deliciate

Deliciate: to delight oneself; to indulge (in feasting or other revels)

Old words fascinate me. And this one is a timely balm to a fractured, frayed and frazzled soul. (Yes, I also love alliteration. Part of my sensory ‘stimming’ – calming, even if just for the rhythmic enunciative physical qualities.)

This is one old word that I’m longing to luxuriate in.

Sometimes, the cosmos interferes vigorously, even sharply, for my own good, especially when I have been self-destructively obtuse, obstinate and obscurant – inwardly – denying what ought to be glaringly obvious, covering my ears to the roaring whispers of ratiocination. A knock on the head was needed to wake me from my self-induced somnambulism. This thunder-clap on my thick skull came from a remark made by an autistic man, expressing an utterly selfish viewpoint with foot-stomping petulance and digging in of the heels with so much defensiveness that it was almost bizarre. I was shocked and disappointed at first, but I realise now that, inside a deeper consciousness, I already and always knew this side of him. I had merely been blinded by my enthusiastic hope that the person would change, that I could make a difference in this person’s attitude and learning journey.

On another level, I am sad that he did not even discern that my advice to him would actually serve to advance his own (albeit selfish) cause even further if he took it on board. Sometimes, we need to do some things that seem a waste of time, in order to gain other things, which may be less immediately tangible. When I offered that piece of advice, I was referring to proper protocol and professionalism, not selflessness. But who knows what really goes on in people minds, autistic or not? It was my own error of judgement that led me to this feeling of shock and disappointment, and I own it honestly. The person did not change, and is unlikely to change. My very first, immediate and direct sensing of him was absolutely accurate after all – I just deluded myself into thinking otherwise. My bad entirely. And it is timely that I am forced to detach and back away. Any later and I’d be not only more burnt out from all the time, energy and resources spent on a thankless mission, but worse than that I’d be inextricably bound to someone whose ideology is vastly contrasting to mine. For example, it would be professional self-destruction to be seen by the world as endorsing a product I do not firmly believe in, and which has potential to go rogue.

Anyway… I am relieved and pleased now. What is of import to me is that this served to tear apart the heavy veil that I had been erstwhile enshrouded in, and allowed my soul to emerge into the light.

A process in the making, but it took a small, innocuous rending to break forth, but the details of which need to be unpacked in another musing, not this one. Right now, I just want to dwell on healing and restoration, which the last five days at the SYNC Leadership Programme has galvanised and propelled me towards.

What are the things that heal my soul? What are my cosmic and intimate priorities?

Cast aside the inutile to-ings and fro-ings that tear apart fragile refined tapestries – it is Time to indulge and revel in little appogiatura and melismatic undulations once more.

Simple things – little details and observations.

 

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Edible things – because I love food!

 

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Time-tested things – appreciating loyalty, trust and connectedness.

 

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Lucy Like-a-Charm and all things Lucy – my lifeline.

 

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

finale – SYNC Day 5

Day 5 of the SYNC programme came and went. The going was at times ponderous, because the body was weak and felt like a sack of potatoes, trudging, groaning, creaking and sighing. But I was a tad sad that time had passed so quickly.

I did not bring Lucy, because I had a dinner appointment later that day, and the long hours would be too much for her. But I missed her terribly – it was visibly hard for me to get through the day without her. Our programme coach and instructor remarked that the difference in me was obvious.

There was much learning, pondering and reflecting – but I will not delve into that here. These little snippets are sensory-focused, they are about my sensory experiences of SYNC.

Here are the few photos I took on Friday. No Lucy, so not much inspiration left.

Food. There was a lot of food. Thanks to Maureen and the kind folk from Very Special Arts (VSA). One artist brought their retired guide dog – she is a lovely sweetheart, but such a huge contrast from Lucy’s still, quiet, regal poise. There was a bit of to-ing and fro-ing settling the dog down, and occasional froufrou noises generally made by the owner telling the dog to calm down, which actually stirred the air so much that it had the opposite effect on the poor dog. Methinks some basic dog handling 101 (training) is needed here, for the human, not the dog. At one moment, I walked by and the darling dog got out from her ‘tuck’ position under the table, sat on my feet and leaned resolutely against me, refusing to budge. Anyone who understands some basic doggy body language would know what that meant. My heart goes out to the dog each time I see her. But the smell… I cannot deal with stinky dogs. So very very sorry, darling.

