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Alright, Paris,

I fell asleep to Ella Fitzgerald on the record. Quite unusual, but what is the usual? Something I cling onto for days, months or years until I’m forced to let go? No, I can’t be forced to let go, I can only force myself to resist letting go. I am capable of a routine, as long as it involves change. Going with the flow is my routine, and if you think that doesn’t count as a routine or, worse, doesn’t require discipline, you’re welcome to give it a try. 

Argh, I sounded arrogant just now. I didn’t mean to act like I’m better than you, but isn’t me saying that in itself an attempt to be better than you? Well, I’m trying not to try to be better than you because I see no competition. See, I’m doing it again! Alright, I’ll stop trying. Still doing it!

Don’t mind my philosophical self, I haven’t been dating for some time. That’s what I said to my ex boyfriend of five years last night when I was meant to pick up a tent – don’t be curious, you’ll find out soon enough what it’s for! I said to him, “You know my biggest take away from dating recently?” He showed his impatient yet curious focus, holding a remote control in his hand. I knew I couldn’t pause for too long or he’d start talking about his things, so I said, “That I’m on the spectrum”. He nonchalantly responded, “oh, yaa!” in the same tone as “duh!” as if the information did not mean anything, disappointing his curiosity even. 

“What do you mean ‘yaa’?” I said. “I’m autistic,” he said. “Yeah, I know you are! It’s obvious to everyone!” I said. “You’re just very good at masking”, he said. “But you never said anything!” I said. “You never said anything about my autism”, he said. “Why would I say anything about it?” I said. He said “Exactly!” “Anyway,” I said, “three younger men told me separately:

The first one said timidly, ‘Hey, can I ask a personal question?’ and before I answered he said, ‘are you neurodivergent?’ I was actually rather surprised, I don’t know why, but responded diplomatically, ‘Is it obvious?’ He replied, ‘I knew it!’ I told the second one that someone had asked me if I was neurodivergent as if that was something funny and he said, dead serious, ‘Dina, it’s obvious, you are not normal’ and proceeded to ask me a series of questions to which I adamantly said no, which apparently confirmed his diagnosis.

My latest date, my favourite one, who was aware he was on the spectrum and had been seeing me for a couple of months, when I asked if I was his type, said, ‘100%. I knew physically from the first date, but more importantly personality-wise’. So I asked him what he meant by personality and he said, ‘you’re autistic, like me, that’s why we get on’ though I personally thought we were just mirroring each other”.

I looked at my ex’s face as he was staring at and fiddling with the remote control. I then said, “I took an online test by Diverse Diagnostics, an HIS-regulated institution and accepted by NHS and HSE and the result was ‘High Score for Autism Traits’. I was this close to booking my first consultation when I thought ‘what for?’”

What for indeed! To confirm I am who I am? To confirm I’m different? Different from whom? To some extent it kind of does grant me that extra sense of freedom, though I had already decided to be free. I no longer always stop myself from talking to myself, I mean out loud, in an empty space or in public, whenever I feel the urge, which is often, apparently. I no longer feel weird calmly walking up and down the station platform while waiting for my train. Small things, big impact?

By the way, if you’ve had a dealing with me and are now saying ‘that explains it’, fuck you! I mean, I already knew I have to retreat from human interaction to watch a river or something every so often as I feel overstimulated and I knew I wasn’t an introvert because I never felt the urge to feel belonged. I now understand why my love language is being comfortable in the same room with someone doing our own separate things. This is what I do with my daughter most of our time together, because with her I don’t have to pretend.

All that is, of course, merely an observation of my higher self – don’t be alarmed – just a higher form of ego; an observation of love out of my love for everyone who is different, for everyone who is themselves. But how could you not be yourself? Cut! No more performing. But me performing is part of being myself, as much as my intention to stop performing is part of being myself. Either it’s a curse or a play, I cannot help but be myself. A wave cannot fall out of the ocean. 

londres, le 20 septembre 2026

je t’embrasse !

d.o.