Confessions of a Germophobe: My Autistic Perspective on Three Years of the Pandemic

“I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.” “So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.” – Frodo Baggins and Gandalf the Grey, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

As March of 2023 draws to a close, I find myself thinking back to this time three years ago, when the pandemic was in full swing, spreading pestilence and death upon the world. As such, I thought I’d ruminate on the pandemic from the perspective of an autistic germophobe. Anybody who’s interacted with me in person after 2003 is most likely aware of my constant use of hand sanitizer and hand washing. For years, I was teased about this by my family and friends.

However, I wasn’t always a germophobe. Prior to 2003, I’d wash my hands before meals or after handling doorknobs, subway poles, etc., but I wasn’t paranoid or terrified of germs. That is, until living through the SARS epidemic of…you guessed it, 2003, in Toronto. That was the year my germophobia was born and a bottle of hand sanitizer has been by my side ever since.

Being on the spectrum, I’ve known anxiety my whole life. While everybody experiences anxiety, stress, and fear of the unknown, these feelings are magnified tenfold by my disability. As such, I never fully got over SARS and hoped I’d never have to live through anything like that ever again. I developed a fear of hospitals, doctors’ offices, and any other enclosed space where infectious diseases and viruses congregate.

Believe it or not, I used to have lunch at the former Burger King in SickKids Hospital, with that cool toy train circling the restaurant, in the late ‘90s and early ‘00s. I stopped doing so following SARS, and generally avoided food courts whenever possible. I started using hand sanitizer or washing my hands immediately after touching or handling anything. These overly hygienic habits became the norm for me. Still, I remained hopeful that I’d never have to live through another SARS-level epidemic.

When 2020 first rolled around, I was excited for the start of a new decade and being able to say “the roaring ‘20s” again in a modern context. I was especially looking forward to enrolling in driving and swimming lessons, seeing some highly anticipated movies at the cinema, watching the planned Nintendo portion of the Tokyo Summer Olympics’ opening ceremony, and going on a family trip somewhere cool. I felt it was going to be a good year.

Then, it started. Reports of a mysterious new SARS-like virus. Before long, cases were spreading throughout the world. This was eerily familiar to me, and I was getting nervous. Next, a cruise ship was stricken by the aggressive new virus and its passengers quarantined for several weeks. Cases continued to climb globally.

This new virus, COVID-19, was quickly becoming an epidemic, and the infection rate and death toll were rising around the world. It soon became apparent that COVID-19 would reach Canada. Thankfully, my family and I moved away from the big city of Toronto a couple years before all this chaos. Still, despite now living in a small city, I knew it was only a matter of time before COVID-19 made its way here. Before long, the epidemic had evolved into a full-blown global pandemic, and our first state-of-emergency and lockdown were imminent.

By March of 2020, it was apparent that COVID-19 would continue to spread, mutate, and grow even worse. It appeared the return of the Medieval plague was upon us. With the rise in cases and growing death toll, it felt as though Nostradamus’ predictions about the end of the world were coming true, at least to overly anxious me.

Coming to terms with my overwhelming fear and knowledge that there would be no waking up from this nightmare for the foreseeable future wasn’t easy. Like Jack and Rose bracing themselves for their imminent plummet into the frigid sea in Titanic, I needed one last deep breath of normalcy before plunging beneath the icy waves of an uncertain future. I saw Sonic the Hedgehog in a nearly empty cinema, bought my annual McDonald’s Shamrock Shake, and enjoyed a meal in a deserted East Side Mario’s. Then, the first lockdown began.

All non-essential businesses were shuttered. Kids and teens had to attend school from home via Zoom, as did adults with work. At the stores that remained open, it was surreal seeing toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and food swiftly vanish off their shelves, as if doomsday preppers were holding a convention in town. Scalpers were even stockpiling said essentials to sell online at overly inflated prices.

If there’s a silver lining to this awful pandemic for me, it’s that I was already mentally prepared for it since 2003. Wearing face masks, social distancing, and navigating one-way aisles in stores were pretty much the only new aspects for me. As previously mentioned, for years, my family and friends teased me about my germophobia, hand sanitizer usage, and frequent hand washing. Now, they had to adopt the same hygienic habits they’d previously poked fun at me for. Like the pig who built his house of bricks, I was vindicated and ultimately had the last laugh, though it’s a karmic victory I never wished for.

Another silver lining I saw in those early days was the whole “we’re all in this together” camaraderie everybody seemed to be embracing. I also remember the public’s initial desire for a vaccine, and the frustration I experienced at being unable to book one due to shortages. Of course, this all changed when the pandemic morphed from a safety issue into a political one.

COVID-19 affected us all. Many people, our friends and family caught COVID-19, and we sadly lost an elderly relative to the virus, as was the case for so many other grieving families. As such, it disgusted me to hear conspiracy theories that COVID-19 was “fake”. I was also disgusted by the rise of racism, harassment, and assault against the Asian community, store and restaurant employees, and the mask-wearing public, respectively.

