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.
We may like to pretend that we can. But deep down, we all know that we have our weaknesses.
For me, I was too enticed by its allure. The power of autonomy and freedom. The status symbol.
Yes, that’s right. I was seduced into buying a printer. It was sitting there on the street at the princely sum of €5 at the neighbourhood ‘sell your random stuff’ market. When I saw it, I knew it would be a gamble. But I thought it was worth it, after all, what is €5?
I may have been ready for the financial gamble, but I was not ready for the emotional rollercoaster.
I am writing this article from rock bottom. After fighting with the printer, it refuses to work. There is hope yet that putting in new ink cartridges will fix it, but I fear that this is a fool’s hope. Have you ever heard of a printer actually cooperating?
It did not start so glum. A Canon Pixma MG6450 is an impressive machine. It also can scan documents, and it looks rather sleek. It would make my office look so much more impressive too. At the peak of its powers ten or so years ago, it would have fetched well over €100. This was a real potential bargain.
Although it did not come with cables, I figured I would be able to improvise. The power cable was a basic 8 figure socket, an easy to find item in this modern age. I first tried my trusty box of random cables, but to no avail. But I basked in my ingenuity – taking the same power cable from my PS5 to test it, how crafty a person I am (a ‘handig’ type, as I recently learnt in my Dutch class).
The printer booted up – success. But this would be no simple task. The first challenge was that the settings were all in Dutch. But no problem for this international, multi-talented polyglot, I could navigate to settings and change it to English without problem. But then, the first error message came up. Ink cartridges not installed! But once again, I would not be thwarted. I but needed to open the cover and give the cartridges a wobble to appease the printer gods.
Next would be a sterner test. I did not have a printer cable, but apparently this printer being a modern creature could connect via WiFi. Although I was braced for spending the next 20 minutes slowly writing my network ID and password, I was pleasantly surprised. I could use the WPS button and connect it within seconds. This was almost too easy.
Now for the tech-savvy part. Installing printer drivers. I had gone through this routine a million times before. My youth trying to fix my dad’s printer had honed me for these days. A slight niggle in that there were no longer drivers for Windows 11, but I managed to install Windows 10 without issue. The printer appeared on my Word options. It was time for the moment of truth.
I clicked print. I even filmed the occasion. It was to be a moment akin to Edison inventing the lightbulb. No longer would I have to rush to the print copy shop before an important appointment. I could now bask in the light of printing whenever I want. The true power of technology.
But as quickly as the dream grew, as harshly it was ripped away.
Big red error sign: ‘Support Code B200. An error has occured. The printer needs repair. Follow the steps below.’
I have gone through many challenges in life. Indeed, I had four wisdom teeth extracted this week, including one that was extra painful because it had infused with my ligament. But nothing is as soul destroying as your printer giving you a big red error message.
I stayed calm. Surely there was a way to fix this. I tried restarting. I tried unplugging it for five minutes. I watched youube videos of other tips and tricks. I inspected the printer ribbon and the intenral parts for damages. I tried cleaning the ink cartridge ports. I took out the printerhead and put it back in.
But to no avail. Error code B200 would defeat every attempt I made.
My final hope was that this printer’s issue stemmed from dry ink. The women I had bought it did say it worked. She bought it when working from home but now had been summoned back to the office.
And so, I decided to order some new ink cartridges off the internet. But in so doing, the €5 gamble turned into €20. And if that doesn’t work, it’s possible to buy a new printerhead. If I can find the right one, they cost maybe €30-40. And if that doesn’t work. I can send the printer to Canon to get repaired. Apparently they charge €100 or so just to have a look at it, without guarantee that it can be fixed.
I fear this printer will be my descent into financial bankruptcy and madness. Some people go bankrupt getting addicted to class-A drugs. People like me fall into financial ruin trying to get a working printer.
If I do nothing, it sits next to me in my office, reminding me of its failure. I would see it there every day, knowing that turning it on will just give me an angry message. I can’t even use the scanner it has either, which adds insult to injury.
Of course, I could just get rid of it. But then, how do you dispose of a printer? I think there is a collection of larger objects every six months in my neighbourhood. So perhaps then, I could take it down to be dumped. I’ll have to carry it by hand through the streets because I don’t own a car. Another sign of my failure.