I was a little sad that the week went by so quickly, even though I was already exhausted right at the beginning, and nearly fainted from fatigue twice on Friday afternoon.

Enabling Village is a beautiful place – despite its tacky and almost inappropriately ableist name. We were welcomed every morning by the friendly security people – especially Lucy, which is a marked difference from most other places in Singapore. When I arrived on Friday without Lucy, the lovely men asked me where she was and why I didn’t bring her. One of them whipped out their mobile phone and showed me the photograph that he’d taken of Lucy the day before, on Thursday. They kept saying how beautiful she is, and how still, calm and gentle. I should come here more often with Lucy, perhaps?

The village is a strange place, in other ways, though. Heavy doors make it difficult, if not impossible, for people in wheelchairs to get through on their own. Mirrors in the ladies’ toilet are positioned so high that people in wheelchairs can only see half their reflections. There is no soap dispenser in the disability toilet – do they think that disabled people don’t need to use soap to wash their hands? There are no electric outlets in the training room – how do they expect disabled people with electronic devices to charge their equipment when using the training rooms for long periods of time? And the big bugbear I have? There is no quiet or calm room for people with disabilities – only a “carer’s pod” for carers!!! Isn’t this place for and about people with disabilities?

Sigh.

Nevertheless, having something like Enabling Village at all is a big step in the right direction for Singapore, I guess, though it also shows very starkly that we really do have a very long way more to go.

gotcha! – SYNC Day 4

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Day 4 – Happy Gotcha Day! Today marks the seventh year of our journey together.

Another intense day at SYNC programme. I am utterly physically exhausted, but it was good.

Here are some images captured from our day – there was no fanfare, but a quiet confident gratitude, celebrating the life-changing event of Lucy’s arrival. There needs be no more words for such clemency.

angel

100T0051-lucy

angel (June 2019)

Listening
Whirring fridge
A-flat
Human laughter in the wind
Slightly off C
Sudden dull thuds
Quickened heartbeat
A flash of white
Searing fear
Sirens scream
Inside the cavity
Of acid green
What is that smell?
Nebulous, acrid
Footsteps pounding
Headspace resounds
Broken B
Chairs dragged
Across cheap tile
Shattered F-sharp
Quivering interstice
And then amidst the chaos
Here in my bed
An angel’s breath
Comforts me

(9 June 2014)

yellow!

Children's-Biennale-PosterInvitation-to-Children's-Biennale

The Dress Code for the event says to wear Yellow. I like dress codes. I like codes. I like structures and frames. They do not limit creativity, but rather create important space within which to be creative. These parts of social interactivity do not bother me, in fact, these are the ‘railings’ that help me to craft my spontaneity. Yes, you read that right. Improvisatory music is not something that is spewed forth willy nilly by ‘talent’ alone, it consists of years and years of finely honed, well practised and internalised riffs, sequences and phrases. The beauty of improvisation is the ‘how’, the ‘style’, the way the musicians brings forth these snippets of minutiae to form the whole, which is what the listener hears. Performance and performing are part and parcel of the joy of engaging in one’s Passion, interacting with it, and expressing it to others.

Anxiety is a different thing altogether. This, and other pressing matters, kept me in a state of restlessness all night and early morning. Well, actually, Anxiety has been pretty rapacious lately, devouring mind and body. I lay in bed, engulfed within an all too familiar nauseating sensation of slurping and sloshing viscera inside fragile cavities, with Lucy’s warm, pulsating presence my only comfort and solace.

Lucy is unwell, and I will not be taking her with me to the event today, even though this place (the National Gallery) is truly one of the most progressive inclusive public spaces in Singapore. Her bright yellow mindDog vest would’ve been just right for the theme.

IMG_0260-lucy@playeum

Lucy @ I-Opener, Playeum

My brain found this composition at around 4am (ish), and I laid it all out later in the morning after breakfast. Doing this helps resolve the tension in my mind, which occurs when I have a complete concept ready to be executed but have not yet arrived at the time and place for doing so.

100T9812-yellow-spectacles

New yellow frames

100T9815-yellow-top

A very old top from ‘Shanghai Tang’

100T9819-lucy-&-pinkskirt

Fuchsia skirt with yellow lining

100T9816-limegreen-handbag

Lime Green handbag

OK, so the lime green handbag – a gift from my baby sister – isn’t yellow, but I think it’ll provide some gradation of sensation and I love the fun, cheeky sequinned motif on the front. I shall wear my gold embossed Ferragamo ‘Audrey’ shoes with this ensemble.