Some people refused to comply with federal and provincial COVID-19 mandates and restrictions. It seemed those people didn’t want to lose their individual freedoms to help others. Embarrassingly, all this toxicity culminated in a Medieval-style siege on our nation’s Capital and border blockades. Disappointingly, some people we thought we knew were also brainwashed into believing and embracing such hateful vitriol. All this deplorable behaviour has really shaken my faith in humanity, though I still try to see the good in (hopefully, most) people.

There’s not much else to say on the “new normal”. It’s rare to see anybody wearing face masks nowadays, there hasn’t been a new lockdown in quite awhile, and the mandates that sparked the siege of Ottawa and border blockades are mostly forgotten. Large public gathering spots, such as sporting venues, cinemas, gyms, museums, zoos, amusement parks, and performing art centres are all opened and drawing in crowds again. The tourism industry seems to be on the mend as well.

However, while COVID-19 appears to have slowed down, people continue getting infected, so it isn’t gone yet. As such, for the protection of myself and others, I continue masking in public. Honestly, I don’t care if I look “weird” for doing so, as I embrace weirdness. I also care about the health and safety of everyone.

Despite my continued vigilance and precautions, I’ve forced myself out of my comfort zone and now do things I used to enjoy, such as dining at restaurants, attending outdoor festivals, and visiting the tiny mall downtown, all at a respectable distance from others and while wearing my trusty face mask, of course. I even worked up the courage to make a day trip to the USA with my family.

While society is recovering, unfortunately, the cost of living is through the roof. Juan Luis Guerra was spot-on with his 1992 hit song El Costo de la Vida (The Cost of Living), and he accurately describes the state of the world today from far across the sands of time. If you understand Spanish, give it a listen, and watch the music video.

In closing, one final silver lining to the pandemic I’ve observed is that it’s proven I’m much stronger than I initially believed. This is probably the worst situation autistic germophobes like myself could find ourselves in, yet I’ve adapted to these dystopic times as best I can. I was already practicing all this pandemic hygiene years before everybody else, so it hasn't been as big a change in my routine as it possibly is for others. Hopefully, the time will come when COVID-19 is just a bad memory, like the Spanish flu a century ago, life returns to normal, and I’ll no longer feel the need to wear masks, aside from on Halloween. Until then, safety first. As always, love, peace, and chicken grease.

Facebook’s care button has been around since the height of COVID-19 in 2020 and continues to provide some much-needed virtual hugs to this day.

To Squash and Kibosh Bad Driving

“With great power comes great responsibility.” – Uncle Ben, Spider-Man

The above quote rings true for both superheroes and drivers alike. Anytime you get behind the wheel of an automobile and turn the ignition, you become instantly responsible for the safety and lives of others, including yourself. You must anticipate everything: cars backing out of driveways, children playing in the street, pedestrians wearing dark clothes at night, construction detours, jaywalkers, animals crossing the road, bad weather, cyclists riding alongside you, etc.

Driving is a privilege, not a right. Unfortunately, some drivers choose to ignore this great responsibility, believing they have the right to drive aggressively, carelessly, distracted, impaired, etc. Their behaviour on the road reminds me of Goofy in that old cartoon where he transforms from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde whenever he gets behind the wheel of his car.

Bad driving is a bad habit, and it’s always infuriating whenever drivers cut others off, steal parking spots, blare their horns, speed, tailgate, weave between lanes, cross solid lines, ignore stop signs, red lights, school zones, or railway crossings, refuse to yield the right of way, etc. This behaviour is extremely reckless, dangerous, irresponsible, and even criminal.

I have no respect for motorists who jeopardise and disregard the lives and safety of others because they selfishly believe that traffic laws and the rules of the road don’t apply to them. Did they get their license from the bottom of a Cracker Jack box? Do they even have a license? Did they ever bother learning how to drive? Why are they so reckless and impatient? Are they really in such a hurry to get to the great beyond? The answer to all the above: they shouldn’t be on the road.

To be fair, there are plenty of cyclists, skateboarders, rollerbladers, and pedestrians in the world who also engage in reckless, dangerous, and irresponsible behaviour, so all parties share the great responsibility of practicing safety, whichever mode of transportation they choose. However, motorists are still the ones who cause the most damage in an accident, so they must be extra vigilant.

It really sucks whenever you turn on the news and learn that a careless, distracted, or impaired driver not only killed themselves but also wiped out an entire family in the fatal collision they caused. It sucks even more when you turn on the news and learn that a careless, distracted, or impaired driver wiped out an entire family yet walked away unscathed from the fatal collision they caused. Why must innocent people lay dead on slabs in the morgue, while the motorists who put them there get to live full lives? Where’s the justice for the deceased and their families?