And what of the ink cartridges? How do I even dispose of them correctly? Does my supermarket collect them? If not, I can request a recycling bag from Canon. But can I really bear to withstand the humiliation of posting ink cartridges I never even used?
And so I sit here on a Sunday morning, deflated. I know there are bigger things happening in the world. Yet it’s the smaller things that really can break you. The dream of owning a printer being snatched away from me, in the blink of an eye.
I don’t think people understand the layered nature of marginalisation. Some people have a broader understanding of intolerance, but it’s often assumed to be at the level of outright racism or obvious discrimination.
But behind the everyday interactions, there’s a whole layer of systems created based upon the mainstream assumptions. If you don’t fit in that mould, you often face an uphill struggle in many different areas of life.
My most recent blood test showed I have very high insulin resistance. This is not a surprise, but still quite disappointing to see. I feel like my body is healing, but it is doing it in a way where the results seem to be getting worse in the short term.
My glucose levels however are broadly fine. This probably means my pancreas is compensating for my insulin resistance by working overtime. When I asked what I should do to my Belgian GP, she did not believe that there is any intervention necessary because I’m not outright diabetic. The systemic response is to wait until I’m irreversibly sick before doing much about it.
What is very disappointing about this is that it was me who specifically asked to check my glucose and insulin levels. When my doctor spoke to me, she did not even mention my very high insulin resistance at all.
South Asians have a particular issue around high insulin resistance. It means that we are particularly prone to diabetes – it is extremely common in my family. If I were to do nothing about my insulin resistance, I would no doubt be diabetic in a decade or so.
One of the downsides of moving to Belgium is how little awareness there is around South Asian health. I imagine if that if I were in London, this would be taken a lot more seriously, and there’d be a more serious conversation around how to tackle it. Instead, it’s me who has to personally advocate for my health.
What is notable on the discourse around insulin resistance is how much of the advice is essentially victim-blaming style, saying that this is around diet and exercise. It ignores that actually there’s a lot more complex natures in play, particularly stress (which I imagine is for my case) which can often be the deeper root cause.
Having high insulin resistance also means that the body’s ability to regulate how much it wants food is distorted, so the idea of just dieting your way out doesn’t work in practice. Forced diets that a dieticien may recommend would just prompt my body into further stress. I would eventually have survival level hunger pains – eat like it was the last opportunity in your life. I’m pretty sure this made the problem worse, rather than better. If it was simply a question of diet and exercise, I would have dealt with this years ago.
There is medicine that can likely help me, but I’ll have to push for it. I’ve asked my doctor whether I can be referred to an endocrinologist. I first have to see whether she agrees, but I may have to wait many months before that happens.
There is a deeper, more existential level to all of this. Why, as a South Asian, am I more prone to these issues? Were we just born genetically worse? It’s pretty easy to fall into a sense of ethno-inferiority, which doesn’t help the morale, nor the stress.
The likely explanation doesn’t give much comfort. We are not genetically inferior. Instead, we have bodies that have genetically adapted to centuries of famine, which is rooted in colonialist extraction. It’s one thing to know about the history of colonisation. It’s another thing to see your health suffering to this day because of it.
I’m navigating a lower energy period, with increased stressed from societal disadvantages. At the same time, I need to navigate how to advocate what I need from my doctor, whilst also emotionally digesting the direct effect of historical atrocities are having on my health.
In the past, I’ve bemoaned the lack of warmth people have. Maybe it’s a capital city thing, but the level of hyper-independence makes it nigh on impossible to have a sustained relationship with anyone. People are too emotionally unavailable, or too busy doing their own thing.
Fast forward to more recent times, I’ve seemingly turned into the person I complain about. In the last week, I had numerous people come up to me to say they recognise me. My response has often been a blank and puzzled stare. At least I’ve gotten practice in trying to ask ‘ who are you?’ in a somewhat polite way.
Last weekend I came across someone who paused silently when they saw me. I had no idea who they were, so I essentially just ignored them. They had to stop me to say that we’ve met before. Turns out we had a coffee some years ago. I tried to make a feigned apology that I barely remember yesterday, let alone a few years ago. My attempts failed, and they looked somewhat offended. Oops.