Gold Audrey

Shoes are of grave importance to me, I have had many a battle, some quite fierce, with footwear since an early age. It hurts to wear these things, but they are a necessary evil, to protect against other even more nasty evils that lie in wait to ensnare, cut and graze my sensitive feet as soon as I step out of the safe confines of home. I love the feel of soft fresh grass underfoot, and I still remember the delicious sensation of running around barefoot in the garden of my childhood home, but I live in an apartment now, and I don’t trust grass that isn’t ‘mine’.

Much ado about nothing, you might think? Perhaps, to the normative world, it may seem so, but this ‘nothing’ is actually filled with so much minutiae, detailed connections, intricate complex constructions, rhythms, patterns, and systems, that it really does demand much to do and feel and think about – if you notice it all, that is. This is my ‘normality’ – an integral part of this particular Autistic Female’s quotidian ‘mundanity’, which is anything but humdrum, to be sure. The price Autistics pay each day of our existence is a high one – sensory anxiety is just one small facet, there are myriad other eclectic existential quirks that possess both enthralling beauty and powerful terror at the same time – but I would not exchange this for a life cushioned inside a bland, insipid and pedestrian existence.

I am quite exhausted from the whole exercise, so I shall have to rest a bit before launching into the Grand Mêlée later in the afternoon. Actually, I’m really looking forward to it, despite the gripping anxiety and energies spent on planning and creating order from the chaos it (anxiety) has created. I only feel unsettled at having to leave Lucy at home, because she is unwell and I cannot be there to watch over her. It’s a small thing, mild runny tummy, a bit of reaction after Thursday’s cartrofen injection at the vet’s for her arthritis, and I know she’ll be more comfortable at home, and mum will be there, so Lucy will not be alone. I refuse to work Lucy when she is not feeling top notch, even the slightest thing matters to me – yes, a disabled person with a poorly cared for assistance dog has called me “dogmatic” but I don’t mind that label, because it means I care deeply and passionately.

IMG_0423-lucy-zz

Rest well, my Princess.

concatenate

A massively overloading day. I made it through the first part because of Lucy. We attended the second Opening of I-Opener at Playeum this morning. It was heartening to see so many people at the event, and I was so glad that everyone seemed enthusiastic and supportive, and our work as a whole was very well received – but my senses were screaming with silent horror after the first half hour, and the shrieking crescendo broke the fortissimo barrier by the second hour.

When Peter, our friendly RydePet regular favourite ride came to pick us up at the end of the two hours, I was already in a near catatonic state, my headspace ringing with the imprint of dissonant cacophony. Strangely enough, I was still able to prattle away in the car with Peter and my friend Jacky, who was riding with us to the next event of the day. Was I already going into a state of disconnect?

I left Lucy at home, and Jacky and I went to attend the Peter and the Wolf show. Two of our friends, Cavan and Timothy, were in it, and Timothy’s mum so very kindly bought us tickets. But I couldn’t bring Lucy to this one. Ironic, because the venue is assistance dog friendly – Lucy has been there several times – but the show’s organiser’s “were not prepared” for us.

It was a fun show, the cast were great, and I even managed to smile for the cameraman after the show (he took a photo of Cavan, Timothy and me). But I had to scuttle away quickly after that, because my head felt as if it would explode and shatter into a million fragments.

Home at last with my Lucy, I crashed into a much needed two hour sleep, and woke up only when Lucy decided it was time for her dinner.

The headache is still doing its pounding thing, the two panadol insufficient to quell it. Time for an early dive into bed.

For people like me, some days, just making it through is a laudable achievement, something to be proud of. And today was a pleasant day. Really. I love my friends, so many came in a much appreciated show of support – in fact, I was so overloaded that I didn’t even see one of my friends, who brought her husband and son to the Opening. I didn’t know she was there at all, the sea of faces had melted into a bizarre Salvadore Dali landscape with an aggressive soundscape to accompany. Later, without Lucy, it was even harder to focus and I had to consciously and repeatedly pull myself away from the abyss of dissociation – the out of body sensation that overtakes when I am in overload. It was a day of positive social interactional vibes, but my senses just aren’t designed for this kind of activity. Especially not when I cannot have Lucy with me.

