Category: Musings

Statistically Significant

Having my own website (something I can only now scarcely say without adding exclamation points,) has unlocked a great deal of new tools to explore. Specifically, having an operational content platform has given me access to statistics on who is reading what, who is clicking on given buttons, and where people are coming here from. It is enthralling, and terribly addictive.

Here are some initial conclusions from the statistics page:

1) There is a weak positive correlation between the days I release new content and the days we get more views. This correlation is enhanced if we stretch the definition of “day” to include proceeding twenty-four hours, rather than the remainder of the calendar day on which the content was released. This suggests that there may, in fact, be people actually reading what I write here. How exciting!

2) Most visitors register as originating from the United States. However, the script which tracks where our referrals come from paints a far more diverse picture. This could be a bug in the monitoring software, or people accessing the site from overseas could be using proxies to hide their identities.

3) The viewership of this blog is becoming larger and more international as a function of time.

4) More referrals currently come from personal one-on-one sharing (Facebook, web forums, shared links) than stumble-upon searches.

5) Constantly interrupting one’s routine to check website statistics will quickly drive on stark raving mad, as well as suck time away from writing.

These are interesting insights, and worthy of understanding for future posts. Of course, the immediate follow-up question is: What do I do with this data? How do I leverage it into more views, more engagement, and more shares? How do I convert these insights into money of fame or prestige? The idea seems to be that if a thing is being shared, there has to be some value coming back for the sharer aside from simply contributing to public discourse.

While I will not deny that I would enjoy having money, fame, and prestige, as of now, these are not my primary goals in maintaining this blog. If I do decide, as has been suggested, to follow the route of the professional sharer, soliciting donations and selling merchandise, it would not be in pursuit of Gatsbyesque money and status, but merely so that writing and not starving may not be mutually exclusive.

It is still strange to me that I have a platform. That, in the strictest sense, my writing here is a competitor of Netflix, JK Rowling, and YouTube. I am a creator. I am a website owner. I have a tendency to think of those aforementioned entities as being on a plane unto themselves, untouchable by mere mortals (or muggles, as the case may be) such as myself. And in business terms, there is some truth to this. But in terms of defining the meaning of “artist”, “creator” and “writer” in the twenty-first century, I am already on the same side of the line as them.

I suppose the heart of the matter is that, setting aside that those entities actually have professional salaries, there is no intrinsic difference between either of us. They have platforms, and I have a platform. They have an audience with certain demographics, as do I. They receive value from the distribution of their work, and I do for mine (albeit in different forms and on different orders of magnitude).

Growing up, I had this notion that adulthood conferred with it some sort of intrinsic superiority borne of moral and cognitive righteousness, and conferred upon each and every human upon reaching adulthood. I believed that the wealthy and famous had this same distinction one step above everyone else, and that those in positions of legal authority had this same distinction above all. Most of the authority figures in my life encouraged this mindset, as it legitimized their directions and orders to me.

The hardest part of growing up for me has been realizing that this mindset simply isn’t true; that adulthood is not a summary promotion by divine right, and that now that I too am a nominal adult, that no one else can truly claim to have an inherently better understanding of the world. Different minds of differing intellectual bents can come to differing conclusions, but people in power are not inherently right merely because they are in power.

I am not a better or worse human being merely because I happen to have the passwords and payment details to this domain, any more than Elon Musk is an inherently better human for having founded Tesla and Space-X. Yes, the two of us had resources, skills, and motivation to begin both of our projects, but this is as much a coincidental confluence of circumstances as a reflection on any actual prowess. Nor are we better people because we have our respective audiences.

In this day an age, there is much talk of division of people into categories. There are the creators and the consumers. The insiders and the outsiders. The elite and the commoners. The “world of success” as we have been taught to think about it, is a self-contained, closed-loop, open only to those who are worthy, and those of us who aren’t destined to be a part of it must inevitably yield to those who are. Except this plainly isn’t true. I’m not special because I have a blog, or even because I have an audience large enough to draw demographic information. There is nothing inherent that separates me from the average man, and nothing that separates both of us from those at the very top. To claim otherwise is not only dangerous to the idea of a democratic, free-market society, but is frankly a very childish way to look at the world.

