Routine Disturbance

I shared a non existent sunset with my lover. The sun was behind the clouds and not seeing this an omen I enjoyed the skyline of the city from the river.

My lover was sent home early. This was not a night for sleep disturbance, even of the best kind. The usual good wishes and kisses exchanged at parting and, once alone, I embarked on my evening routine.

Everything was in readiness. Everything done with an obsessive attention that so often indicates a fear of lack of control to come. My bag, packed and repacked, by the door waiting to be taken. Inside there is a place for everything and everything was neatly in its place. New and unhandled items, bought just for this moment, placed cheek by jowl with old trusty tools. I showered and checked and rechecked, teeth were clean, nose hair was trimmed and eyebrows were neat and orderly.

Chocolate drink by the bed, the alarm set and then reset for five minutes before and it was time to stop. No more one last looks, and the “I wonder if I haveā€¦” questions were placed to one side.

Breathing. Slow. Steady. Sleep.

I wake 5 mins before the 5 mins before alarm goes off. With a precision that would please a marine commander, I am caffeinated, showered, groomed, dressed and out. I am 15 minutes ahead. I arrive at breakfast place #1. It’s closed. No problem, #2 is en route to my destination. Food is eaten and more caffeine consumed, this time iced to avoid sweat, and I’m still ahead. My bicycle is remounted and as I arrive 22 minutes earlier than planned, I feel a serene calm. The doors are not even open yet.

Not open. Not open! Closed?

The first niggle of doubt bites hard in my stomach as I cycle up to security. The guard is smiling and saying no in English. In Khmer he says much more that I cannot grasp. He points to a calendar where today’s date is in red. Yesterday’s public holiday has rolled over, not everywhere, but here, and no one thought to tell me.

My ‘first day of school’ routine has been played too soon. I cycle home with my premature adrenaline staining my new white shirt in shameful anticlimax. Tomorrow may well be my first real day but the shirt won’t be new and the worrying will not be as thorough. I won’t need share a sunset because I won’t care if my sleep is disturbed.

Advertisements

Whose Intentions Are Good

Good intentions are kind thoughts and we need to accept, in ourselves and in others, that we can’t act on every kind thought. We choose causes that resonate and help those who, for whatever reason, impact on our consciousness. One person chooses donkeys in Devon and another HIV in Africa. If everyone had good intentions and acted on just a few of them how lovely this planet might be.

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. People who have thought good thoughts and planned good deeds, yet because they didn’t apply themselves, nothing got done. This is too harsh. The road to hell should be paved with evil actions. Crimes deliberately planned and executed by people that were quite content for others to suffer.

So much for the conscious and the deliberate, but what can we do about the inadvertent. I try to be good, and I strive to be better, yet I often fail. I am honest and forthright, but this can cause pain and hurt to those around me. However inadvertently it is done, the ache is the same. My good intentions can be the cause of harm and upset.

Perhaps the road to hell is a private personal creation. I agonise over the unintended hurt and sometimes I am more hurt by the impact of my actions than my victim. People with Aspergers, often considered cold and unemotional, can have deep and intense empathy, though they may struggle to communicate it. I will not allow the Asperger Path to become my road to hell. If I deliberately plan and execute deeds with the intention to harm that makes me a bad person. However, I need to realise and understand that sometimes people get hurt and that hurt is part of life. So, I’m just a soul whose intentions are good. Please, don’t let me be misunderstood.

Winning Ticket

Her blue jacket is beautifully graphic and I lose myself for a moment. The lines of white and grey intersect, forming squares within endless squares to consider and reconsider. Her face, though equally lined, is softer, less mathematical. It’s human. Life has been witnessed, lived and ultimately survived with a quiet dignity.

Having dismounted from an ancient bike, which is possibly older her, she passes through the early morning coffee drinkers. Each is addressed with a low, gentle voice and an open smile. Few refuse this woman, for her poise and grace starkly highlight that life can be far from fair.

Finally, she comes to me. Her smile becomes a soft chuckle and there is an impish, mischievous glint in her eyes. Unlike her back, her spirit is unbowed. She offers me her lottery tickets, fanned out for my perusal. We both know I don’t really understand what she is selling and that I don’t speak the language. However, she chooses to include me in her day and as she looks directly into my eyes I see the kindness of one who has known what it means to be left out.

She remounts her bicycle and cycles away but she has left me behind, knowing that happiness isn’t found in a winning ticket.

Mekong Moment

The Mekong River threads through Asia linking countries, cultures and people. It has flowed through through time and history and threads moments together like pearls on string. This mighty river is taking me on a new adventure.

However, as I look out mournfully from my window, I can’t help but think that being on the Mekong when the rain sets in is not dissimilar to being on the train from Crewe to Manchester. The sky is a relentless, indistinct grey and the rain on the windows drives away all thoughts of a landscape.

I had never imagined that my first crossing into Vietnam would evoke Cheshire, but journeys should be full of surprises, and minds long broadened by travel can still bring home sharply into focus.

There is no tragic tea trolley or inversely cheery attendant on this boat and my one banana and drinking water were consumed well before the border was crossed. The sky and the river merge long before the unseen horizon. There is a nameless hue brewing outside that is somewhere between grey and brown. Wet and warm, it resembles that cup of Travellers Fayre tea which, more often than not, was bought to simply to alleviate the tedium.

I arrive in Vietnam in the unwelcoming dark of the wet season. An ill equipped traveller, I scurry, umbrellaless, to the safety of the nearest hotel. Travel isn’t always glamorous and exciting, but my journey so far has been a good one. Even on rainy days, there are blessings for the counting. Tomorrow I will wake up and explore a new city in a land I have yet to see in daylight.