As you can probably tell, bad drivers really push my buttons. I think it’s largely because everybody knows somebody who’s a victim of their recklessness. I suffered whiplash as a kid. I have a family member who was rear-ended and T-boned, getting injured on both occasions. My family and I have tragically lost both a family friend and a family member in two separate unsolved hit-and-run fatalities. Again, where’s the justice for the deceased and their families?

I once vented on social media about a careless driver who stopped in the middle of a crossing at a dangerous intersection, forcing pedestrians like me to step outside the white lines to get by. I was told by one reader to “take a chill pill” and that my “assumption of bad intent is just wrong”. We must look at the stats on pedestrian fatalities to see just how many deaths and injuries occur at the wheels of such drivers. There is a reason why the government gives drivers a “license”. As I pointed out earlier, driving is a privilege, not a right. When it comes to knowing my rights as a pedestrian, I’m cool. No “chill pill” needed. Before you defend bad behaviour or prescribe “chill pills”, make sure you have all the facts first.

All this bad driving in the world has been getting under my skin for a long time. As both a pedestrian and a cyclist, I obey all traffic laws and follow the rules of the road, so I expect others to do the same. I walk often for recreation, and constantly see cars going through red lights and stop signs. I once pressed the button at a high school crossing and a car sped through the flashing lights to avoid stopping. Unbelievable.

However, the worst experience I had at the wheels of a reckless driver occurred last autumn. A family member was visiting from Toronto, and we went on a nice long walk throughout our small city’s trail system. After exiting the park and having lunch at a restaurant, we began walking home. All was well for several blocks, until we found ourselves waiting on a street corner for the traffic lights to turn green. When the lights changed, we began crossing…

Suddenly and without warning, we were nearly hit by a car that first cut us off trying to run a red light, slammed on the breaks in the middle of the crossing, and then almost backed into my family member. I snapped a photo of the car’s license plate, though it was from out of province, so I doubt there’s much we can do with it.

That’s another problem. The police never seem to be around when these incidents occur. I’m not blaming the constabulary. I understand they must respond to all sorts of crimes and can’t be everywhere at once. Still, I’d love to see a reckless driver get pulled over by an officer and held accountable for their actions.

Unfortunately, it seems the motorists who receive the most tickets are those who forget to put more coins in the parking metre or park in a space outside the designated hours. Unless the vehicle in question is blocking a fire hydrant, ambulance zone, and so forth, I feel parking infractions should become secondary to saving lives from bad drivers.

I really hope our elected officials start brainstorming some solutions to this serious issue. The various levels of government need to work together and draft more accountability for motorists who engage in bad driving. To be fair again, I know driving is tough and even the best drivers make mistakes, but some mistakes can kill. It’s been a few months since I last encountered a bad driver, but I’m even more cautious.

My suggestion to both police and politicians alike would be to consider deputizing crossing guards to hand out tickets for traffic violations that occur within school zones or install speed cameras at all major intersections. Maybe using traffic calming technology such as speed bumps, chicanes, radar signs, bollards, or flexible delineators throughout residential neighbourhoods as well. Even if these suggestions are expensive, you can’t put a price tag on human lives.

So, what will it take to finally squash and kibosh bad driving? I strongly believe we need more accountability for motorists who drive impaired, recklessly, distracted, etc. I wish there was something more I could do other than writing a blog post about it, but I have no power to change the status quo. Hopefully, various words of concern like mine will someday reach those high enough to make some positive change in the world. May we never forget all the poor souls who lose their lives at the wheels of bad drivers. Vayan con Dios, amigos.

These images speak for themselves.

Dispelling Autism Myths: My Autistic Quest for the Romantic Holy Grail

“The power of love is a curious thing. Make a one man weep, make another man sing.” – The Power of Love, Back to the Future

“And can you feel the love tonight? How it’s laid to rest? It’s enough to make kings and vagabonds believe the very best.” – Can You Feel the Love Tonight, The Lion King

The Holy Grail, the eucharistic cup of Christ that Arthur and his knights scoured the countryside in search of. By extension, the “Holy Grail” could refer to any object or endeavor that is difficult to obtain. Even the pursuit of romantic love. Since it’s Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d dispel a common myth about people on the autism spectrum: that we neither seek nor want romantic relationships or human companionship in general.

While this may be true for some individuals on the spectrum, the same could be said for other people as well. After all, those of us on the spectrum are just as diverse as anybody else. From my high school days to the present, I’ve known plenty of autistic folks who found romantic love. Each person on the spectrum is unique, so the following anecdotes on my quest for the romantic Holy Grail are based solely on my personal experiences.

I’ve observed that finding romantic love is akin to winning the jackpot at a casino: Lady Luck must deal you a good hand. Meet somebody single and of the same orientation you mesh with and are attracted to. This person must also reciprocate your feelings. Then, one of you must ask the other one out on a date. Hopefully, the date goes well, you both have chemistry, and your potential partner is a good match. If all criteria are met and the stars align, you may find romantic love.