Discovery, Ho!

I like the feeling of discovery. Being able to create new things is awesome, but it’s also great to find new things that other people have made. I enjoy the sense of exploration in learning about new phenomena and places. This joy of discovery is the main reason I love learning in general. Even when, for example, in the field of history, there is very little “new” to be discovered, there is still the possibility of unearthing a novel correlation or interpretation that can challenge the way we understand the world around us.

This week, my attention has fallen on the online scavenger hunt being arranged by John Green of Vlogbrothers (and many other things). The actual experience is very spoiler-heavy, and so I will do my best to avoid giving too much away for anyone who is interested on following through. The place to start is the Vlogbrothers YouTube channel. As of writing, the latest two of John’s videos (but not Hank’s, who allegedly, is just as clueless as the rest of us) are a part of the puzzle. There are plenty of hints in the comments section, but be warned, there are also spoilers.

The project is early enough that it’s not entirely clear what the endgame is here. There is much speculation, and circumstantial evidence to support it, that this whole charade is a build up to the release of a new book. Others have suggested that this is a fun side project to bring the community (known affectionately as “Nerdfighters”) closer together.

What is apparent so far is that the main nerve center appears to act as a sort of “virtual speakeasy” for dedicated followers, with the answers to the weekly riddles serving as passwords. This is a neat idea for a community as large as Nerdfighteria, as it acts as an effective barrier to spammers, trolls, and complete outsiders, while not being exclusionary to those who are genuinely interested.

Of course, debates over “spoiling” the passwords for others, particularly in the YouTube comments of the videos where the riddles are provided, have already sprung up, with strong arguments both for and against making it easier for others to find and gain access. Riddles have been criticized for being too region-specific. Current members are already looking to the future with dread as more and more Nerdfighters crack the puzzle and start pouring in.

More than anything, however, is a sense of excitement. Some are merely excited to have cracked the puzzles. Others are excited for the possible release of a new book, or else to determine where the remaining riddles, and the ongoing series of cryptic hints by John and his co-conspirators, lead. Still others, such as myself, are merely excited to be present. To take part in this massive story, wherever it leads, and to share it with like-minded community members.

The atmosphere is reminiscent of that of yesteryear’s NerdCon: Stories, arranged and attended by much the same group. Recounting that experience on this blog has been on my list, and given these new developments, will likely be moved up in my priorities. Suffice it to say, however, that the feeling is good, if somewhat strange. There are plenty of casual obscure references which I do not understand, and plenty more that I do. It is clear that, even this early, there is a solid sense of community, something which I find welcome and refreshing with all the talk of being divided going on in the world.

I do not know what will come next in this project. But I am excited to find out. In the meantime, Don’t Forget To Be Awesome.

Sovereignty Revisited

How do you define a nation? How do you define a state? Does a nation necessitate a state, and vice versa?

The answer to the final question is most likely the simplest of the lot to answer. The existence of such governments-in-exile during World War II, as the Free French government, the Belgian and Dutch governments in London and Canada, and related, prove that a state can exist without distinctly sovereign territory or citizens to govern. Relatedly, the claims of states are not inherently mutually exclusive. The Republic of Korea and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (South and North Korea, respectively), both claim full sovereignty of the entire peninsula. During the Cold War, both the German Democratic Republic and the Federal Republic of Germany claimed to be the sole German nation, claiming all of German territory, and its citizens. This point became important during reunification, as it meant that former East German citizens were automatically entitled to western social services.

But perhaps the most fascinating study is the case of the two Chinas – that is, the People’s Republic of China and the Republic of China. Unlike previous examples, this particular division is not the result of joint Soviet/American occupation, but rather the direct result of the end of the Chinese Civil War. The Republic of China, better known to westerners as Taiwan, maintains its claim over the entire Chinese mainland and, critically, claims to be the legitimate successor to China’s millennia of history. This is particularly interesting, as it helps provide an answer to the first question.