Many years have passed since my forays to and from Crewe, which are now like water under the suspension bridge on the road from Phnom Penh to Ho Chi Minh City. Then a student, now a teacher, life is so different. Then I thought of my future while being haunted by my past. Now, there is just now. I’m living in the moment, but ever mindful that moments are connected in time, like a river.

Through the Cracks

When you first meet him, his happiness shines through the cracks and scars of a careworn face. He works hard and lives well in this life he has built. Things were very different once and beneath his scratched surface there is still a shadow of darkness.

He had been dead for years. Unhappy with himself he fulfilled his own prophecy and became a loser. Once lost in hazes of his own destruction, he got high and then higher until one day he realised that he was lower than he ever thought possible. Rage, sadness and loathing had been numbed in toxic gutters until he choked in his own filth.

Now he is born again. This man found redemption in himself. He fell in love but didn’t change for someone else. He looked within and saw the bitter reality of what he had become, but also he saw his the glimmering vestige of his own hope. In loving another, he realised he could be better. And so, step by painful step, he changed into a man that he wanted to be, kind, content, sober. Once transformed he fought for, and won the heart he desired

Just now and then you see through the cracks. The profound sadness and dark anger will never completely disappear. Life can change and heal but it leaves livid scars. Scarred he may be, but he is longer scared for he carries the marks of a survivor, a fighter, a winner.

Fallin’ free

Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith. Something or someone happens and you, for some reason, decide it’s an avenue you want to pursue.

Life is quite a journey. Birth is followed by education, work, love, rest and death. This mortal coil spins faster as we age, and most of us are far too merry to get off. The Asperger Path has been a happy, but somewhat more disorderly, route through life’s conventions.

Actually, I took a detour long ago, and discovered life could be neither straight or narrow. I broadened my mind, loosened my inhibitions, and allowed myself to be open to opportunity’s knock. I have lived in kinky meanders and loved with spacious permissiveness.

It’s time to leap and faith is my parachute and . If I land safely, I will let you know.

Ooooh. Fallin’ free, fallin’ free, fallin’ free, fallin’ free

Donna Summer is on repeat in the juke box of my mind. It’s time for some free falling because I feel love, conventional, old fashioned, ‘you and me’ love.

Application

I need some new friends. However this is not an online advertisement, because I am going out and looking in person. No application is necessary.

For many years I have sought solitude whilst avoiding loneliness. Gaps have been filled with social media and dating apps. I have chased the not yet known, but I ended up in cycle of meaningless encounters and superficial conversations. People who couldn’t care if I lived or died became my reason for being.

Don’t get me wrong, I have friends and time spent with them is fruitful. However, I have just moved to a new city and have decided to take no short cuts.

So, here I am, lunching alone, having met no one for a coffee earlier. I haven’t met anyone online or had a virtual chat with real stranger.

It feels rather odd, but in the long term this will be good. It’s time find common ground with people I can rely on. It’s time to then put those people centre stage and work at building a life that is more meaningful. It will take a while, but how much time have I already wasted on those fruitless applications that got me nowhere.

Loose

I walk differently. I like to think I have swagger but perhaps I just have swing. Equally loose hipped and loose lipped, I make my way through life and I’m never found short of a retort for those who think there’s only one way to win the human race.

As we walk through life, we face many challenges. Some are ones we set for ourselves, but most are imposed on us from without. The walk may seem like a hurdle race but sometimes we need to stop and look more closely at what is in our path.

The path can seem full of barriers. In fact, it can feel like fate decided to add a few hoops to jump through in between each hurdle. However hurdles do not have to leapt over and I am not a performing seal. If a barrier has been placed there by someone else, you could just walk around it or even knock over and leave it on the ground.

I pick. I choose. I say “No,” to problems and “Bring it on!” to others. My favourite battles are the ones I set myself. The internal challenges to be a better person, a better teacher, or a better writer. The external gets less of my energy, less of my drive and far less of my emotion. Some problems are just side stepped.

I just don’t have time for prejudice or energy for isms, so I choose to ignore them. I have redesigned my life. A little thought and a new outlook and the uphill hurdle marathon can easily become an effortless down-hill slalom. Don’t be afraid to loosen your hips and put a little swing in your step.

Of Things, Great and Small

There was much talk of great things. Impressive plans were made and yet, somehow, they were not implemented. Awesome ideas were placed on a shelf and never got dusted off.

Those grand designs, so perfect and precise, did not become part of my life. The life I lead is messy. It is busy and crowded, full of a million small things but that is how my life is lived. The devil may be in the detail but so am I. Work is done, clothes are washed, groceries are purchased and life slips by in insignificant moments.

These moments, so small and yet so purposeful are where love is found. I look after myself, not through grand schemes of how life might be , but in the daily routines where I already am. So it is in these moments that happiness must be built. Enjoy the commute, smile at the market, smell the fresh warm smell of clean bedsheets, because every chore can be act of love and a reminder of your worth. If you can see love and happiness in the doing of small things, what more do you need.

Differently

We all see the world differently. Perspectives can change with time and place. However difference can unite us or divide us. It is up to us to decide on that.

I am a gay. That makes me somehow different. In my life, that difference has been the source of intense hatred from some and touchingly profound love from others. Being outside, my brothers and sisters showed me what solidarity can look like. Being outside, sometimes I really needed them. My family never cast me out and indeed, love and acceptance has been more of a motif than hate.

Hate is strong though. The power of seemingly isolated incidents can butterfly effect into a tsunami that crushes self esteem and inhibits self expression. I remember so many of the acts of hate, so vividly. Why then can’t I recall the individual kindnesses with the same focus too.

I am going to change my perspective. Acts of love need to be marked and gratitude needs to be both registered within and expressed without. I am surrounded by love, not hate, and the bubble I float in should not be popped by the occasional small prick.

From today I will see the world differently.