Achieving all these variables could be challenging for anyone, but especially so when you have a learning disability that includes social anxiety and difficulty reading social cues. I’ve pursued the romantic Holy Grail since high school and came close to finding it a few times, but always missed the mark. However, it certainly wasn’t because I’m a “loner”, “antisocial”, or “incapable of forming human bonds”. I’m sick and tired of those labels.

Anyway, back to my story. I was attracted to a few girls in high school, but never worked up the courage to ask them out. Then, during my senior year, a girl asked me out. I was both surprised and elated. We made plans to see The Lord of the Rings together, but she stood me up outside the cinema after I’d bought the tickets. Not wanting to waste my money, I watched the film alone. The next day, she revealed she had a boyfriend and only asked me out to make him jealous following an argument. That really stung.

After my high school graduation, I tried my hand at Toronto’s clubbing scene with a couple of my buddies. I was about 19 or 20 at the time, so I was a bit braver back then. Unfortunately, I didn’t care for the experience, as the nightclubs were too loud, crowded, and crazy, while the drinks were super expensive. Also, the commute home was scary at that time of night, with so many sketchy characters out and about.

Over the years, whenever I met girls I meshed with and was attracted to, they usually already had boyfriends. If they were single, my difficulty reading social cues made it tricky to discern whether my feelings were reciprocated or not. In a few cases, I missed the body language indicating some girls’ mutual attraction, giving them the impression I wasn’t interested. Also, my fear of rejection was another hurdle that prevented me from asking girls out.

Now, there actually were a couple of girls who made their attraction known to me. It seemed like the stars had finally aligned…but it turned out to be a negative and scary experience. I finally had girls asking me out again, yet it was déjà vu, like that one time in high school, even worse. These were nightmare scenarios straight out of Fatal Attraction, minus the adultery, bodily harm, or boiled bunny. Two terrible and terrifying experiences that turned me off the idea of dating for quite awhile.

A few years after escaping from that horror movie, I met a girl at a party whom I worked up the courage to ask out. We went on a few dates, had dinner with my family, and I took her to expensive restaurants and bought her nice gifts. Things were going well…until she asked me to take her to the Canadian National Exhibition (CNE). As I was going to be out of town for a few days, I asked her if we could go when I got back. I never heard from her again. Like in high school, that really stung, and I needed another break from the pursuit of love.

When I finally felt ready to “put myself out there” again, I turned my attention to a free dating site, as I believed doing so would eliminate some of my autistic hurdles. I had some promising written conversations, but my social anxiety prevented me from talking via webcam, which in turn caused these prospects to fizzle out without materializing into dates. Still, I kept at it on the free dating site for a couple of years in the hope that romance might materialize.

Then, around the same time I got assaulted at a Toronto subway station, a girl who was new to the city sent me a message and we began writing back and forth. We meshed well and there seemed to be chemistry and the potential for a relationship. I’m always honest, so I told her upfront of my autism and social anxieties, and that I wasn’t quite ready to meet in person given my recent assault. She was totally fine with all this.

We wrote to each other for a couple of months and eventually went on a fun date exploring TO together. It went well, though I was still suffering PTSD from the assault, so I really wasn’t in the right headspace for dating and never got around to scheduling a second date. She ended up moving back to her province shortly after, though we remain friends.

As of writing, that was the last time I actively pursued the romantic Holy Grail. I’m glad it was a positive experience at a difficult time in my life that led to a new friendship. Despite my failed attempts at finding a girlfriend, I’m neither bitter nor regretful. Rather, I’m at peace and just focusing on being happy with myself, single or not. Also, if the toxicity oozing from 90 Day Fiancé has taught me anything, it’s that sometimes, single is better, hahaha.

I accept the social challenges that come with life on the spectrum and acknowledge I tried my best despite these hurdles. I take inspiration from my autistic brothers and sisters who found the romantic Holy Grail. They inspire me, especially in a world where we’re often told by society that we’re “incapable of love”. Bullshit.

Love must happen naturally. Even the late great Robin Williams’ Genie from Disney’s Aladdin couldn’t grant the wish of having people fall in love with each other. I still believe in true love and that there is indeed a Ms. Right for me somewhere out there (♪ beneath the pale moonlight ♫). After all, true love runs in my family across generations. I figure, I’ll find the romantic Holy Grail when God feels the time is right for me. “Qué será, será”, and such.

So, I hope I dispelled the myth that autistic people aren’t interested in romantic relationships or human companionship. It certainly wasn’t for a lack of wanting or trying on my part. To those of you with that special someone in your life, I wish you a very Happy Valentine’s Day. And, to those single folks like me, I wish you a very Happy Tuesday, hahaha. Love, peace, and chicken grease!

The romantic Holy Grail eludes me…for now.

Fear and Loathing in Toronto: What the Hell Happened to my Hometown?

