We talked with Aaron Pang about his solo show, Falling: A Disabled Love Story, in which he attempts “to unravel the complexities of love, lies and life after disability.”
Disabled people deserve to have complicated, messy, funny, and even sexy stories
Aaron, can you tell us about your disability and how you came to weave the other elements into your story?
It’s funny. Even this question is a version of “What happened?”, which is the exact question strangers constantly ask when they see my cane. It’s the question that sparked the entire show. There’s some irony in that, because the show isn’t really about what happened. It’s about everything that came after.
I have a spinal cord injury, and I won’t spoil it more! You'll have to come to the show to get the full story! But what interested me much more than the incident itself was how that moment changed the way people looked at me, how I saw myself, and how it shaped my experiences with dating, sex, intimacy, and masculinity.
The show blends comedy, storytelling, and vulnerability because those are the tools I’ve always used to process life. Who needs therapy? (Just kidding, I go to therapy). But the show is about the absurdity of navigating other people’s expectations while learning how to live in a body that feels both familiar and foreign. The cane gets me the question, but the story is about what people expect to hear. The story they think they want isn’t the one I’m telling. And the one I am telling is where things actually get interesting.
What was your motivation for compiling the show?
My motivation for creating Falling came from living in a world where ableism never sleeps. It shows up in how people talk to me, how they look at me, and how they assume they already know my story. I got tired of seeing disabled lives reduced to either tragedy or triumph. I wanted to break the tropes of inspiration porn and tell a story that doesn’t follow the usual arc of healing or overcoming.
Disabled people deserve to have complicated, messy, funny, and even sexy stories. We are not here to be lessons or reminders to be grateful. I wanted to create something that lets me be fully human on stage – flawed, confused, and still figuring things out.
How does the medium of dark humour facilitate your story?
I think it’s interesting that we label a lot of jokes about disability as 'dark humour', as if disability is automatically something sad or tragic. That assumption says more about how society sees disabled people than it does about the content itself. For me, the things I find funniest are often the moments where disability and discomfort meet, not because they’re depressing, but because they reveal something real, strange, or absurd. I love jokes that make able-bodied people shift in their seats a little. I’m not trying to shock for the sake of it, but I do want to challenge what people expect. Humour is my way of inviting the audience into my world, not just to look at it from the outside. And in my world, some of the most uncomfortable jokes are also the most joyful.
What would you like audiences to take away from the show?
I want audiences to be confronted by their own expectations. I want them to think about the kinds of stories they gravitate toward, especially when it comes to disability. Most disabled stories follow the same formula: a struggle, a breakthrough, a triumph. We’ve been trained to find that satisfying. But that formula doesn’t leave a lot of room for nuance, messiness, or contradiction. My hope is that Falling makes people reflect on the kinds of narratives they’ve been told, and the kinds they’ve been comfortable with. I want them to ask themselves why certain stories feel 'inspiring' and what that says about how we view disabled people. And maybe, after the show, they’ll be more open to listening to stories that don’t wrap up neatly or exist to teach a lesson. Stories that are complicated, personal and unapologetically different.
