vivification

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Colour, smell and clever arrangement make food more inviting, often enhancing the actual taste itself. Texture also plays a big part. Crunchiness can add a delightfully cheery  dash to even the most ordinary of foods. Of course, the chemical transformations that occur when foods are cooked in certain ways and combined never cease to fascinate.

Food has become more an everyday indulgence than a lively challenge since returning to home ground. In many ways, I miss the latter days, though I have not ceased being grateful and appreciative for each morsel I imbibe. Perhaps the weather here – the humidity – makes everything taste less defined, and having such abundance has dampened the enthusiasm of discovery or provocation. I also cook a lot less than before, as cooked food is cheap and readily available here in Singapore, and my dear foodie-chef brother-in-law either takes us to new places on investigation missions, or he brings his expert professional culinary skills to our table at home.

I do still like to notice the little tiny interplay of colour, tonality, texture, smell and the way each component communicates with the other, like small musical pieces or miniature dances unfolding inside my bowls, plates and dishes. Cutlery interacting with these morsels form a personal and even intense connectivity and communication, sometimes intimate in isolation, and other times part of a larger conversation with the human sensory realm.

It’s Friday yet again. I do miss our weekend noshments in Paddington. There was an aura of preciousness and bonhomie that remains unique to that particular juxtaposition of company, time, place, space and situation – an what conversation! There can be no replication.

activism, advocacy vs clement space

100T5459-lucy

Yawning angel

This Autistic Bunny is not mired in meaningless repetition from “having autism”. This Autistic Bunny is mired in frustrating, seemingly futile repetition due to the utter lack of empathy and/or regard of the non-autistic world. Especially the ones who congregate around the money-spinning, job producing, status boosting Autism Bandwagon. Armed only with the medical model and little to no understanding of lived-experience, they declare themselves ‘experts’ and sell their ‘expertise’ in myriad ways to desperate ignorant non-autistic parents, students in institutes of higher learning who start off wanting to do good and make a difference, peers in academia who know nothing so just readily accept the viewpoints of these ‘experts’, and politicians in positions of governmental power.

What kind of ‘Autism Crisis’ is this? Not created by autistic persons for sure. But autistics are trying their best to clear the flotsam and jetsam that is being tossed around in seamless repetition by the non-autistic world. How do we even move forward one step at a time, when each step is a perilous risk?

To be clear, I say this again. I am not an Autism Activist. I advocate, somewhat passionately and vigorously, only because there is so much rubble strewn across each and every pathway that I need to clear the rubbish before I am able to venture forth. One just cannot safely and smoothly walk along paths that are chockfull of hazardous waste. I am no expert in bomb disposal, and I’d much rather have safe spaces to live in so I can focus on creating my art and doing meaningful workshops to help people, but what else can I do if the way forward is a minefield? Each day, I feel I am neglecting the very Being that is keeping me alive, giving me sustenance in a way no human creature ever can. I long to retreat into that space of clemency where I can commune with my Lucy in our soul enriching elemental empathic way. Yet, I have to sally forth into that awful domain of autism advocacy, speaking the truth where nobody dares or wants to, and all just to ask for basic respect and true inclusion.

I do worry about being blown up someday by one of the mines I am trying to clear. I do this for myself, for other autistics, and mostly to benefit the next generation. 

What kind of world do you hope for your autistic, neurodivergent and/or disabled child to live in, what kind of tomorrow? Today is not good enough. We need to work on a safer, gentler Neurocosmopolitan world.

…. yes… But what am I doing to and for the Pulchritude that lies in my bed so steadfastly preferring life-giving energy to this tired autistic soul? I owe her a debt I am never going to be able to fully repay. My Lucy Like-a-Charm.

Autistic Thriving

 

“How can autistic and non-autistic people grow and thrive, not despite but because of the unique features of autism? And what can society learn from autistic persons?”

Lucy and I shall be at TEDx Pickering Street this Saturday 4 August 2018, talking about autism and neurodiversity. Come join us!

…….

[Autistic Thriving – Dr. Dawn-Joy Leong]
There is a great deal of ‘awareness’ these days about Autism – mainly from non-autistic observations. However, where are the Actually Autistic voices in this cacophony of opinions and interpretations? What is it like to be autistic? Discover how Dawn learns to thrive within her autistic ecology, not despite but because of her autism.
Grab your tickets here: https://tedxpsthrive.peatix.com/
.
[自闭世界的生意盎然]
自闭症在当下取得了广泛的关注,只不过这些观察结果都是从非自闭症患者角度获得的。可是抛开这些不和谐的观点和解释,我们从何听到自闭症患者的真实发声?作为一个自闭症患者是什么样子?在这场演讲中,Dawn会向我们分享她是如何在患有自闭症的情况下茁壮成长。

Finding Me

 

Sometimes, life takes a longer time to provide concrete tangible answers, but the concepts and rumination begin many years before the advent. This song was composed and recorded in 2000. Lucy entered my life in 2012. I waited 12 years for my Canine Angel to help me see Me.

Thank you, Lucy Like-a-Charm. My cosmic gift of clemency. Continue reading

minutiae

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

I love food. I love the aromas, textures, tastes, colours and visual compositions, not just the way food is presented, but the actual patterns and formations. Wrinkly crinkly chicken skin, taught and shiny tomato skin, curly edges of lettuce leaves, or scattered sesame seeds, food is endlessly fascinating to me in a multi sensory way.

