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When the Universe Freezes Over, May This Post Keep You Warm
As my posts have grown scarcer, the gaps between them stretching like the spaces between distant stars, I find myself wanting to leave behind something warm. Something positive. So that, when the heat death of the universe inevitably comes and all that remains is ice, frost, and fragments of TranceAddict posts, maybe these words will crack a smile on whoever stumbles upon them.
This one's for the neurodivergent who might be reading this: the ones who often feel like puzzle pieces in the wrong box, trying to fit where they’re told they don't belong.
Take my office mate, for example. Another Japanese language professor, though neither of us have any Asian background to speak of. We share a running joke that neither of us truly belonged to the “nerd groups”. Me, because I’d rather lose myself in a rave than in a Dungeons and Dragons campaign. Him? Because he'd out-nerd even the nerds. While others were content evolving Pikachu to... Circuit Breaker? (That's a thing, right?), he'd be there, passionately explaining the nuances of the original Japanese game. Even the students picked up on this, but no one dares say a word. They'd better not.
When I got my tenure-track position nine years ago, he’d try — time and again — to strike up small talk, desperately searching for common ground between us. The trouble is, he’s about as good at reading social cues as I am at playing Skyrim Souls (which, for the record, I have yet to even see). He’d light up about Star Wars, Star Trek, Star Stars... and I read up just enough to keep up, cracking jokes about Naruto Genesis Evangelion.
At first, he thought my ignorance stemmed from a lack of exposure. To fix this, he gave me a special edition Batman comic. Problem was, I couldn't get past the whole “goth billionaire vigilante dispensing his own justice” thing. How does no one figure out who he is? Does Gotham have no Jeff Bezoses to cross-reference? What the hell!?
Then, in 2019, he lent me the original Dune DVD. “It’s a classic,” he said. I didn’t own a DVD player. “No problem,” he replied. “Your parents will have one.” He wasn't wrong, but after five minutes of awkward CGI and plotlines as dry as Arrakis itself, I noped out. The DVD sat untouched through the pandemic, a relic of pre-spice chaos, until I eventually returned it, having memorised just enough Wikipedia summaries to sound like I’d watched it.
And then, after realising my wife hadn’t watched it either, he lent it to her. She froze, holding it like it might summon a sandworm if opened. That's his cue-reading ability in action.
But here's the twist: one day, I posted a picture of my studio setup online. He commented on my MIDI controllers. Assuming he was mimicking my years of polite interest in his passions, I thought nothing of it. Weeks later, he turned up having bought not just one, but three controllers—a Keystep, a Beatstep, and a mystery device covered in faders. However, he'd realized too late he had no music theory knowledge. Andrew Huang videos baffled him. My attempts to teach him chords went nowhere.
And yet, it was endearing. It took him everything to dive into something so foreign to him, just to bridge the gap between us. He figured, “I like retro games; maybe I can make chiptune music.” It didn’t matter that he never became the next chiptune Mozart. What mattered was the effort—the reaching across, the trying. Props to him.
So if you’re neurodivergent and worried about fitting in, don’t. People like my colleague remind me that connection isn't about perfect alignment; it’s about showing up, quirks and all, and trying. And that? That’s how we find our way to each other.
I wanted to get it off my chest and throw it out there. Hopefully, this post finds you, or a neurodivergent friend of yours, well 
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Indiana Clones Upcoming Sets
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