“Living in the city, you know you have to survive.” – Living in the City, Sonic R

I’m deeply saddened and disturbed by the news reports of the current crimewave gripping the Toronto Transit Commission (TTC), Toronto’s public transit system. These incidents hit especially close to home, as I’m a born and raised Torontonian. While I now live in a small city, I was always a pedestrian and I also used both the TTC and Government of Ontario (GO) Transit, a commuter train and bus system.

In fact, one of my jobs for several years was to verify the delivery of free newspapers throughout the TTC’s subway stations. I loved this job. Unfortunately, my happiness came crashing down when I was assaulted on a subway platform one beautiful summer morning. I suffered from this ordeal and was on sick leave for several months. During that period, the department I worked for was shut down and I was subsequently laid off. This was around the time that Toronto was becoming increasingly more gentrified, overpopulated, expensive, and dangerous. This wasn’t always the case, though.

Toronto in the ‘80s and ‘90s was a special place and time in the world. The city was cleaner, safer, more affordable, less congested, and had a funky vibe. There was a thriving artistic bohemian community near Queen and Spadina. You could see the CN Tower and Lake Ontario instead of just endless walls of high-rise condominiums. Downtown was chockfull of cool bookstores and record shops. The malls had something for everyone instead of just high-end boutiques. Local landmarks such as the long-departed Sam the Record Man, World’s Biggest Bookstore, and Honest Ed’s drew in crowds of tourists. It was a magical place.

Over the years, my family and I watched Toronto’s slow and gradual transformation into its current form. We stuck it out in the big city until a few years ago, when the escalating crimewave could no longer be ignored. We started having close calls. I was at Yonge–Dundas Square a few hours before a fatal shooting. I obliviously walked down Yonge Street during the van attack. We drove along Danforth Avenue on the day of the mass shooting. By the grace of God, we always managed to get out of the wrong place at the right time.

I never thought I’d leave the hustle and bustle of the big city. Unfortunately, Toronto had become too crowded, dangerous, and expensive. With my assault on the subway and our close shaves, we no longer wanted to tempt fate. It was time for us to throw in the towel, pack up, and leave the big city for a small one. Change is never easy for those of us on the autism spectrum, so my willingness to leave the only home I’d ever known tells you something of the dire situation there. Thankfully, we left Toronto before the pandemic hit, again, by the grace of God.

While we may now feel safe in our new home, we still worry for all our friends and family we left behind. Toronto’s crime and gentrification have gotten much worse in the years since we left. It’s an interesting paradox: a city for the rich under siege by gangs, criminals, and murderers amid a global pandemic. A place where excessive wealth and extreme poverty collide with little to no middle-class in-between. Perhaps I’ll do a more in-depth deep dive on this topic later.

It feels like Toronto has become increasingly more dangerous over the past twenty years. It’s a place where a serial killer stalked the gay village. Where gunshots rang out at the Raptors’ victory parade. Where a woman was immolated on a bus by a psychopath. Where a homeless man was savagely stabbed to death by a gang of teenaged girls. Where TTC commuters are now getting randomly attacked and have become victims of crime during their daily commutes. Modern day Toronto now resembles Gotham City. All that’s missing is the Bat-Signal and Batman himself.

In closing, I mourn the city I once knew and loved. I worry for our friends and family still living there. But I’ll always remember the Toronto of my childhood and teenaged years with great fondness. I listened to a CBC radio show or podcast awhile back that summed up the nostalgia of the ‘90s perfectly: “the Berlin Wall was down, and the Twin Towers were still standing”. Man, how I wish I had a time machine to go back to that simpler and safer world. I’d stay there if I could.

What the hell happened to my beloved city?

My Autistic Perspective on Social Media

“Everyone fights for position. Everyone wants to be seen and heard.” – The Pigeon Lady, Home Alone 2: Lost in New York

Though the above quote is from a classic ‘90s flick released long before the birth of social media, it sums up the online experience perfectly. Success on social media may be determined by the number of friends, followers, viewers, likes, comments, and shares a person has. If you seek fortune and fame, you must please the algorithm gods. Lose their favour and you will be swiftly replaced by the next rising star. Everyone fights for position. Everyone wants to be seen and heard.

As someone on the autism spectrum, I have always struggled with social situations. As a kid and teenager, I had a small circle of friends, but lost touch after my high school graduation. I often thought of my old friends and wondered what they were up to. Then, my aunt and teenaged cousin illuminated the possibilities of social media to me. Like a sailor under the hypnotic spell of a mermaid, I was entranced.

Before long, I was in the game. It was marvelous…and weird, with people writing their posts in the third person and constantly offering me lonely brown cows from their virtual farms. After awhile, I began to learn the ins and outs of social media. Flashforward to the present, I still find social media puzzling. The following are my neurodivergent ruminations on the social media craze.

