This blog is dedicated to:

My beautiful, big-hearted baby sister and her valiant, generous hubby, and my most loyal and supportive friend YS – thank you for helping me eat better, look beyond my feet, reach out, live my dreams and keep on keeping on, knowing always that I am loved.

My canine angel, Lucy Like a Charm, who shares this wonderful journey.

Sonata in Z – publicity


Sonata in Z

Originally posted on Scheherazade's Sea:

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An autistic human,

A greyhound dog.

Parallel Embodiments,

A journey of Being.

Endeavour of empathy,

Spaces of mind.

Sonorous communion,

Wordless interlocutions.

Enter barefoot

Scheherazade’s Sea:



Inside dreams.

Sonata in Z (2015) completes a trilogy of physical studies in Autistic Parallel Embodiment and elemental empathy. The preceding two exhibitions – Roaring Whispers (2013) and Little Sweets 小甜心 (2014) – presented confrontations with the eclectic cacophonies of my autistic existential oxymoron. As a cadential resolution to the three-part opus, Sonata in Z unwraps sensorial equilibrium and tranquility. Prevalent social autocracy demands a performance of conformity, creating stressful unnatural dissonance for the autist. In Sonata in Z, social communion emanates from within natural autistic dimensions of sensory contentment. Drawing upon the well-documented connection between autistic persons and animals, Sonata in Z is directly inspired by my greyhound Lucy’s innate ability to locate and create intimate oases of comfort, and the…

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Those dust bunnies are overpowering. So ominous and relentless, the minute I think I’ve achieved some semblance of a ‘clean’ floor – i.e. smooth textured parquet, no disturbing micro-grit underfoot – the next wave appears. Legion!

While grappling with this force majeure that has been pushing me to the edge of the sensory abyss of housekeeping, my brain formed an association with another kind of clean-up. Ridding myself of extra weight. No, not the physical, bodily kind, but the things that we accumulate and drag around with us, that slow us down in myriad ways. Continue reading


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What have we been up to lately?

It has been extremely hot this long weekend. I am better in dry heat than in wet clammy cold. But poor Lucy has not been liking this weekend’s heatwave at all. I’ve had to sponge her down at half hour or hourly intervals, and keep interchanging her Kool Collar with the gel cool pack. Both fans are directed at her too. I wish I had air conditioning – if only just for my Princess. I’ve not dared to walk her, and thankfully, Lucy is a sensorially aware dog, she will not push herself in the heat anyway. We’ve made quick forays downstairs to the grass patch just for toilet breaks, and that is all. No walking around for us girls.
Continue reading


A relentless longing, inexorable yearning, to be wrapped inside a secure cocoon of tranquil dynamism. It is a small physical (sensory) space of vibrant gentleness, alive and buzzing with elemental connectivities, yet soft, undulating peace. Inside, there is no need to do constant battle with sensory assault, arbitrary social demands, or to meekly bow down at the feet of non-intrinsic tyrannies – no need to engage in the ever clamorous task of ‘performing the unnatural as naturally as possible.’ Continue reading


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I love my neighbourhood. I’ve lived here since coming to Sydney, with a brief 8 month interruption last year. The separation was traumatic, and both Lucy and I were so relieved and glad to be back. I am about to move on again, though, and I am very sad. Nobody likes change, but for the autistic person, change is a huge challenge. It isn’t that our minds are slower to process, or that we somehow lack the logical ability to grasp the inevitability of transformation, transfiguration and transmutation. In fact, quite the opposite. My mindscape is so inundated with a plethora of small bits of data gleaned from vibrant elemental interlocutions – patterns, shapes, sounds, smells, tastes, from the heartbeat and breath of cosmic life itself – that my cognizance needs peaceful anchorage, order and sympathetic familiarity. However, that is not a luxury that I am able to relish at this point. After the frenetic anxious flurry of the next one and a half months, as soon as my exhibition, Sonata in Z, is complete, I shall have to move on yet again. Continue reading


A confluence of chaotic sensorially triggering and overwhelming situations.

Stress. Anxiety. Internal fear.

Stress. Anxiety. External, jabbing, aggressive intrusions.

Sensory assault from nature and being too finely attuned to natural elements.

Mental-emotional weariness from human-centric interactions.

An accidental nudge. A spilled glass. Honey and lemon puddle.

Two Minute Meltdown.

Gazing at an Angel. Clemency seeping back.

Unspeaking. Unable to speak. Yet vociferous. Hurtling words. Physical scribbles helter skelter inside headscpace.



Keeping on keeping on.

Bunny, Bunny, the show… on with the show!

Tally Ho!

After the Storm


This is so utterly beautiful. Speaking inside my non-verbality. Please visit Sonia’s site… and breathe in deeply!

Originally posted on The other side:


This is a super short visual blog post. Refuge, has now spent 10 nights sleeping rough in the lovely courtyard at the entrance to the Abbey. it nestles under a vine and is shaded by a fig tree, but we’ve had several days of torrential rain in England along with unseasonably sunny weather.

Last time I visited, Refuge was glistening, all wet with rain. This time Refuge was crispy dry. I’m delighted to see the basic structure of the suitcase has held, and it’s contents are similarly perky. What I like about the process so far is that the paper lining is also still intact, though it is peeling away from the sides with a definite inward sag. It’s a clean sag too, no rips or tears (yet).

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I Am Autism


A poweful piece by Alex Forshaw. I couldn’t have said this better. Until the people researching autism and making claims of enormous success for their various therapies and programmes actually KNOW US, and are able to empathise with our parallel embodied paradigms, the data being gathered based on non-autistic paradigms will be just that. Everything about us without us. Nothing more. I myself have taken part in such data-based studies, I have voiced my concerns about the glaringly obvious (to me) inaccuracies, I have been ignored, and the study has been published, presented as fact at autism conferences and added to the vast body of data-based evidence telling the world who I am supposed to be without wanting to listen to me. What is the value of your data if your pedagogies and perspectives blithely disregard the very people you purport to be helping?
“You don’t know me.” Until you do.