I end up meeting people from a lot of different walks of life, meaning I gather a world of acquaintances. Due to the sheer number, I tend to forget people unless they have had a particularly distinct impression upon me.
But people seem to remember me. I guess people seem to remember my, well, distinctiveness, even if they don’t remark upon it at the time. I’ve also stayed in Brussels long enough now that I’m starting to loop around in seeing people again, even if it is several years later.
This places me in a rather strange role in life. I feel like I am oft the observer looking in. I can bring unique perspectives into a group, but I will never be a part of it. It is both enriching and lonely.
Accepting this societal role has taken time. I’ve spent many years trying to be open and forthright with people, but probably have ended up coming off intense rather than amicable. I also seemingly have what people describe as an intimidating aura. I used to get somewhat depressed by this, particularly when I craved people’s love and affection.
But now I feel like I might as well lean into it. I’ve decided that I have officially entered my aura farming era. People are scared of me? Good, they should be. Folk aren’t able to place me? That’s because my existence is beyond their understanding.
Playing into the role makes it a lot more fun. I can play with it, tongue-in-cheek. It also feels easier, it’s like I am going along with where I logically fit in the world. No longer am I trying to compete on how extroverted or energetic I am compared to other people.
I spend time with people, but I am far more guarded with my time and energy than I was before. It means that I can preserve my inner sanctity and independence, whilst also being authentic in public spaces. If I spend too long in a certain space, I can feel it gnawing away at me.
I can’t help but find some funny irony. In an attempt to fit in, I’ve ended up taking up a persona that is distant from people. I am doing what society wants of me, which is to push society away. It is as coherent as it is parodoxical.
But there’s also a sense of calmness and clarity that comes. It’s a lot easier to navigate the world when you know what your position is.
Most people have heard about yoga, but fewer know about ayurveda. If yoga is the physical and spiritual practice, ayurveda is the science of health, based upon practices refined over thousands of years in South Asia.
I’ve been experiencing a burnout, and I’ve found that our modern-day approaches are pretty poor. Ayurveda gave me the first systemic explanation of burnout that actually made sense. My body’s ojas, or vitality being depleted, the body would need rest. It takes as long as it needs, and although there are things that help, there is no shortcut to rest. This was honestly pretty revolutionary for how I approached my burnout.
My exploration got me into learning more about the fundamentals of ayurveda. There are three different prakritis, or constitutions. These are Vata – made up of ether and air; Pitta, made up of fire and water, and Kapha, made up of water and earth. We are made up of different combinations of these three things.
As someone who has struggled with their weight throughout my life, I finally had a framework to help explain why. I have a dominant Kapha prakriti, meaning a strong build, but one prone to lethargy. My challenge is that I am constitutionally built to hold weight, making being thin difficult. The upside is that I have generally healthy skin and hair.
Ayurveda is clear that there’s no point in someone like me trying to be skinny, like a Vata dominant type would be. They naturally lose weight easily, but are also more likely to have dry hair and other issues. Pitta dominants meanwhile are medium build, likely to be competitive and sporty, but are more prone to have issues around inflammation and anger.
In the midst of this burnout, I learnt about my own neurodivergence. I received an Autism assessment in 2024, and although untested, I am sure I have ADHD too. This means I fit into the particular category often called ‘AuDHD’. The strange blend of craving creativity but also routine.
A few months ago, I went to see an ayurvedic doctor for a pulse check. What was interesting was that I had both an excess in Kapha and Vata. The Vata made sense – the element of air represents shifts and changes, which describes my constantly shifting burnt out brain perfectly well. But the Kapha was more surprising – I had presumed that since I was low in energy, that meant that my Kapha reserves had been exhausted.
I started reading a new book, entitled Yoga and Ayurveda by Dr. David Frawley. I’ve only reached a few chapters in, but I read something that shifted my thinking dramatically. In Ayurveda, we all have prakritis. But there are ancient texts that state we can have different prakritis for our body and our mind.
This clicked a new understanding. Perhaps my body’s tendency is to be Kapha dominant, whereas my mind is Vata dominant. These two in excess lead to imbalance, but in very different ways.
This made my mind return to how this might map onto neurodivergence. As my brain ticked along, I realise that it actually maps up extremely well. If we follow the logic of ayurveda, we can get many different valuable answers too.