A nation, therefore, has as its basic characteristics, a geographic area, a citizenry, and a distinct historical identity. Yet, while a nation may encompass a specific geographical area, it will be seen that a nation need not be restricted to a single sovereign state. Like the case of the two Germanies, the two Chinas, and the governments in exile, a single nation can quite easily have multiple states and governments, even when said states are at odds or even at war.

Of course, this is not news. In Europe, the notion of Europe as a single nation that merely happens to have multiple states is well ingrained, if not universally applauded, with many states going so far as to functionally abolish borders. In the Middle East, the formerly-popular Ba’ath ideology supports the notion of a pan-Arab state. Pan-Africanism remains a strong political force in Africa. The United States of America was originally intended to support this idea, acting as an open federation of American states.

With such historical context, it seems difficult to believe that a nation cannot exist without closed borders. Few will contend that Germany is not a “real” nation because it dismantled the death strips on its borders. Fewer still will maintain that the state of New York has destroyed its economy by allowing open borders and free trade with its neighbor, New Jersey. Yet some still continue to insist that a nation cannot be a nation without fortified borders and rigid immigration restrictions.

To be clear, there are plenty of legitimate reasons for maintaining border security. There are reasons why a state may wish to prevent illegal immigration. But national sovereignty is not among them.

For reference, here is the US-Canada border in Alaska. It’s worth noting here for the record that more illegal immigrants come through this border than the US-Mexico one. And yet, there is no talk of building a wall.

And here is the monument just beside the checkpoint, celebrating the fact that we as a nation do not require fortified borders to feel secure.

The monument calls the friendship between the US and Canada, and the resulting open borders, “a lesson of peace to all nations”. The new administration would do well to remember this lesson.

Engineering Equality

If you didn’t know already, I occasionally advocate for causes I believe in. More rarely, I go so far as to actually volunteer to go meet with people. I am not exactly a people person, so I take these kinds of engagements quite seriously. One particular role I have played is acting as an effective salesperson for the Nightscout Foundation. Amid other things, one of the activities I do is show people how to build little battery powered LED lights from off-the-shelf hardware components. It’s meant to be a proof of concept, as our foundation is a maker-movement DIY group. The notion is that if you can assemble a simple LED with a little instruction, you have all the qualifications to go on and build anything. If you can build this, you can engineer your own solutions to your chronic illness.

For the adults and those who are interested in our foundation, it provides a great segue into talking about building your own treatment setups. For the kids and the casual observers, it’s a great feel-good moment and a pleasant memento. But being a DIY engineering project, even if a relatively simple and small scale one, has inspired a great variety of reactions in a great variety of people.

Some you might expect. For example, kids tend to be more enthralled with the idea of a fun project than the adults, who are by and large more interested in free stuff. These are trade shows where we’re presenting, after all. Some are a bit less expected though.

For one thing, I’ve distinctly noticed that some of our oldest visitors also seem to be the most interested in building something themselves. I had one elderly lady at the American Diabetes Association conference. She had a walker and wore an eyepatch on one eye, a pair of thick glasses over both. Her hands shook as she tried to grip the components. In her place, I might have well given up. Yet she persisted in doing it herself. Seeing the LED bulb light up, she herself lit up to match.

At the same conference was a man in a wheelchair. His hat proclaimed he was a Veteran of several different conflicts. He did not seem awfully happy to be at that particular conference on that day. Yet he was overjoyed to be able to build a simple little gadget, which he used to decorate his own wheelchair. After completing his first one, a red bulb, my mother pointed out that he ought to build a green bulb one as well, for port and starboard on his wheelchair. He agreed wholeheartedly. I don’t think I have ever seen a man more proud of his wheelchair.

Another demographic trend which I have noticed recently, which I would not have expected but perhaps should not be so surprised at: I have noticed that while children of both sexes participate in roughly equal numbers, on the whole, the girls have seemed more interested. It’s hard to quantify and difficult to explain, but I see more of that familiar gleam – that hope – when I give my whole spiel about being able to build anything.