Originally posted on Married, With Aspergers:

You don’t know me.

You see me sit, rocking.
You hear me talk to myself,
Repeating phrases from the TV.
You watch my hands as they flap
And touch. Seemingly random,
My patterns escape your notice.

You don’t know me.

You see me on the edges,
Quiet, listening but not speaking.
You hear my outbursts:
Violent eruptions of sound and motion.
You note my non-compliance
With black marks in your ledgers.

You don’t know me.

You try to change me,
Remake me in your own image.
You teach me that I am broken.
You punish me for being myself.
You make me fearful and anxious,
Afraid to break your rules.
You drive me deep inside myself.

You don’t know me.

You don’t empathize with me.
You don’t learn about me.
You don’t try to understand me.
You fear me, hurt me, hate me.
You don’t love me: if you did,

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A long ramble. A not-well-written meandering babbling. But I am unable to execute beauteous sentences and coherent semantic tapestry. My mind is exploding, and here it is…

Sensory struggle. Anxiety overload. Overwhelmed by the mocking interplay and combined assault of the inexorable passage of time and mounting anxiety in a bizarre Call and Response (on perpetual da capo).

Then comes a flood of benevolence.

And I am engulfed in a deluge all over again – no, not anxiety this time, but a gentle humbling at the Hand of Grace.

The path of scholarship is never easy, and too many people struggle with crushing student debt. For me, it is an ongoing lesson in pespectival shifting and readjustment. My familial background eschews loans and looks down its nose at debt. When I won my PhD scholarship, I plunged into the real world of student debt. Ironic, but true. The scholarship stipend provided minimal living in the most expensive city in Australia. I scratched the bottom of the barrel and grasped for straws just to buy my passage, so as to take up the scholarship. Along the way, I needed help, a lot of help, which came from my one loving sister and her husband, and a few good friends. Each time I cried into the roaring void at a moment of panic and despair, Grace has answered in a soft still voice. Some old friends fell away, other friends I’ve known for ages stepped up and re-emerged, and I made new connections with people who have become trusted friends and loyal supporters. Trundling along in our rusty wheelbarrow.

Recently, my scholarship stipend ceased. My own college has stepped in to pay the tuition fees for this final semester, and for living expenses, a childhood friend in Singapore has generously extended a loan, as has another friend in the USA. And another friend has kindly offered a roof over our heads for the write-up months leading into submission.

My very pressing and present focus is on the upcoming exhibition, Sonata in Z 2015, marking the final part of a trilogy of experimental works in autism, parallel embodiment and alternative empathy.

As I hurtle through time and space, nearer and nearer to the setting up date, I grow more alarmed at the emptiness. I am one. And I have just one and a half months more to filling a space 10 metres by 3.5 metres, with a height of 2.8 metres, with all the luscious details and sensory engagement that I have in my mind. An impossible task. Yet, the show must go on. That has been the mantra of my life – perhaps of many an autist’s life, struggling through alien and inclement systems to forge some form of independence, hoping to make a tiny contribution to our worlds. But this time around, the show teeters on the mocking edge of the abyss of nothingness.

In this dismal setting, once more comes another wave. Of Grace. From Grace.

Last week, I received a surprise package from lovely friend and talented artist, Skye – beautiful hand crafted jewellery, a delicate necklace with horse-shoe pendant, a handbag, and a pack of trotters for Lucy.

Then on Saturday, my friend Rick came for our usual bruncheon session armed with gifts of sustenance. Water biscuits, Double Brie (no less!), fruit juice, and a tub of tiramisu!

Yesterday, lovely Rodrigo dropped by, bearing yet more wonderful presents, carried all the way across the world, from his travels in Europe and the UK.

Another precious bestowment, small but no less consequential – a CD of Tchaikovsky’s Symphony no. 4 – from my friend M, who lives in a beat up old van.

A phone call from Lucy’s beloved Godma, Rose, also brought a sliver of hope to the bleak horizon. She suggested that I ask a crafting group for help, to create the small little details for Sonata in Z. I am not sure what may come of it, but I am deeply grateful to Rose for her vigorous and rigorous care and endorsement of my work and my very embodiment. Hope is sustenance in itself.

Strangely enough, during our bruncheon prattle, Rick and I somehow meandered into this biblical quotation, from the book of Hebrews 11:1.

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

Just as I was agonising early last week over budgeting for food, questioning my needs and muddling through the finances, making lists and cancelling orders in a cyclical manic haplessness, worrying about Lucy’s nutrition and projecting onwards to some necessary medical procedures in the near future, screaming into the resonant silence and mumbling to myself and anyone else who was willing to listen to my drivel how I need an army of Smurfs to help me complete the little yet monumentally volumnous details required in my upcoming exhibition – and wondering how I would make it through this final passage to the finishing line of my Grand Quest!

Grace once more intervenes. Not with small morsels of charity, but with a Tsunami of gentle affection and regard. I am overwhelmed. But not crushed.

My exhibition, Sonata in Z 2015, is about creating clement space within which grace provides strength and enabling of Beingness, and wherein empathy propagates and emanates across all states of existence. The process is as important as the corporeal creation, and Grace forms the architectural foundation of all my work, as well as the fountain of Living Water.

I thank my friends and supporters for their channeling of this profound clemency. We are building Clement Spaces together – and across neurological cultures too! Welcome to Scheherazade’s Sea!