Since starting Autistic As Fxxk, I’ve received messages from younger Autistic Singaporeans saying they look up to me and see me as a role model. I’m incredibly flattered and honoured that people see me that way, but part of me wonders: Do I really deserve this? Surely there are other Singaporean Autistic advocates who are much more intelligent, qualified, eloquent, and respectable than I am. I’m just a girl who can’t speak “normally” and never attended university.

I have tons of insecurities about my intelligence and capabilities because I’ve been repeatedly infantilised due to my selective mutism. I was in the Normal (Academic) stream¹ in secondary school (while my sister was in the Gifted Education Programme²) and didn’t go to university because I was afraid I wouldn’t fit in or be able to keep up.

For a very long time, I had this impression that only people who went to university, were super learned, and spoke eloquently could be advocates or activists. I’ve never been seen as a “leader type” in my life, and have no formal experience with community organising work.

For many years, I was also afraid my views on autism and disability were too “radical” for Singapore. Our society is conservative and largely operates on the charity model of disability. You’re conditioned from an early age to comply, conform, and never challenge authority. Public demonstrations are heavily restricted here.

I believe the repressive political climate in Singapore might have also contributed to my selective mutism—I was afraid that if I voiced my true opinions, I’d only get in trouble. I felt the safest way to exist in this country was to keep everything to myself. However, this only resulted in people assuming I had “no opinions” at all.

As a semi-speaking Autistic person with medium support needs, it’s impossible for me to completely mask as a neurotypical or non-disabled person. I eventually realised if I continued repressing everything about myself, I’d only be allowing myself to be treated poorly by people who see me as nothing but a pitiful, charity case. But if I tried expressing myself unapologetically, even if I face backlash, at least I finally wouldn’t be abandoning myself—and maybe I’d even find other like-minded people!

Having experienced dehumanisation from a young age, I’ve always had great empathy for people who are othered by society. I deeply understand how it feels to be misrepresented and have no one care about your issues enough to speak up for you. From my experience growing up in Singapore, people generally only care about issues that directly affect them—issues that exist outside our bubble are brushed aside as “not my problem; there’s nothing I can do about it. 🤷🏻‍♂️” I was often left to suffer in silence because of that attitude.

As my political consciousness grew (thanks to my special interest in Rage Against the Machine), I became cognisant of how my struggles as an Autistic person are interconnected with the struggles of other marginalised and oppressed groups worldwide. Because of this, I try my best to educate myself and show solidarity with Palestine, Sudan, Congo, the trans community, BIPOC communities, LGBTQIA+ people, and other marginalised groups worldwide.³ I want to do what I can to work towards collective liberation; not just the liberation of Autistic people. In the words of Audre Lorde, “There is no such thing as a single-issue struggle because we do not live single-issue lives.”

I’ve been slowly dipping my toes into public advocacy. As my platform grows, I’ll inevitably have to engage with people outside of my main audience. What I’m most worried about is whether I’ll be able to clearly articulate myself to them and be taken seriously—especially given the way I speak (I speak in a very soft whisper).

Despite my insecurities, I still feel it’s important for me to be an Autistic advocate in Singapore. Singapore’s understanding of neurodivergence and disability is decades behind other places, and I want to be the representation I wish I had when I was younger.

I’m slowly realising that my experience as a semi-speaking Autistic person with medium support needs in Singapore actually makes me more qualified, not less. My lack of formal education means I speak from lived experience rather than just theory. I understand firsthand what it’s like to be silenced, underestimated, and excluded. I know the specific ways Singapore’s culture and systems fail Autistic people because I’ve lived through it.

Perhaps my impostor syndrome is actually internalised ableism telling me only certain types of people are allowed to be leaders. The truth is, advocacy needs voices like mine: voices that have been systematically excluded from traditional platforms of power and education. My voice matters precisely because it comes from a perspective that’s been historically silenced.