This is of particular interest to me, because this anecdotal experience seems to be in line with some of the larger picture about STEM-related skills in American students. The data, which admittedly is still quite limited, has suggested that young girls may actually be better equipped in terms of scientific than their male counterparts, at least at a young age. This, despite overwhelmingly male-dominated workplaces in STEM fields.

There are of course other possibilities. Perhaps girls at trade shows are simply more interested because it is an arts and crafts project as much as an engineering one. Perhaps they see other people wearing their LEDs and don’t want to miss out on the latest fashion. But I don’t think so. Also, it’s worth nothing, none of these scenarios are mutually exclusive.

If this pattern is true, then it points to some very dark truths about our society and culture. It suggests that not only are we shortchanging women, and likely also many other traditionally marginalized groups, but from a technological development standpoint, we are robbing the world of their opportunity to improve life for everyone. Still, I remain hopeful. We can’t undo the past, and we can’t change our social order and culture overnight, but we can set a positive example and improve outreach. For my part, I intend to continue my work promoting DIY engineering solutions. Do It Yourself is, after all, completely gender neutral and inclusive.

The truth is that the solution to achieving genuine equality- between genders, ages, races, and all the other things that divide us – lies in enabling those that are interested and able to access the necessary resources to advance both themselves, and humanity as a whole. The solution to equality lies not in legislation, but in education. Only by encouraging self-motivated DIY engineers can we expect to achieve the egalitarian dream that we have for so long been promised.

Do You Wanna Build a Castle

Pictured below is my most recent project. It requires no real explanation.


I happen to like Lego bricks, perhaps more than is considered appropriate for one my age. They are one of my preferred media for experiencing the joys of creation, which I have previously mentioned as one of the major sources of joy in my life. I find that they provide a good midpoint between creating still images, which in my cases involves mostly sketches, and writing stories in text. Still images convey singular moments, or else discrete concepts. Writing, although it can be used to describe a setting in a single point in time, is generally better adapted to stories. Writing also usually requires a level of cognitive function that is, if not above, then at least, distinct most other options.

My first real experience with lego bricks was while I was hospitalized and recovering from severe neurological trauma as a result of medically-unexplained encephalitis. As part of my care, I was referred to “play therapy”, that is, play-based cognitive therapy. In my case, this meant being observed when given a tub of Lego bricks. I have come to regard this medicinal approach as ironic, given that Lego is derived from butchered danish meaning “play well”.

Whether it was the play therapy or the cocktail of drugs, I did recover, and, much to the pleasant surprise of my cognitive therapists, regained virtually all of the ability I had lost. Once I began to feel slightly better, I began to experiment with the up of bricks I had been assigned. I began to build structures atop the rolling tray table that was supposed to hold my food at mealtime. Eventually I was granted an extra tray solely for my creations. My myriad specialists were always impressed with my construction progress each time they came in for rounds.

Having truly nothing else to do, seeing as my access to the hospital’s computer entertainment systems had been suspended, and my TV time restricted after I had my first seizure, I began to devote more time to building a comprehensive city. It was escapism, and it was encouraged by all of my factors. Being limited on the number of bricks, I began to experiment with various methods of creating facades and Potemkin structures. I used the space inside these structures to smuggle extra condiments, seasonings, and small packages of foodstuffs.

Many weeks later, when my neutrophils plummeted to a point that I was in more imminent danger in the hospital than at home, I was, without buildup or ceremony, booted out of the hospital. Much to my disappointment, my grand City was disassembled and taken away (though I did get a passing chuckle upon seeing the look of the staff’s faces when discovering that my city contained in it more snacks and condiments than the ward kitchen). My parents were given a list of prescriptions, a list of symptoms to look out for, and a phone number to call if they should notice me having another seizure, but other than that, we were on our own.

