That mid-autumn date we made,

You promised,

But you did not keep.

I would bring you lanterns,

Fill your room with light.

I would sing you songs,

Little childish ditties.

Wait for me, I said,

And you nodded.

When I returned,

You were gone


I’ve missed you ever since.





For Rick

you don’t want to die

you just don’t want to live like this

you don’t want to exit

you just don’t want this stage

let me throw you

a lifeline


an angel


she does nothing

nothing at all

but Being


this Being

is the only reason

to live





It is a ‘hangover’ sort of day, and I spent much of it crashed out in my bedroom with Lucy, inside a whirly heaviness. I received very sad news this morning: a dear friend, Jack, passed away on Christmas Eve. He was a beautiful entity – generous, gracious and the perfect gentleman. Jack was Lucy’s first friend after she came into my life. Lucy is a minx, but Jack was the perfect gentleman. He shared his bed, his toys and his home with Lucy, who would hijack his space every time she visited. Jack was very well loved by his dads Nick and Monty, and everyone who had the honour of knowing Jack. I paid tribute to Jack via two Facebook posts, and mark his presence here in this blog post. It is my way of etching his memory even deeper into my Space of Mind… I am processing, churning… re-locating grief and loss, re-shelving memories… re-aligning myself with beauty…

But why ‘hangover’? Why ‘crash’? Continue reading

thugs, fools and salad


Fragmenting. Imploding fissures. Tiny… tiny… very tiny… bits of gravel… rubbing against one another… producing contrapuntal friction that even nakedness cannot hear. Yet, it is felt. Like a thunderous tsunami. The soul shudders, staring at engulfing waves in wide-eyed petrification, rooted, transfixed by the shining brilliance of terror.

Thugs rule the world. Perhaps they always have? Perhaps we just live in an age where the camouflage of pretty adornment doesn’t anymore matter?  Continue reading

no goodbyes


Lucy & Janette @ Sonata in Z 10 Nov 2015- the very last time I saw my friend.

Throughout the tumult of the last four months – betrayal of trust, instability and almost not completing the PhD as a result – I had been thinking of her. My friend Janette. A beautiful soul, so gentle, intense, refined and deeply kind. Our last communication was a hastily written email about my traumatic hurried return to homeland to write up my thesis. She wished me good luck, and we planned to catch up after my submission. Janette died a few days afterwards. Caught in the flurry of fear, anxiety and desperation of PhD dissertation writing, I did not email Janette, until early this morning. I had been thinking of her throughout, but that email never was sent, just like the other important email to the university library (see below) – everything got swallowed up and lost inside the terrifying whorl of survival… and now, I shall never see her again. Continue reading


Possible trigger here.

I read this piece of news today. Mother kills disabled child. 18 years in prison. The comments on Facebook reflect widespread outrage. Many say she should’ve got a life sentence.

I have no opinion re. the sentence. I empathize only with the child. Heinous. But would he have had a better life with this woman, resenting his existence and overwhelmed by and wrapped inside her own self-centric focus? Social services will not take away a child from the mother until there is irrefutable proof of abuse. And even then, so many times, children are returned to their abusive environments. My immediate reaction on reading this piece of news? As a person with disabilities (autism as well as other physical challenges), as a person who has witnessed first hand the utter evil of insidious subtle abuse, the kind that nobody outside of the Holy Circle of Horror would see, the kind that even if the victim were to tell about, friends and the wider society would scoff at and make light of – what were my initial reactions to this, what are my triggered thoughts whenever I read such reports?

I saw a lifetime of slow torture for any child trapped inside the swirling nebulous vortex of unwantedness – mental, emotional, and physical violence. Many other disabled children suffer this instead of death, until they manage to break free, or never in most cases of more severe disability. Dependent forever on the very persons who are torturing them.

The above was my own immediate reaction, born out of my own personal life experiences. Not everyone will see the same scene inside their intimate mindscape.

Then, there are the brave parents who persevere no matter what. They are not the conquering warriors in storybooks, they do not wield swords or sashay around clad in white linen, they are ordinary folk doing extraordinary things. The challenges are great, mistakes are made, but they valiantly soldier on, often alone and isolated from the very society that is supposed to help and support them. Raising a child is not easy, not even a ‘normal’ child. I have immense admiration and respect for these humans. And for some strange reason, I feel a deep gratitude towards them. Even though they are not my parents. I am grateful that they exist at all. To these, I say a humble, “Thank you!” Thank you for sticking to your commitment. Childbearing is a decision (in most cases), but the child concerned has had no choice in the narrative. I am grateful to these brave parents who stand by their choice even when the result falls far from their dreams and expectations, even when life can be a constant deluge of pain and frustration. And yes, I do have empathy, much more than is visible to the senses of normality, for those – parents and children, and children grown up – how have fallen and broken from the sheer immensity of the burden that human life presents.


A friend rightly pointed out that parents are human too. Yes, we all are. So are children. There is no ready answer. Just terrible sadness. At the state of humanity.