Foreign language that is fixation

Written by Yasmin Alexandria

Fixation is one of those words bathed in a Jekyll & Hyde styled light. When you hear the word some people may assume it with a specific kind of darkness, addiction, danger, violence the list goes on. Others may link it with a strong passion for something, but when paired with the word ‘Autism’ or ‘Autistic’ it can often feel like fixation becomes a foreign language. What is this suddenly new term?

Dear Readers, those of you who know me understand my utter disgust when it comes to gardening. I never truly started out with a hatred towards the supposedly peaceful hobby, but over the years the hatred stemmed from a recurring disheartening outcome. No matter how much effort I exerted, no matter how many hours I spent in the grey & drizzle, or how

tenderly I cared for the plants I’d painstakingly picked out from the rows and rows of evergreen and juniper coloured greenery. The result was always the same…. Unfortunately my green fingers seemed to malfunction after a week or so of what was looking hopeful. Now you’re probably thinking ‘Yes Yasmin maybe, just maybe you should take the hint that cultivation is not for you.’ but I reassure you my point will begin to make sense.

Now new fixations aren’t breaking news. I’m sure a lot of you have either experienced it yourself or witnessed someone borderline change overnight due to a fixation of a tv show, book series, sport or hobby having died a sudden death. I myself have lived through plenty - not limited to the One Direction fixation, the Harry Potter fixation, even the Brit Crew YouTuber obsession (withhold the judgments it was 2014). The F1 fixation is still going strong three race seasons in. But there was simply one fixation I have yet to give up. Peeling Avocado seeds. That’s right, I became an Avocado bandit, of course I would NEVER eat the fibre packed fruit due to the texture. I did, however, continue to buy them reduced in the supermarket for the one person I knew would eat them. My Mum, my unknowing accomplice. After making her dinner, I would wash, dry, and then sit at the table painstakingly peeling away at the thin iconic brown layer. I would then proceed to wrap the pit turned seed in dampened kitchen roll and sandwich bag before placing it in the cupboard to be forgotten.

The forgetful part was easy, something those with ADHD may resonate with. A few weeks later opening my cupboard I would remember my little science project. But still I persevered, those 5 relaxing minutes of sitting at the kitchen table, little trusty penknife in hand carefully peeling back layers to reveal a wonderful cream pit. It was a fixation, like an itch I had to scratch. My science experiment soon grew, sprouting roots & small leaves. My heart soaring, the small speckle of pride growing, soon my window sill becoming home to my growing delight.

Now once or twice may have been understandable. The whole germination process was enjoyable, relaxing almost, despite knowing at some point it would do what all plants before it had done and die on me. I mean who would want to relive that disappointment again & again. My singular pot sat on the windowsill, basking in the rising and setting golden sun, surprisingly surviving multiple assassination attempts courtesy of my cats.

But still my small enjoyment based fixation thrived. So now I am stuck with a major dilemma, what does one do with five Avocado plants in rural North Wales?

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