First off, I love being able to communicate from the safety and comfort of my computer or mobile devices. This relieves some of my stress and anxiety, giving me time to formulate my thoughts. I don’t have to worry about awkward situations, misunderstandings, or the embarrassment that comes with face-to-face interactions.

Similarly, I sometimes have difficulty reading social cues, like body language, tone of voice, or facial expressions. Therefore, I find emojis useful as they allow me to better communicate and help me understand others.

It’s also great being able to express support, agreement, solidarity, or humour with the literal press of a button…the “like” and “reaction” buttons. These buttons allow me to show others that I care and value their online presence. Likewise, whenever somebody presses these buttons on any of my posts or photos, it always brightens my day and makes me smile.

It’s 2023, and we still don’t drive flying cars, live in cities in the sky, or wear goofy futuristic clothes. However, Back to the Future Part II, Blade Runner, and The Jetsons did accurately predict one “future” invention: video calling. Video calling is especially beneficial in these pandemic times when people need human contact the most. Even I enjoy video chatting with my family and friends.

Social media can be a great outlet for people’s creativity. We on the spectrum are passionate about our hobbies and interests and love sharing them with others. I feel social media is a fantastic platform for us to come out of our shells and express ourselves. It may be tricky finding the right audience, as our passions may not appeal to everyone. But even if our posts are met with a chorus of chirping crickets rather than likes or reactions, I still feel it’s important to be true to ourselves and speak out. I also believe social media is a good platform for us to raise awareness of the daily challenges we face, like being bullied, getting stereotyped in media, or living with a mostly invisible disability.

While I have highlighted some positive aspects of social media, it’s not always sugar and spice. There is also a seedy underbelly to the medium. A dark space where predators lurk, bully or scam their prey, steal their lifesavings, trick them into sending out nude pics, or lure them down the rabbit hole of misinformation…all within their own homes. Just as Gollum hates and loves the Ring in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, I have a similar love-hate relationship with social media.

For starters, I despise all the insults hurled on social media towards those of us in the autistic or learning-disabled community. People using “autism” or “Asperger’s” as synonyms for “jerk”, “asshole”, or “know-it-all”, as well as offensive slurs like “retard”, “retarded”, “riding the short bus”, or “Assburgers”. People making derogatory jokes about the learning disabled, special education, special needs, or the Special Olympics. Are these people even aware of the pain they are causing? After all, we are not a synonym or a punch line. Slurs against any group are never acceptable. Words cut deep.

Next, why do I get so many bogus requests from impostors masquerading as my friends and family? What causes my friends and family to have their likenesses appropriated by these creeps? If you accidentally accept one of these fraudulent requests, what happens to your personal information? What is the motive of these charlatans? How do you know if a request from somebody you know is legit? What are the social networks doing about this problem?

Similarly, why do I get flooded with requests from random bodacious babes? I don’t have public accounts, I’m no influencer or celebrity, and I’m definitely not Bond or Hef. I’m also no fool. I realize these “requests” are most likely from scammers and catfish, but to what end? How do they find invisible folks? I wonder if the poor girls in these pictures are even aware that creeps have appropriated their likenesses for nefarious purposes? How many others are receiving these weird requests everyday? Again, what are the social networks doing about this problem?

Also, why do the algorithm gods feel the need to bombard us with spam? I don’t want all my devices chiming incessantly with notifications on every random thing that occurs while I’m offline. When I sign out, it means I want a break from social media. Likewise, I would prefer to see posts from people I know rather than spam. It sucks to miss people’s posts because of all the junk.

Then, there is the mystery of why some of my photos, videos, or albums randomly disappear for no reason. I have no clue what happens to these missing uploads from yesteryear. I once reported this issue to tech support and had some of my lost media restored, though they have since crossed over into the ethereal plane once again. I still have some dead email links to people’s lost comments on my vanished posts. What can explain this bizarre phenomenon?

What is worse than seeing your posts cross over into the ethereal plane? Seeing them cross over into a thief’s profile without consent, credit, or even a like on what they stole. I have had quite a few of my photos and posts plagiarized. I take great pride in my work, and it hurts when others download it and pass it off as their own. Having gone through this a few times, I know exactly how Homer felt in the Flaming Moe’s episode of The Simpsons, and it sucks! If you want likes, what is wrong with earning them yourself with your own words, photos, and creativity?

For the record, I would be flattered and willing to allow my posts to be redistributed throughout social media if one first likes them, asks my permission, and/or credits me. Alternatively, one could simply press the “share” button. If you appreciate the art, then show that you also appreciate the artist. I thank and salute those individuals that have done so.

Another unfortunate social media experience is when you accidentally let foxes into your henhouse. I once had a friend who grew bitter and resentful when I couldn’t visit. Despite my apologies, this wolf in sheep’s clothing stripped out of the faux wool, transformed from Jekyll into Hyde, and began, publicly and privately, bullying, insulting, and harassing me on social media. When this person attacked my friends, I finally hit the “delete” button. Still, like a vengeful ghost, this cyberbully continued haunting me with abusive private messages for years. Also, a former co-worker turned out to be a religious fanatic and went after me over political disagreements. Why is it so easy for bullies to target people on social media? What a nightmare.