Let’s start with someone with an ADHD profile. They are often people who are fidgety and constantly shifting thoughts. These two things map clearly. They have a vata dominant mind, and a vata dominant body.
Likewise, someone with Autism. They are Kapha dominant in mind and body. Physically, they tend to like routine and discipline. Mentally, they can be very structured, to the point of inflexibility.
Then, there are AUDHD people like me. I have a very fast moving, Vata dominant mind, but a Kapha dominant body that likes to sit still. This is a strange combination, and one that is perenially misunderstood, and often mistreated too.
But there’s nothing to say it couldn’t be the other way around, I could be a Kapha dominant mind – someone who needs clear conceptual structure – but a Vata body that needs high physical stimulation.
What is really interesting is that we can break this down further. As mentioned earlier on, constitutions are made up of different elements.
Let’s take the example of Autism. The stereotype of autism is often based upon having alexithymia – having a lower level of empathy and ability to experience emotions. This suggests someone who has a very earth dominant Kapha. The earth builds resistance which leads to difficulties when connecting with others.
But we are also seeing a growing number of autistic people who do not fit this mould. Women, ethnic minorities and queer people often have a very different experience. These are people who have heightened sensitivity (oft fitting into the ‘Highly Sensitive Person’ category), yet still exhibit wider autism traits. I would definitely count myself in this group. For these people, they have an excess of water – the element which governs flow and emotions. This causes their Kapha imbalance.
Likewise with ADHD, my hypothesis is that there are different archetypes. There are those who are much more ‘air’ heavy. These are people who are in constant motion, they are often continuously reacting to things in front of them and live their life in a free-flowing state of response. This can be categorised as those with strong impulse responses.
But then there are also those ADHD profiles that are ether dominant. Ether governs space, and can be described as covering creative potential. These are the people who constantly have new ideas, but may struggle to finish them. It fits the archetype of a person with ADHD who has started twenty different projects but struggles to complete any of them.
This dissection alone I think is a very valuable way of framing neurodivergence, beyond what traditional literature says. I can only report from anecdotal experience, but this matches up pretty well with what I see from the neurodivergent community.
But there is more value to this than just a diagnostic tool. Ayurveda is rich because it has a direct ability to treat different imbalances. I am not an expert on exact remedies, but the fact that treatments exist could be an extremely valuable resource. I know that my own methods of applying mustard oil on my skin during the night has done wonders in reactivating my body from its Kapha-excess slumber. Perhaps this may be good for other autistic folk too.
But Ayurveda can also help us understand how we may work to fix this balance from an energetic perspective. The one prakriti that I have not talked much about is Pitta. Pitta governs our internal flame, and plays a key role in digestion. When it is out of balance, stomach problems often follow. It’s perhaps not a coincidence that neurodivergent people have higher rates of IBS.
Pitta is extremely important because it is the central prakriti that can bring our dominant sides into balance. The fire can give drive and direction for Vata-heavy ADHD people, and it can also push Kapha-heavy autistic people out of their shell.
I believe this is why we are often so sensitive to meaning. Burnout is often caused when we no longer feel like our work matters. Our internal flame is generally more fragile due to our constitution, so it can get put out easier. I always found it so difficult in my job for this reason, which I noticed was in contrast to the rest of my colleagues. It seems like neurotypical people are less sensitive to this.
We therefore need to be far more careful with how we guard our Pitta, or internal fire. Doing things that are Pitta draining are more negatively impactful for neurodivergent people. I think it is why we are so sensitive to meaning, and often are characterised as ‘justice seeking’. We need to ensure that what we are doing keeps that internal flame going.
Things that have a minor effect on others’ Pitta can have a disproportionately high affect on ours. Neurotypical people without such dominant Vata or Kapha are less prone to this. Or, they may be naturally Pitta-dominant people, who are naturally competitive anyway.
It is therefore more important to be extra guarded with our time and energy. I feel some level of confidence in saying this, because it lines up with pretty much all the advice that circulates in neurodivergent groups.
I realise that I am but a voice in an ocean of opinions around neurodivergence. But I do think also that there is something that can be extremely valuable for people by looking through this lens.
I am sure that there is much more that can be dug into beneath this through the thousands of years of ayurvedic practice that could massively help neurodivergent people. We are, after all, a chronically under-served community.