As soon as I got my hands on another Lego set, I began building anew. Part of this was the obvious desire to reconstruct and avenge my previous creation. Mostly, though, it was a sense of comfort. It was something I could do, even in this strange new world of having to take pills that slowed down my thinking and avoiding strobes on the television. I could still build something, and I could do it in a format that was universal. Even if not everyone understood my specific logic of city planning, everyone could recognize an obvious house, or a farm, or a city park.

Looking back, it was about two years before my new city eclipsed that which I had built up using the hospital’s resources. My city went through its boom and bust cycles as I saved up my pocket money for new sets, and as I discovered new ways of structuring my buildings. While I enjoyed playing with the minifigures, constructing and imagining fierce battles between Star-Wars shock troopers and entrenched medieval wizards, what I enjoyed most of all was working on the city as a whole. Whether it was adding new buildings, or converting an unused plot into a massive skyscraper, or rerouting traffic to make it more efficient, I thrived on making the whole thing grow.

As time wore on, and the long term effects of sudden, massive brain trauma began to surface, I came to rely on my city as a place of solace. Perhaps I might be temporarily unable to read and write or even speak coherently. Perhaps a migraine had dashed all my plans to be productive and meet my goals. Perhaps I had simply had a bad day and required a break. Whatever the case, as long as I could manipulate my fingers with some degree of accuracy, I could build. I didn’t need to explain myself, or even conform to a set standard. I could build what I wanted. I could design my stories in three dimensions, not having to rely on my memory or my ability to convey concepts using words.

Having a massive Lego metropolis in our basement has become something of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Just like with any major collectible hobby, Lego sets have become the obvious choice for birthday and Christmas presents. Friends comment on the size of our display, which ensures that I make an effort to add to it, or at least, change it up, before people come over. It is a virtuous cycle. Personally, I do not believe our collection is particularly large. It always feels to me as though we are just a few sets short of a genuinely remarkable construction. On the other hand, we do have the largest collection of any person or family I have personally met.

Today, our city comprises four separate tables, and is divided loosely into zones. There is one zone which is a permanent combat scene, where an anachronistic stew of Star Wars troops and vehicles seek to dislodge the well-entrenched rebel base, comprised mostly of outdated fighters and crossbow-wielding knights. There is a touristy recreational area built around the newly-constructed Cinderella’s Castle and loosely based on the planning style of Disney World. There is the main citadel and downtown area, abound with skyscrapers and inner city traffic. Finally, there is the uptown district, comprising the theatre and historic castle fortress, as well as some urban industrial zones. All of them are constantly growing and changing. It is a constant, giant story, handmade, and never truly completed. It is simultaneously a metaphor for my own struggles, and a contrast to them.

Compulsion to Quarantine

I have a sign in my files which is pre-designed in case I should ever need to print it and place it on my door. It is one of many similar contingency plans I maintain just in case conditions should become such as to require immediate action on my part. Unlike most of the other contingencies which I maintain standing plans for, this one has actually happened to me before.

Here is a screenshot of the sign in question:

As you can see, this sign is designed to help enhance our house’s notably robust health precautions. Given the fact that I am not only immunocompromised, and thus more vulnerable to infections of all sort, but also physically disabled in such a way that makes treatment of acquired infections all the more difficult to treat, these relatively mundane precautions really are a matter of life and death.

In a perfect world, this would be a non-issue. In such a world, the appearance of any kind of infectious disease in a community, such as, to pick a relevant example, my high school, would result in an immediate and coordinated response to isolate and care for those affected, and to ensure that the disease is never allowed to spread. In such a world, the burden of ensuring that the sick receive adequate treatment to, if nothing else, avoid further spread of contagion, would be shared among all those potentially affected, which is to say, among all those that use community services and participate in community life.

Work would be provided for students who missed class, and absences due to illness would not be held against student advancement. Students would be encouraged to stay home and recover when sick, minimizing the overall impact of infection on the entire population. In such a world, it would be easy for me to attend school without fear of contracting illness and being hospitalized for a prolonged period, or worse, owing to the complications of my legally recognized disabilities.

