnected to life in Brussels as I ever have done.
I can only hope that the feeling of outsiderness eases as my life eventually finds a new point of equilibrium. Yet I also must comes to terms with the fact that this is just how my life will be. I will, after all, be a person with three nationalities, living outside my country of birth with a peculiar cognitive profile.
I came back to Brussels this week after a few days away on holiday.
Getting away did me more good than I had expected. Not only was the sun was healing for my soul, the break away from routines was surprisingly liberating.
In all honesty, I hadn’t quite realised how entrapped I had felt within my own life recently.
This was partly about my physical health. A few months ago, I had reached a point where walking even a short distance would trigger intense lower back pain problems. Suddenly, leaving the house became an incredibly difficult task. Unsurprisingly, my quality of life suffered quite substantially.
Travelling away in of itself was a sign that my body was healing. I was able to navigate movement without too much issue. Being in a warmer climate with access to the beach allowed me to start moving the body in my own terms. I deliberately travelled with little to no formalised agenda, specifically prioritising my body over any social pressure to see the sites.
I hadn’t quite appreciated was how much I had felt constrained in my daily life in Brussels. It was only upon returning that I really noticed. Whilst in Spain, I felt relax and free, in Brussels I felt guarded and cautious. I was suddenly a lot more wary about the way I looked, and the social codes that I was meant to be playing.
There’s certainly a cultural aspect. Brussels feels more rigid in its norms around body types and nationalities. There are far less people I come across who have a similar background to me. Belgian culture also can be more closed and wary of difference. On the occasions that I hang around Belgian people, I generally have the sense that I’m notably different from them.
The other part of Brussels is the international community, particularly around the EU. This has its own pleasure of plurality and diversity. Unfortunately, I feel like I’ve fallen away with that group too – my higher social status from my job dissipating, there’s a good chunk of people who have that as a guiding value of whether you’re worth talking to. But even then, I always felt an internal tension of how dominant white culture is within these spaces. I felt I had to hide my Bengali culture just to be more legible. Such experiences gnaw away at you.
The temptation with such experiences is to say that I’m simply living in the wrong country. And perhaps there may be a truth to that. But I think that would also be a somewhat hasty and false solution. Any issues I have with where I live will only be replaced with other unforeseen ones. The grass is always greener, as they say.
Still, the trip has given me a new perspective on life. I think I’m better seeing myself as of a traveller with a base of operations, rather than someone laying deeper, permanent roots. What seems to be a good life template for others doesn’t really feel right to me.
I seem to feel freer in the space of movement, where it’s clearer for everyone that I am a passing foreigner. I feel like it makes everything clearer for everyone. Perhaps it will remove that awkwardness where people find it impossible to place me.
I currently also think that I’ll come across more kindred spirits wandering the land. There’s a greater ease in meeting people who have a similarity of experiences, rather than looking for people from similar backgrounds.
This has been quite a shift in the way I see the title of traveller. I previously disliked the idea of it as a label. Often, people travel because deep down they are escaping something or someone. Sometimes that is something as banal as work stress. Sometimes, it is something as deep as rejection or abuse.
This brings its own unhealthy cycle. People constantly moving because they want to run as far as they can from their life problems. That, to me, doesn’t feel like a way to live. At some point, you have to deal with the challenge that life has given you.
But perhaps there’s a way of being a traveller where you’re neither escaping something, nor are you heading anywhere in particular. Instead, you’re simply travelling to explore life.
It’s like the movies. I’m in one of those cool, funky hostels in the South of Spain. It’s a Saturday night, and I’m chilling in the trendy living space. A mixture of nationalities, interesting stories and diversity. This is the moment where the magic happens.
But when I look up, I see four people in opposite corners of the room. They are all scrolling on their phones. No acknowledgement or pleasantries. Just some Instagram reels, then they eventually wander off to bed.
I haven’t been to a hostel in some time, but apparently this is the descent of hostel culture. What was once an opportunity to meet random travellers now has turned into refuging into solitude from a life of solitude. What happened?
Admittedly, one hostel is a small sample size. But it has the right ‘vibes’. Strong online reviews. In the older part of town. A big sign at the front of the door says ‘come as strangers, leave as friends’. I’m not sure that reflects the reality from within.
When I searched about this phenomenon online, apparently other people had noticed it too. A post-pandemic effect apparently. One post lamented how hard it was to run a hostel now. People expected vibes and entertainment, but then made little effort to actually make that happen. They then complained how the hostel felt quiet and empty.
On the blackboard there was a list of daily activities. On Saturday night, it mentioned a bar crawl and board games. When I asked at the reception if anything was happening, apparently not today. I think hostels have given up somewhat trying to create social activities considering few people turn up.
Although it’s somewhat depressing, I can’t say it’s also that surprising. I came for a random solo trip to Spain for a change of scenery. I’ve felt myself increasingly strained with different social groups in Brussels. I’m tired of being in general social bubbles, but never really engaged or valued. It feels like many groups have turned more cliquey and inwards looking.
That same vibe of ‘what’s in it for me?’ shown in the hostel is also the prevailing value in connection. In a world of ensh*tification of our apps and services, I feel we are also ensh*tifying our sociability and values.
According to the instagram posts, it’s better to leave places where you don’t feel valued. Doesn’t that sound empowering? ‘You go Feleisha – they need you more than need them!’
Although I agree with the premise, the reality is unfortunately not as magical. When you drop one mediocre social group, another one doesn’t magically turn up. Chasing a quick replacement meanwhile will only land you in a worse place than where you started. There’s a time lag between making space in your life and it being valuably filled. At least that’s what I’m hoping for.