Lately, I’ve been particularly enjoying the tiny details in everything I eat. Apart from spending time with my beloved Lucy, food, and all it encompasses – the sensory fullness and the activity –  is an excellent relief for stress and anxiety. My nifty little Fujifilm X100T (gifted to me by a very good friend) is fabulous for street photography, and not really the camera for portraits or close-ups of little things, but it’s a challenge that I welcome – with some hits and misses, and a great deal of satisfaction and fun.

ancient voices

Disabled by the ability to perform the Other, at expense to Self.

The more energies spent on perfecting performance as Other, the less strength left to exist in Self.

Self is dissipated, disengaged, and exhausted

Inside this space, this hollow interstice, Self becomes nothing.

Un-performing is desperately necessary, to peel away rigid, harsh layers of coarse fabric. It is a difficult process, even excruciatingly painful at times, because these binding cloths so tightly wound have melded into growing flesh. Stubbornly embedded foreign bodies, artificial corns and callouses interwoven. Which is artificial, which is nature now? Nobody can tell, not even the disabled Self. Yet, that longing for Being, that yearning for a clement space of empathic resonance and elemental connectivities, is so deeply entrenched in our spirits, the Ancient Voices of our nascent souls.

Survival is paramount. So the decapitated and maimed carry their appendages in glass bottles, like ancient Chinese eunuchs, cringing silently in grandiose palatial hallways, scuttling to and fro, agony hidden, even festering in gilded cages.

“Ancient Voices of the Children” by George Crumb is a haunting work, featuring selected poems by Federico García Lorca. When I first heard it at the age of 19, as a music undergraduate student at university, I fell deeply in love with the music and poetry. Even then, undiagnosed, it spoke to me with such cogent poignancy. Will the autistic soul ever truly find their lost voice? The King of the Crickets has commandeered it.

The Little Mute Boy

The little boy was looking for his voice.

(The king of the crickets had it.)

In a drop of water

the little boy was looking for his voice.

I do not want it for speaking with;

I will make a ring of it

so that he may wear my silence

on his little finger

In a drop of water

the little boy was looking for his voice.

(The captive voice, far away,

put on a cricket’s clothes.)

**

“Ballad of the Little Square”

My heart of silk is filled with lights,

with lost bells,

with lilies, and with bees,

and I will go very far,

farther than the seas,

close to the stars,

to ask Christ the Lord

to give me back

my ancient soul of a child.

 

Federico García Lorca – 1898-1936

bloviation & the sacrificial lamb

20180512-bunnyhopscotch-bloviation

bloviating babble bubbles

I learned this new word from my friend Rick. I like it. It has a robust movement to its physical form, flow and force. It sounds and feels like thick copious slimy globules arising from a pit of bubbling sludge. This word has a sensorial constitution that matches its meaning. Thank you, Rick!

“Bloviation” – such a proliferate and aggressively dominating activity in the field of Autism and Neurodiversity. Autism is a trendy topic these days, isn’t it? Everyone – from the housewife ‘AutismMom’ to the Professor in Psychiatry, and the outright quacks touting ‘cures’ and ‘healing touches’ mushrooming like unbridled viruses in between – seems to be dancing vigorously around the jolly campfire of Autism.The word makes me think of the many (I have lost count now, it is a long and wearying list) instances of having to silently endure protracted lectures, workshops, conversations, discussions, seminars, forums, conferences etc where non-autistic / neurotypical, so-called ‘experts in the field’ (with ‘decades of experience’ working with countless autistic persons, of course) blather on and on, expounding theories constructed out of little or no insights from actual lived-experiences, confidently spreading erroneous or inaccurate ideas and information, without due citations from progressive science or quoting from old and outdated studies, musing in hyped-up dramatic tones, and performing plastic rituals that ooze tokenism… Continue reading

layers

100T3611-@zs

Tumultuous ocean, churning depths. Underneath pomp, ceremonious circus, lies dark churning death. Extirpating the soul inside writhing grief, bursting through blessed gratitude too copiously applied. Such ponderous agony, ‘neath layer upon layer of colourful luxury.

Executive dysfunction is a very real phenomenon – not to be scoffed at. The veneer of steadfastness belies gritted teeth, foaming nausea, weeping silently, hapless, atop mighty pedestal. Who sets the heights, lengths, and breadths for performativity? The Autistic in a constant state of unstable flux – crushed, tossed, fluffed, buoyed, then crammed into discomforting contortions – seeks determinedly for clemency of space, breathing in every small fleeting moment, as if a last and final breath.

Too much struggle brings chaos to sensory reception – hyper senses become all the more acute, but yet bizarre in rhythmic jaggedness. The brain seems to switch off some signals, while others hurtle along as if out of control. A multi-dimensional existence, so markedly conflicting, it is a wonder that there are not far more collisions and collapses.

Demons screaming at the door, thinly veiled agony that nobody sees, nor ought they to be cognisant of in case of unknown, volatile consequences.

troll and roll

 

 

 

Social media is an amazing thing, really. Dissemination of information – false and true and somewhere in between – quicker than you can say your own name. It’s a great space for many people with disabilities to connect, sans the traditional barriers. Yet, it’s also a grand circus for explosive and nasty battles where humans exhibit their common human DNA, regardless of superficial differences. Continue reading