Speaking of nightmares, I think it’s creepy as hell that social media can eavesdrop on conversations and read minds even when offline and away from all devices. I feel I’m stuck in a horror movie. It’s unnerving to know your walls do in fact have ears and terrifying to ponder how much of our personal information involuntarily winds up online. What is it being used for, and by whom?

Another downside of social media is the angry crowd who are always looking to fight, attack, delete, cancel, or preach to anyone whose views differ from their own. I have seen people from all schools of thought engage in this childish behaviour. I believe people can hold and respectfully share different perspectives while remaining friends. There are plenty of people on social media I like and get along well with despite our different opinions. Debate is healthy and everyone is entitled to their beliefs. Life is too short to bicker. Live and let live. Love, peace, and chicken grease.

There are also the contradictions of the social networks. They will ban photos of artistic nudity while allowing unsavoury characters to spew vitriol to their heart’s content. Is art worse than hate speech?

Now, we come to the perplexing behaviour of people on social media, which just leaves me scratching my head. Why do some friends or relatives delete my friend and follow requests? I find this confusing, and it throws me for a loop.

Another social media oddity are the folks who engage in careless behavior, such as publicly airing their grievances towards others (like Frank Costanza during Festivus) or sharing media of their drunken escapades, and so on. Before posting anything, take a step back and think it over. Is this something that can get you fired or provide ammunition for your adversaries or anyone who may wish you harm?

Movin’ right along (♪ footloose and fancy-free! ♫), why are posts restricted to such a tiny number of characters? Why upload media that self-destructs? Why are there so many Tetris knockoffs (♪ and songs about rainbows ♫)? Why do online celebrities and influencers repeatedly ask you to follow them at the end of their videos?

Then, there are all the weird rituals and bizarre customs. Crowds in wacky outfits dancing wildly to snippets of a song. Fundraisers dumping buckets of ice water over their heads. Machos swallowing everything from cinnamon and soda crackers to ghost peppers and laundry detergent. Pedestrians obliviously following Pokémon anywhere from churches and memorials to railway tracks and cliff edges. People snapping mirror selfies. Daredevils attempting everyday tasks while blindfolded, including driving automobiles. I don’t get it, especially the dangerous stuff. If all this is a sacrifice to the algorithm gods, then the gods must be crazy.

In closing, social media isn’t black and white but shades of grey. Sometimes, I’m tempted to terminate my accounts, but then I would lose contact with all the wonderful people I have reconnected with. It’s a Catch-22. I could get out of this pickle by asking all my old friends, relatives, co-workers, and acquaintances for their contact information, but this proposition is uncomfortable for me. Social media wins. It always wins. Like a sailor, I have been ensnared by the mermaid and pulled below the foamy waves of the sea.

Social media; as alluring as a mermaid and as dangerous as the sea.

(Stratton, Helen, illustrator. The Little Mermaid. By Hans Christian Andersen. Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1899.)

Let There Be Light: My Look Back on the 10th-Anniversary of the Northeast Blackout of 2003

“No antenna. No radio. We’re back in the 19^th Century!” – Captain Billy Tyne, The Perfect Storm

 

Today marks the 10^th-anniversary of the Northeast blackout of 2003, a moment in history that I shall never forget. I remember every last detail as if it happened yesterday: I’d finished attending a job workshop at an employment agency over on Donlands, and was planning to take the subway downtown later that afternoon to hang out at the Eaton Centre, but first I wanted to head home to drop off my papers and work on an email to a girl I’d met at the employment agency and hoped to possibly date. I’d just put the finishing touches on my email and was about to click the “send” button when the power abruptly went out.

 

I didn’t think much of it at the time (aside from being a little peeved over losing the aforementioned email to said girl I liked), until I stepped outside and spoke with a crowd of neighbours gathered on the street who mentioned that the power outage was citywide and all of the traffic lights, streetcars, and subways were supposedly down. That revelation made me worried for my grandma, as it was hot out and I’d heard that summer blackouts were really bad for seniors. Since I couldn’t phone my grandma to check on her, I decided to walk from our house in the Coxwell & Danforth neighbourhood to her apartment building in Cabbagetown.

 

Along the way, I saw pedestrians of all walks of life directing traffic across the Danforth, and spoke to various passers-by who mentioned that the blackout was occurring across the province and even in some parts of the United States. I’d been told scary rumours that terrorists had allegedly bombed a skyscraper in New York City, and hated being unable to confirm anything that was going on around us. When I reached Broadview, I saw the broken-down streetcars I’d heard about earlier, sitting empty and abandoned, and cut through the valley of Riverdale Park into Cabbagetown. A few minutes later, I stood in the entrance of my grandma’s building buzzing her apartment, and to my relief, she was fine and with my uncle.