Of course, this is not the world we live in. In our world at the present time, students rarely, if ever, stay home when contagious, or even when attending would be detrimental to their health. Having spent a considerable amount of time in my school nurses’ office, I can state categorically that it is vastly more likely for a given sick student to be sent home forcibly by the nursing staff than to be voluntarily taken home by parents, even when said students already have a clinically high fever and are obviously contagious. There are, of course, plenty of solid reasons why this is the case. Quite simply, the incentives created by the school administration are to blame.

For starters, ours is a terribly competitive school, where students are advised and compelled not only be parents and peers, but by staff advisors and counselors to take as many advanced placement and honors courses as can be logistically fit into a single schedule, without great regard for student interest or workload capability. This, in addition to a myriad of recommended extra-curricular activities and volunteer work. The nature of such courses is, obviously, to be quite intensive, and often unforgiving.

Furthermore, the fact that so many students, many of whom would probably be better served by courses that are “merely” honors or college-prep, are bumped up into higher echelon courses means that teachers are given the unenviable task of having to weed out those who oughtn’t be enrolled in the first place from those with genuine ability. This is accomplished primarily by a relentless onslaught of busywork designed to be taxing to even the best of students, and sufficiently crushing to those who lack the necessary conviction that they become compelled to drop those courses.

Naturally, this kind of curriculum is rigidly inflexible and unforgiving in such a way that missing one class becomes a major setback, and missing a week (the CDC’s recommended recovery time for seasonal influenza) is an effective death sentence. Teachers, who are as much burdened by the need to keep consistent and challenging curricula as the students are to keep up with it, are either too busy to meaningfully accommodate students who have been ill, or else are so jaded from years of having students cheat and evade work by any means in order to maintain a competitive edge, that they simply cannot effectively empathize.

Subsequently, it remains in the short term rational self interest of each individual student to continue coming to class for as long as they are physically capable, regardless of contagion risk, regardless of the long term harm that such exhaustion wreaks on an ill body. And after all, in the unlikely event that such a normally-healthy student is rendered so wretchedly close to death that they are forcibly removed from class, such a traumatic event will undoubtedly attract sympathy and support from the administration, only then providing the necessary accommodations.

This is, of course, only one part of a systematic incentive system which compels students to maintain their attendance regardless of health. There is still the larger problem of recorded absences. In our school, every absence after a certain number of days must be accompanied by a note from a licensed physician – even if standing orders exist from certified specialists to cover such eventualities. Failure to provide such documentation to the school’s liking results in automatic referral to Child Protective Services. This is still true, regardless of the age of the student. So, an eighteen year old who is completing high school will still require a parent to call in each day with a note from a licensed physician, under threat of referral to CPS.

As noted previously, even where absences are “excused”, actual class accommodations for said absences are never forthcoming. Thus, a culture of working oneself to death emerges, with students extolling the virtues of “working through a cold” unto one another. As with most discussions between adolescents, this naturally evolves into a sort of competitive posturing, with students all working to prove that they are the most devoted, most strong-willed, most likely to prevail against all other kinds of adversity.

And of course, if through this manner of working, one’s rivals should be exposed to some nasty pathogen that causes them sufficient pain to nudge the grading curve into a more favorable state, or else knock them out of the running for valedictorian, it might come to be seen that the proliferation of infection throughout the school is not entirely at odds with one’s own academic and political ambitions. In which case, what incentive is there for a rationally self-interested person to do anything but continue to attend regardless of contagion?

Thus it comes to pass that my school is, as my immunologist calls it, “the germ factory”, with seasonal outbreaks as reliable as the teachers’ quiz schedules. For most students who have normal physiologies and the robust immune systems to defend them, the occasional coronavirus or sinusitis is no great pain. At worst, it means a couple days carrying a box of tissues everywhere. But for me, these remain plan-derailing, life threatening catastrophes that likely end with me in the hospital.

