Sometimes the best fits of laughter come from pure randomness. I’m continuing my trip through Cambodia with my friends, passing through Skun — the town of fried tarantulas — and a deluxe hotel at 20 euros a night, just for the experience. These past two weeks, I’ve cried from laughing at least once a day. Goal: one daily tear-inducing laugh during these 25 days of travel.
On the way back to Phnom Penh, we passed through the town of fried tarantulas. Not with the intention of eating them (we had already done that), but to get the chance to let one walk along our arm. No real risk: their bite is less painful than a bee sting. Their venom is removed. We didn’t get that opportunity, but we did enjoy two delicious fresh tarantulas with a slightly different taste from the ones in Phnom Penh, with a finer, crispier fry.
The infinite internal feedback-loop laugh
That evening, my friend’s girlfriend joined us in Phnom Penh, at a luxury hotel (which I had agreed to book for the experience, since the price was absurdly low — spoiler: it was disappointing). It takes less than an hour before the couple decides to “go check the view from the sky bar.” Their absence lasts a while (they had actually gone to find some privacy in their room). And that’s when things start slipping. The warning sign is the shoulder bag falling off their suite door when we go there to pick up some food. And that’s when I lose it.
When the punchlines start chaining themselves
A perfect sequence of improvised punchlines on the balcony sends all of us into a long hysterical scene. I suggest we should make sure our friend “made it back safely by sending us a message,” then add “that we’re waiting for them to eat,” before delivering the final line: “are you coming,” letting dirty minds do the math. I’m chaotic enough to send the messages — and that’s when things escalate further. We’re already folded in half laughing when I pick up my phone and realize I accidentally video-called him instead. The laughter takes off again. As if texting wasn’t enough, I had to make it a voyeuristic call.
Charged with laughing too much
While waiting for the couple, I end up sitting down because I’m crying from laughter. I made the others laugh, sure — but the truth is, I make jokes primarily for myself, not necessarily for the audience. If it lands, great. But that’s never the goal. And because that wasn’t enough, I finish myself off by standing up and declaring, “I’m going to solitary confinement for derailing,” then “I’m going somewhere laughter can’t follow me,” because the more I laughed, the more I made a friend laugh, which reminded me of the absurdity of my own behavior, which made me laugh even more.
This is something I’ve observed: allistic people often “catch” laughter from others. It spreads socially. I, on the other hand, occasionally simulate that — but what actually triggers my laughter is replaying the original joke in a loop inside my head. An internal repetition-humor feedback loop that sustains itself without external input.
As my best friend’s best friend likes to say: sometimes I’m a real poet when it comes to double meanings.
But humor can be double-edged.
Semantic bug
My humor is very literal, often semantic, and escapes social hierarchy. I met my friends in engineering school. I was in the engineering curriculum, they were in an “engineering expertise” program. I never finished my degree because I got bored of computer science, and because I was dealing with severe difficulties related to a first mixed episode and multiple depressive episodes.
When “engineers” act smug
On the way to Siem Reap, teasing his girlfriend who couldn’t manage to fasten her seatbelt, one of those friends dropped: “you need engineers to find the buckle.” In response, including myself in it, I joked that “for a bunch of smartasses, I don’t count a single engineer in this car.” The joke is recurring, because this particular friend regularly brags about his work contract, which supposedly includes the title “engineer” (despite having neither the diploma nor the qualifications—so not enough to justify the claim). What could have remained a simple joke escalated into a justification attempt from the group, followed by a personal attack on my failure to finish the degree (which, if we want to play that game, was much harder than theirs), and then into insinuating that I had insulted them.
Error 404: Theory of Mind not found
Here’s the issue. An insult, to me, implies hurting someone—devaluing or degrading them. With my little jab, I was simply pointing out a funny semantic inconsistency, while defending the girlfriend from the teasing. Nothing mean. Just facts. Which they interpreted as an insult. Yet even engineering students don’t call themselves engineers until they graduate. A student with a master’s degree doesn’t claim the title of engineer they never obtained either. If we push the logic further, several physiotherapists have corrected me before, pointing out that physical therapy is not medicine because they are separate training pathways. And to push the absurd even further, it would be like allowing an engineering student to call themselves a lawyer because they took one course in digital law.
Syntax of laughter
I have no issue admitting that I only have a two-year degree, and I’m perfectly fine with it because I don’t see much added value in the engineer title in my situation. But I do know the difference. I know the effort (in theory) required to become an engineer. And I’m sensitive to inconsistency — maybe too much. What fascinates me, though, is seeing how deeply allistic people can feel attacked at the core of their social self-worth when someone points out an inaccuracy. They don’t want it to be precise — they want to maintain a convenient ambiguity. And they do so masterfully: by playing on wording (“expertise in engineering” / engineer) and on implicit social codes (the job contract mentioning the title).
Well, fortunately, the joke will live on, we’ll keep pretending I’m insulting everyone, and we’ll probably have another collective meltdown of laughter tonight. Next!
Glitch in a prank
After all these episodes, I was exhausted and lay down on the floor with my eyes closed. I opened them again when I heard footsteps, just in time for a friend to pour water on my face and shirt. That kind of prank is not my thing. So I left without saying a word, grabbed a bottle of water from my room, walked to his, and literally flooded his duvet and fitted sheet. Objective: ruin his night in the luxury hotel. What some would call “revenge” is, to me, simply restoring justice — rebalancing things and making someone understand without chaos that their behavior crossed a line.
Bug in the glitch
Mayday. He wasn’t sleeping alone in that bed. I had made sure to leave half of it dry, but the water would have spread. Having locked my room to prevent the prank from continuing (the act wasn’t impulsive — it was calculated to the millimeter), I woke up the next morning to find the innocent party sleeping on the sofa. The injustice. Instead of waking me up to take my place (which I would have given him, since I was responsible), he chose to have a terrible night on the couch, without sheets.
Fix the bug
So I bought him coffee, lunch, and looked after him when he woke up — but I still came out of it annoyed. As usual, nothing was actually balanced, and the guilty one only had a wet bed for an hour while it dried, leaving a collateral victim on a sofa in a hotel costing 30 euros a night (300 in Paris).
The truth is, I had been irritated on and off for several days during this trip, and I had already gone through several shutdowns due to sensory overload and accumulated fatigue. So the prank was not welcome at all, especially in a moment where I fell asleep within minutes. Anyway — we have fun, and sometimes it glitches.
Cambodia has been an opportunity to strengthen friendships, despite a few mishaps, and to realize how important this group truly is in my life. The question now is whether I should plan a move to the country — and maybe start a series of articles about what it means to be autistic and bipolar while living abroad. Especially in a place where access to healthcare is more limited than in France.
📸 Personal photographs taken over the past few days.