A younger me would see this as a call to action. ‘If the social group you want doesn’t exist, then build it yourself!’. Wisdom has demonstrated that this often doesn’t work either. In a lifetime of being the one that seems to make the most effort, putting myself in the role of super-organiser only further compounds the problem. I stopped hosting social gatherings in my house because I would get several people cancelling twenty minutes before the event started.
In a weird way, this hostel experience is actually slightly affirming. It’s not actually me. For a while I felt like perhaps it was because I was too weird, and therefore unable to start social interactions. But actually, it’s just a societal shift. Being warm and friendly is so out of place these days that people greet me with suspicion. It might sound dumb when I spell it out, but it turns out it’s not me, the polylingual, culturally-sensitive, internationally travelled person who is bad at speaking with people.
We’re in a time where our late stage capitalism state is being particularly effective in dividing us. I think I see it particularly starkly from my loosely built set of social connections. My lefty ‘friends’ (in quotation marks, because in reality I can never rely on them if I needed help) may one day realise that building community isn’t just a slogan that you re-share on Instagram. It’s done by actually being curious, responding to messages, speaking to people and building real-life connections.
But until that day comes, we’ll be living our increasingly isolated and lonely lives.
I’ve returned to the UK for the weekend. Partly to see my parents. Partly because I couldn’t change my train ticket.
It is quite novel being back. This is the land of my birth after all. But I’ve been away for long enough now that it isn’t really my home, and I was always a bit too weird and ineligible to really fit in a whole lot anyway. I’ve lost contact with school friends and pretty much most university friends too.
Still, it does mark a difference from Belgium. At least here, I can speak English with a native accent without totally confusing people. Oh, and the far right are more likely to appeal at people like me rather than calling me the enemy.
Reform was voted into my parent’s local council. I don’t quite understand how that happened in an area with an increasing amount of wealthy South Asians, but then I don’t really understand humans anyway. I guess it’s a ‘kick the ladder down after climbing it’ situation. Isn’t it great to be back home?
If there is one place where I’m somewhat legible, it does seem like London. East London is the one place in the whole world where I once had the feeling of what it was like to be in the majority. A shopping street designed and built for migrant, South Asian culture. Granted, I knew deep down I don’t quite fit in there either, but at least that isn’t so visible from the outside. Walking around the streets, having people treat me well, I guess this is what privilege feels like.
It does make for a nice change compared to Brussels I suppose. The skin colour difference feels far more stark there. I’m not from the maghreb, nor am I black or Latin American. People don’t really know how to react to me, so they often don’t. I only confuse people further when they learn that I am British. After all, British people are meant to be white, and migrants are meant to be uneducated.
It’s like how I once saw a job advert asking for native English (which by the way, is a ridiculous job requirement) but because my name looks too foreign I would never get considered. Out of curiosity, I checked the organisation. It is filled with white folk who whilst no doubt are very good at English, aren’t native speakers..
Some days I wish I worked in IT because then at least people would have some sort of cultural reference proximity of the Indian IT support guy. I mean, I’m not actually Indian, but at least Indians who work in IT get thought of as competent at it. Maybe then I could dare to have a career with a sense of progression. Although I imagine in practice that rarely happens either.
My sense of alienation is also probably not helped by the fact that my social status has gone down the pan. I went from being one of those successful EU bubble sorts with a job that thousands of trainees would dream of. Now, I’m a burnt out neurodivergent weirdo that can’t handle a normal day of activities. Such a profile doesn’t tend to impress the power-hungry juggernauts that Brussels seems to attract.
At least I’m back with my parents. Here I can feel at home. And by at home, I mean within 30 minutes having a conversation with my dad where he tries to convince me to fly to Turkey and have gastric surgery. He even sold it as a holiday. Do some tourism, then get sliced up by a surgeon. They’d come too, it would make for some wholesome family time. He did helpfully also tell me that my attempts at any other intervention aren’t worth it because they don’t work. Good to know.
Still, I know that’s there way of showing affection. They’re really asking whether I’m doing okay, since as we all know asking directly is banned for migrant parents under international law. To be fair, it’s probably easier that way. I don’t feel like I would have a whole lot of success explaining burnout recovery to them anyway.
Still, it would have been nice if they asked about my wisdom teeth getting taken out, but to be fair it’s been a whole 9 days and only one of the four teeth was fused with the ligament. The dentist said it was only possible that I had a chance to lose my tongue sensations for a few months. All in all, pretty small fry.
Otherwise, the UK just feels like a sinking ship. The politics couldn’t really be going a whole lot worse. How Labour have done this badly is beyond any real comprehension. But not wanting to analyse British politics is why I left this country. I suppose the only crumb for comfort is that considering the worst is still yet to come, this current moment is relatively better.
The country is also doing its best to become as horrible a place as possible. Out of nowhere we’re back to legislating trans people out of toilets. Nothing exclaims tolerance like forcing the examination of genitalia for a basic need. Then again, obviously trans people deserve to be harrassed considering their audacity in daring to exist. It’s not like the exact same arguments (and lack of evidence) was used to keep blacks and Irish people outside of public spaces before.
Still, there are silver linings. At least here my love for cricket is recognised. Admittedly, this is usually recognised through a sense of expressed disdain at how boring it is to whever I say this too. But I guess that’s a slight improvement to the look of bafflement and confusion that I get in Belgium.
One of the benefits of getting an Autism assessment is that it helps make peace with being a weirdo. My conclusion has essentially been to give up. Not with everything – at least not quite yet. But with the attempt to be legible, basically anywhere. The fact I live in Brussels confuses most family members, and the idea of being a continental language learner equally perplexes the white folk. In Belgium, I stick out even more.
To be fair with people, I’m also confused about my existence. At least I have that in common with everyone else.