Except as much as I wish myself to be above the stubborn self-damaging habits of my able-bodies comrades, I find myself in the same dilemma with regards to missing class. After all, why ought I to have to isolate myself, when I’m not even contagious? At a certain point, after a certain number of reported outbreaks, the strategic calculus changes enough to justify my own voluntary self-quarantine. This is especially true when the illness in question is a GI bug, which are, for a variety of reasons, my Achilles heel. But until that point, what can I do to balance my own safety against my education?

This is a question without a proper answer. In an ideal world, the burden would not be on me to sequester myself, but on others to ensure that they are not spreading contagious disease. But this is not the world we live in. We live in a world where the right thing to do, and the economically sensible thing to do are at odds. Ideally, this would be set right by a coordinated societal effort to realign the incentives with the morally and socially responsible choice. For the time being, I will keep my sign on the door.

Why I Write

It occurred to me while working on a previous speech for an event to question why I write. After all, I am not chronicling my adventures in order to sell them for a profit. I do write occasional pieces where I have a particular short-term objective to promote, but these are the exception rather than the rule.

What puzzles me further about my writing habits is that, in person, I am not terribly talkative. That is not to say that I am quiet- far from it. But I tend to keep myself fairly limited in conversation because I have noticed that in verbal form, people tend to tune out after the third paragraph or so, or else interrupt my train of thought and bring me off topic. So perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I have vastly more to express than I can reliably do so verbally.

This gets at part of the reason I write: I find it easier to express myself in text than by speaking. Although it loses the tone and body language, I find I have never been good at those things anyway. Aside from that, my chronic issues with sensory integration mean that I usually get to express only a fraction of what I actually have to say. This is incredibly frustrating, both in the moment, and later on when I begin to feel regret for not getting in everything I wanted.

This is one reason I feel compelled to write, and why I have a tendency to write long, largely unedited texts rather than short, fleeting social media posts. Despite my preference for privacy and seclusion, I feel deep anxiety that my story is remaining untold. Dealing with chronic disease means being constantly aware that consciousness is far from permanent. I know that any day I may be rendered incapacitated and unable to express the story of my life. Thus, I feel compelled to record what things I can express, and to share what ain’t have learned, so that whatever struggles I may endure shall not be in vain.

But more than this, I feel, in this day and age, that I, and indeed all citizens, have a responsibility to speak up. It has been suggested that among those who have traveled and experienced dislocation as children; that is, among those who identify less with a particular country or home than with abstract concepts and ideas, that there is a marked tendency to become detached. In choosing to be diplomatic and centrist we render ourselves dispassionate bystanders. In our silence, we give, if not consent, at least tacit acceptance. Such a state of affairs, while perhaps tolerable on the level of the individual, cannot be permitted to fester in a democratic society whose entire mandate to rule is based on the consent of the governed. Much as I disdain the gridlock of two-party political dynamics, a certain level of opposition is required to maintain a healthy democracy; if not to oppose the agenda of the ruling coalition outright, then at least to provide a starting point for the critical examination of both new and existing policy.

This is, in fact, the origin of the term “opposition” in the Westminster system. After several decades of rival political parties regarding and referring to each other as scarcely better than treasonous riffraff, a political editorialist coined the term “His Majesty’s most loyal opposition”, meant as a parody of the titles typically taken by government ministers. The intelligentsia of London found the term to be rather apt, seeing as the function of the opposition was mainly to question the work of government in order to ensure that it was fully thought out. It therefore behooves the citizen of the modern society to make known both their views, and the context which has compelled them to adopt such positions, so that both the ruling group, and the population at large is able to more easily come to the best policy conclusions. I have always believed in leading by example, and so I find myself writing.

Between these two reasons, I have my main cause for writing. But there is one more item which compels me to write – the joy of creation. I fundamentally enjoy building things. Whether those things are great constructions of building blocks, hand drawn sketches, board game strategies, or writing pieces, is ultimately of less relevance than the simple fact that I am making something. I am adding value to the world, and I can see the product of my work before me. This, in itself, is enough reason for me to enjoy writing, regardless of whether its perceived value to others.