In recent years I have found myself increasingly confronted with an old yet stubbornly persistent way of thinking: the assumption that the oppressed are, by definition, right, and the powerful, by definition, guilty. One of my more recent exchanges on the Net brought this into…

I was nine years old when I first realised that what I was speaking wasn’t simply the Bulgarian language, but something stranger, labelled by the incomprehensible word dialect. I was visiting my cousins in the romantic little town of Kavarna (“romantic” means nothing more here…

The sky over the city hung like old laundry, worn and faded from too much washing. A fine, sharp drizzle shaved the air; people scurried along, apologizing to one another when their umbrellas touched. The bloated, pretentious building — seemingly dulled by the constant roar of…

The Children of Hans Asperger Life with Autism: A personal Story Today I begin a story which I probably regard – quite justifiably – as the hardest and most painful in my life so far: the story of the birth and upbringing of our two children, Paul and Lea Enev. I spoke with all…