At the moment, Kiriana is combining her current fascinations for science, writing, and drawing as she translates a textbook on neurodevelopment into metaphorical scenes. One page of her sketchbook shows two rivers, labeled the "dorsal" and "ventral" streams, along which undifferentiated cells migrate to their destinations. Sharks in the water represent inhibitors to cell development. The project is time consuming, but it's the best way she's found for mastering complex ideas.
Kiriana's never taken an art class, though her drawings are sophisticated and beautiful. Her spatial orientation problems don't extend to her ability to imagine objects and render them on the page. "To me, art is a part of science, of observation—it's finding the details that define an object."
Last summer, Kiriana went several weeks without speaking to anyone she knew. "I feel most comfortable being alone," she says. "I don't feel lonely very often, and when I do, it's usually not a general feeling of loneliness as much as a wish to be with a certain person or people." Parties tire her, and when she meets someone new she fears she'll come off as boring. "The things most people think of as fun are work to me," she says, citing the complicated dynamics of relationships and social interaction. "To me, fun would be reading a textbook."
Friendships do bring her pleasure, though. When she was 18, she met the closest friend she's ever had, a gay man. "He was the only person I ever felt really connected to, where I didn't mind if he hugged me." When a friend is upset, she can give advice if she can relate to the dilemma. But when it comes to being there for someone who is crying, Kiriana writhes under the pressure to respond the way a "normal" person would. "Anything schmaltzy makes me squeamish," she says. "My parents try to be affectionate, and they get hurt feelings sometimes because I don't like to hug them."
Kiriana gets rushes of happiness, pride, and guilt, but abstract concepts—patriotism, for example, or spirituality—don't rouse her. "I do cry," she says, "but it's usually out of anger or frustration. Rarely do I feel true sadness." She did feel terribly sad this year over the death of Slinky, her cat.
Kiriana is attracted to men and sometimes longs to be in a relationship, yet it's hard for her to have any idea whether men she meets—such as the ones who, captivated by her looks, linger by her table at the cafe where she studies—are being flirtatious or merely polite. And maintaining eye contact is always a challenge. "There are so many situations where I'm talking to somebody and I can tell they've lost interest," she says. "A lot of times I'm not sure what I did." If she is really taken with someone, she often becomes so flustered that she drops something or starts choking—an adorable quirk, but one that leaves her even more ill at ease.
One remark that Kiriana has heard repeatedly is, you must have been a nerd growing up. "I wish I'd been a dork or a nerd, because those are things that people recognize," she says. "I was a different species." It's a perspective that may account for her fierce identification with animals. "If I saw a person lying on the street, my first response would be, I wonder what's wrong with them, I should call 911. It's not emotional, it's practical," she says. "If I saw a dog lying on the street, I would be on my knees, in pain."
Psychologist Shana Nichols has noticed that nearly all the girls with AS that she sees are avid animal lovers. "Animals don't care if you can't have small talk about the weather," she says. "There's just not as much anxiety as there is with human interactions, so you can really connect."
Kiriana behaves loyally toward her family and friends, but she balks at saying she loves anyone. "While there are many people who certainly matter to me, I'm not sure I can qualitatively summarize whether or not that constitutes love," she says. She doubts she could ever fall in love.
For as long as she can remember, she's had a need for rational understanding, to take things apart to know how they're put together. That kind of thinking has helped her become an ace science student, a precise artist, a forceful writer—all in spite of, or maybe because of, her Asperger's traits. The paradoxes of her personality—those exceptional bursts of creativity and disability, a desire for closeness that competes with her contented solitude—will keep generating tough puzzles for Kiriana to work on, even if the actual solutions are more elusive.
"I spend a lot of time watching the rats in the lab," she says. "Sometimes when I watch them, I feel jealous. The way they interact is so connected. And when they play, I often wish that I could join their party."
Tags:
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