IMG_0423-lucy-zz

Good Night, Every Bunny!

Lucy is now fast asleep in bed next to me. The little fragments of my Being are slowly shifting, shuffling and scuttling back towards each other, slowly joining and melding, slowly mending, inside this Clement Space of ours – just Lucy and me. The best soundscape in the world for shattered nerves? The rhythmic rise and fall of my Angel’s breath.

Good night, Every Bunny! And thank you my dear friends for helping me get through an actually really truly lovely day.

regression aggression

Lucy20161126.jpg

Lucy inside Qantas cabin 2016 11 26

I read with dismay and disappointment that Qantas no longer allows psychiatric assistance dogs on board. What was even more distressing, was reading the comments that followed the article in the The Australian.

article

Screenshot.

Continue reading

autistic joy

My Twitter friend Jon Adams coined the hashtag #AutisticJoy. It describes our intense passions and the sheer unadulterated joy that we find from their pursuit.

I have been thinking about, and perhaps even yearning deeply, mournfully longing for that little balcony Lucy and I had in Stewart Street, Paddington. The sunshine days when Lucy would lay on her fluffy rug, watching our little Paddo happenings go by, saying hello to friendly neighbours as they walk down the street, the coo-ing pigeons outside Old Bob’s house, and my tomato plants. I had tiny carrots, mini capsicums, sweet ginger, spring onions, basil, lemongrass, and mint – quite a feat for a complete gardening ignoramus.

How I miss that intimate pocket of pulchritude that we created together. It is an aching, sad and forlorn feeling, knowing that they will never return. Lucy grows old. Singapore is not happy for her. We need to find Autistic Joy and Clement Space once more…

clement riffs

 

It is 6.40am as I start typing this. The churning, heaving, hurling and caterwauling, the uneasy prancing around Neuronormative plastic tulips, swimming against the tidal cacophony of insidious agenda and spiteful fear mongering, all while valiantly maintaining expert façade of sangfroid-with-edge. What a week it has been!

The highlight ‘achievements’ of the last seven days?

Rid myself of the Millstone of Inefficiency in a project I am working on – nothing personal, I am not here to make friends, I am here to work and I find it hard to tolerate hindrance.

Emerged from the miry bog Swimming with the Hogs, made a firm decision to take control and issued forth my Ultimate Ultimatum – it’s my terms or nothing at all, I’ve allowed them to snuffle in the mud for too long, time to move ahead or leave.

Not melting down while dealing with Belligerent Entities must of course count as the highest accomplishment of the week. Very proud of this Autistic Bunny. (But of course, I had help from my Canine Angel.)

Now, for some clear lines, like fluid aromatic ink on smooth silk, here’s Chick Corea and Bobby McFerrin with a song I love (I learned to play the Autumn Leaves by ear as a wee lass of seven and it is still one of my favourites). Sitting with my Beloved, watching the light slowly seep into the dark sky as a new day asserts itself upon our consciousness.

I am so glad I took the good advice of my Fine Arts Professor (who has now become a well loved friend) during my undergraduate days and chose music as my major. Now that I have made the transition into art, music is still a Clement Space that I return to for sustenance and strength.

A Clement Sunday to Every Bunny!

reflets dans l’eau

100T7403-xmaseve

stille nacht

2018 was unexpectedly obstreperous and brutal. A vast, swirling, seething, somewhat inebriated ominous monstrosity ingurgitating every attempt at hopeful rejuvenation, each ounce of vim and vigour slowly inhaled into its impenetrable mucilaginous dark cavern, leaving limp, brittle skeletal remains crackling in the sizzling heat of unrepentant tyranny, unrecognisable construal of once fierce passionate and spirited determination.

Advocacy has extracted its ponderous price. What irony, for one who never set out to be an advocate anyway. It is too arduous and violent for gossamer wings, too loud for tender ears, too rough for quivering fingertips.

Yet, where there is life, there remains slithers of flickering hope. And my life is not yet over, albeit saved time and time again by a Canine Angel whose existence beside me surpasses all reason, all logical apologia.

20181225_115930-lucymini-long

whispering hope

My minuscule whisper to the grand cosmic gyration for 2019? Time to reflect, rest, and retreat gracefully into Clement Space: art-making, embracing pulchritude, tasting each nuanced fluttering of time moving rhythmically through wordless interstices.