 

I had dinner with my grandma and uncle before beginning my long evening trek home, finding a $10.00 bill along the cobblestone portion of Carlton at the edge of Riverdale Park. When I arrived back at the house ($10.00 richer than when I’d departed), my parents were there waiting and furious with me for not leaving them a note, as they didn’t know where the hell I was and had no way of reaching me. Like the millions of other people affected by the blackout, they had to walk home from their jobs downtown. We had to light candles throughout the house like our ancestors before us, open the windows for cool air, and avoid touching the fridge. We still had no way of confirming what was going on, despite the rest of the world knowing what was happening to us.

 

As there was nothing we could really do aside from sit in the dark and wait for the power to eventually be restored, we sat outside with the neighbours and looked up into a beautiful night sky full of stars (probably how Van Gogh saw it while painting), courtesy of the complete lack of light pollution. The next day, we were fortunate enough to have our power restored but had to use it sparingly. We saw the online night shots of the Toronto and New York City skylines silhouetted in black, were relieved to learn that the blackout wasn’t the result of terrorists, and got to let our relatives in Venezuela know we were okay. Before that blackout dimmed the lights of Toronto, I never gave much thought to random power failures, but now I get nervous whenever they occur.

 

In closing, the blackout taught me two very important lessons: 1.) Like the characters in WALL-E, we humans rely too heavily on technology these days, and are pretty well screwed should that heavy basket of eggs ever drop. Folks in the Victorian era knew how to function without electricity, and we should learn how to do so as well for our own benefit. 2.) Electricity should always be conserved and any lights or gadgets not in use should be switched off (if you don’t need the power, make it an Earth Hour). Instead of maxing out the air conditioning at home, consider cooling off at a shopping mall, movie theatre, your local swimming pool, or the beach. After all, those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it, and I certainly never want a repeat of August 14^th, 2003.

Lights Out.

My Bullying Story

I’m very touched that a minute of silence was dedicated to all victims of bullying today. The outpouring of support for bullying victims in the aftermath of Amanda Todd’s passing has actually inspired me to open up publicly for the first time and share my own story.

While my elementary school days were wonderful and filled with good friends and fond memories, middle school was the polar opposite and a total nightmare for me, 1998 in particular being the worst year of my life. I was severely bullied at the age of fourteen, both physically and psychologically, and it wasn’t long before I lost all hope and attempted to take my life (the afterlife seemed a far better alternative to the pain I was constantly enduring on earth). I was fortunate enough to have one kind and very observant teacher named Mrs. Dean who intervened, and it’s thanks to her that I’m still here today.

The road to recovery was a slow and rough one, though. My parents were afraid to leave me unmonitored, I required lots of therapy and medication, and finished grade 8 through one-on-one tutoring because I was too terrified to be in a classroom setting again or around other teenagers (I received my middle school diploma in the mail). Bullying had left me the human equivalent of an abused dog trembling with its tail between its legs. I couldn’t pass groups of teens anywhere without suffering extreme anxiety that they’d gang up to attack me, and began high school at Danforth Tech sitting behind a cubicle.

It’s very difficult to trust your fellow teens again after suffering such horrid cruelty at their hands, but my high school years were surprisingly good ones, and over the ninth grade I managed to emerge from my shell, regain faith in humanity, and make some very good friends there (I still remained guarded and skipped extra-curricular activities and my prom).

It’s true that the scars left behind from bullying are permanent, and I’ll never again be the same person I was before middle school. Bullying changes you forever, but what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and my experiences in middle school shaped me into the man I am today. I’m no longer a victim but a survivor, scarred but not broken.

I think it’s very important for my fellow bullying survivors to speak up and raise awareness to what we went through. It wasn’t easy for me to reveal such painful moments from my life just now and I honestly never thought I’d do so, but it’s important that we all band together to put an end to bullying once and for all, and who better to lead the charge than those who’ve personally gone through it and know what it feels like?

Many of you are parents to young children, and I want to see them grow up in a world where they’ll never have to experience what I went through. We need to educate all students on the seriousness of bullying (the crumpled paper experiment is a fine example) and form harsher punishments for bullies such as criminal charges that will make it crystal clear to them that such behaviour won’t be tolerated.

I don’t say all of these things for sympathy, to be an “armchair activist”, or to gain a bunch of likes, I say them because bullying and suicide awareness and prevention are the two causes that are closest to my heart and I don’t want to see anybody else suffer the same fate as poor Amanda Todd and countless other kids around the world. I want these children and teenagers to know that they’re not alone and are loved, and that suicide isn’t their only option even if it feels like it in their darkest hour (I thought the same way at the time). There is support and hope out there, and we need to make that clear to them. Sorry for the length of this post, and thank you for reading.