No way, Bale

I can't believe it, my good pal Christian Bale is gonna be in the next three Terminator movies. Wow.

Thanks BBC for breaking the news.

Crimes Against People with Disabilities

I felt a rush of disgust when I began to read a Quest article entitled "Crimes Against People with Disabilities." According to the article, most experts agree that the rate of violent crime is four to 10 times higher for people with disabilities than for the general public. Part of that statistic includes "hate crime" against people with disabilities. I was quite surprised. To identify myself as a member of the highest-risk group for abuse and violence is just unimaginable. But I soon realized that it was true.

The article blamed the society for holding double standards when it comes to confronting violence or abuse against people with disabilities: "Abuse and violence against [these] people is much more commonly accepted and less frequently punished than for other victim groups." Terms like "neglect," "euthanasia," or "professional misconduct" are often used instead of "assault," "homicide," or "battery."


The sad truth is that abuse and violence towards people with disabilities are usually less often reported, and few crimes end in conviction. These victims are also more vulnerable to long-lasting effects. According to one study, children with disabilities who had been sexually abused are significantly more likely to develop inappropriate anger, regression, and poor sense of personal safety than children without disabilities who had been similarly abused.

One reason why people with disabilities are easy targets for abuse and violence is because the abusers usually "recognize that they have a better chance of getting away." Displaced anger is another common trigger, where caregivers who are angry at more powerful figures in his or her own life redirect that anger "toward the vulnerable individuals to whom they provide care."

I have enough experience of my own to say that these situations do exist. While most people who know me may think that I am very independent and strong-minded, it was not always easy to exert authority over a caregiver when he or she mistreated me. Sometimes I empathize too much with the caregiver to the point where I say, "She must be under stress. I will just let it go this time." In a worse scenario, I simply do not have the physical strength to stop the abuse.

Just a few months ago my family and I had some trouble with my caregiver, and we gave her the option to either stay and change her attitude, or leave. She replied and asserted that it is all my decision: if I want her to stay, she'll stay; if not, she'll pack her bags and go. I remember how I had to refrain from shouting, and instead say calmly to her, "If you go, you know where I'll be? I'll be in this chair, waiting here all day, with both my parents at work, and no one to take care of me. You think it's that easy for me? I have to wait a month or two, or maybe more, to get a new helper. And I'll just fire you whenever I want to?"

Some people think it's easy to avoid abusive caregivers, but that's not always the case. For one, there are many out there whose only caregivers are their family! I have witnessed too many wives shouting at their husbands for being slow and lazy as they begin their routine in the physical therapy room following a stroke. When family members treat the disabled with little respect, few would expect better treatment from hired caregivers.


I can see that abusive behavior towards people with disabilities is an unsolved problem in my country, namely, Taiwan. With a growing population of foreign workers, many people with paralysis or stroke or congenital defects are being cared for by women from the Philippines, Vietnam, or Indonesia. While communication is sometimes made difficult by one's disability, more problems arise when the caregiver does not speak his or her language. In an Asian culture that does not have a very good track record on recognizing individuals' right to privacy, freedom, or human dignity, it is all the more difficult to raise awareness and stop abuse against people with disabilities.

It is human nature to pick on the weak--women, children, the elderly. But while numerous hotlines and shelters have been set up for these groups, so far I have never heard of an organization helping to combat abuse against people with disabilities. There should be more resources made available to both people with disabilities and their caregivers. Those with disabilities should know what their rights are and how they can look for help in case of abuse.

While we empathize with those who work hard to care for our daily needs, it is no excuse for abusive behavior. Whether psychological, verbal, or physical--abuse has to stop.

The instinct

This is one of the times when I can write nothing but my story--when I could use my mother's computer in my mother's room, but I choose instead to take my laptop from the bedside table, pull at the tangled cables, and drag it across the room to my desk beside the window. Three thirty is not a bad time considering the sunlight won't be hitting the screen directly as it would have an hour earlier. It's a rare moment, a time I've been dreaming and planning for, when I finally convince myself that I would sit down and write--I've always sat, but I seldom write.

Where could the story of my life begin when it has all but hit a dead end? That I begin a story with no ending is absurd. I always work backwards: to get to a restaurant, to finalize my registration, to convince a friend that she should not have sex, yet. Those are simpler things, when enough energy keeps me going and distractions keep me scatterbrained. Unfortunately being empty is a state of mind I've become acquainted with quite recently. No school, no homework, no daily social situations to be fussy about. I could imagine the look in my eyes when people ask me a question and I'm too tired to answer. It is the reflection of a drifter, a homeless wanderer. Not stemmed in pride, nor in self-righteousness. A tint of shame, then seclusion.

If only human existence could be so removed from labor and sweat. If only it makes perfect sense to make this lifestyle the norm.

Nihilism was not what I was driving for when I took my first breath and decided that I should survive. That instinct, the sign of good health and resilience, was what saved me before I even knew my life was threatened. But instincts turn into inclinations, and inclinations into obsessions. After all the labor, the fighting, and the "chasing of the dreams," it seems as if that crucial decision I made as an infant turned out to be a fraud. It seems, as if, I am now as alienated from myself as I would be if I'd crashed my first course and given up trying when I was two.

Vanity, vanity. That I should have known before I took the first step. That just because I couldn't run doesn't mean I have to walk twice as fast as people who could. Take life a moment at a time, didn't they used to say? But then they told me I didn't have too many moments, and so I grabbed and lived a moment as if it were three. Lived life to the fullest! Except it wasn't mine.

So many things can be condensed into a single thought, and so many thoughts into silence.