i am normal. we are normal

This is initially meant as a Facebook comment. Then it starts to sprawl uncontrollably.

I have more than half the traits she was explaining - and I don't self-identify as autistic or an 'Aspie' either. I have been - and still am - highly imaginative, with obsessions to certain shapes, colours, and numbers, I have regular mood-swings and I do have those 'I see red' moments when the only thing that matters is, figuratively, driving something through a wall. Sometimes I really did. I have partial synesthesia, and I do attach sentient characteristics to objects.

My brain is on overdrive most of the time - taking note of every detail around, with running commentaries about all sorts of things related, it is hard to focus, hence my almost pathological inability to remember driving routes. I am not joking when I said I got lost in the ward - I do. My observation is usually qualitative, not quantitative, so I am not a prodigy with maths and numbers, but at least above-average with words, imagery and descriptions.

My social skills is something I actively developed - I learn how to behave in social situations, to act and react, to 'read' social cues, and subsequently to win public approval (just so that it makes my life easier), pretty much the way one learns Science or to play netball. By observing, understanding the rules, and play according to them, so that one gains the upper hand.  My verbal-linguistics and expressive gifts further complete the illusion that I am the ultimate extrovert. I still lost out where the rules aren't very clear, or where I have little experience in. Hence I despise parties, weddings, family gatherings where young ladies are supposed to act all modest, sweet, quiet, and when we talk, we are supposed to make small women talk. I loved my parents and siblings. They have accepted that "Kak Long is weird, a bit strange." ... and they are able to communicate with me the way I need, especially my father and one of my younger sisters, the second daughter in the family, but the rest of the extended fellowship, not so. I was laughed at by my cousins, made fun of as a child, (and I still took it as an offence) because instead of playing or sitting quietly like a good girl, I would head to the nearest stack of books/papers and drown in them.

As a primary-school student, my intelligence was interpreted as cute, I amaze and impress teachers regularly, and I was actually popular despite my immature social skills. As a secondary-school student, I was the typical flawlessly-clever girl with no real friends. My girlfriends celebrate each other's birthdays, gossip, change boyfriends (?!) with finesse, and most of the time I am passively observing, if not outright ignored. There was a time I assumed (perhaps wrongly) that the main reason people were befriending me at all was so that I will help with their work. And bullying, oh yes I was a victim of bullying in junior college. A mixture of wrongly interpreted social cues, my emotional insensitivity and over-reaction - both in inappropriate places, throw in another girl's jealousy, you have a brilliant but socially awkward girl, pounced upon by half of her class, who then wept into four am in the morning, her views of human interaction shattered, determined to learn the rules to win over the cruel world. It takes years before she finally learns to trust people again, and even then, she doesn't really.

Men (and women) who fail to excite me intellectually just fail to gain my interest - at all, and I am most caustic when I think less of a person's intelligence, I find social niceties a waste of time, and being patient with unnecessary talk is a real chore, making me a poor mentor to juniors, and giving me a poor prognosis in relationships. Certain mistakes disgusted me. I get very annoyed with wrong spellings I see everywhere, these horrible grammar even specialists use in the hospital, wrong tajweed by reciters of the Qur'an, among other things. I drove people away unintentionally, even those I am moderately interested in, by this attitude. These shortcomings are what I learnt to overcome, to actively suppress and mould to present myself as a more likeable person - because I was taught that a Muslim should always be likeable, bringing peace and happiness wherever she/he is. The reconstruction of identity is a necessity, bringing me to self-identify with the Sanguine-Melancholy contradiction. I am a Perfect Melancholy who conditioned herself to be the Popular Sanguine - to survive, and to feel like she's doing it right. I might be overdoing it - I even learn how to flirt, to gossip, and talk about boys, telling myself that it is 'survival skills'.

I am still prone to unbecoming outbursts in response to pressure, and those difficult- to-explain 'bubbling volcano' moments when every single thing around irritates me, and I will start talking in a monotonous voice meant to project a facade of calm.

My favourite self, the one I am most comfortable with, is the one who sits alone in the cafe, reading, sometimes pleasantly distracted by the television overhead, and is otherwise oblivious to her surroundings. The other favourite self is the spiritual one in her prayer-corner, who finds solace by talking to God, literally talking, telling Him all sorts of stories and worries and concerns and finding in Him the One Listener who will never misunderstand.

I do not believe that I suffer from a disorder, I am merely on one of the standard deviations of normal. The deviations are something one learns to control, to harness and ride for one's excellence. For instance, I am immensely proud and thankful of my creativity, personality, observation, and sure-footed confidence. The confidence that is actually a product of indifference, practised performance, and faith in a Divine hand.

I believe that I am inherently kind and empathetic, in my own way, as everybody does things in their own specific ways. These jaded outlooks of mine hasn't affected my ability to love, when I choose to. To serve others, to be gentle, to be a good daughter to my parents, a good sister, a good friend, a good doctor. There are certain aspects I need to actively learn, as I had mentioned earlier - such as withholding my judgment, shaping my words more delicately so as not to offend others, and to realize that intelligence and good grammar is not everything - but on the whole, I am happy with my current position. I am not emotionless - to the contrary, I have high emotional output and demand. It is just that when it comes to social situations, I find the need to put more effort, in order to express myself and relate to others in more acceptable ways. I lost my balance from time to time, but there is always room and chance for redemption, for more learning to take place. A human being is, after all, a very fallible being.
 
I have finally managed to conquer my OCD which almost drove me to non-functionality for years - and I hope it will never return, Allah helps. Going through my periods of  'agnosticism' and the torture it puts me in would be beyond the scope of this writing. 

Autism as a diagnosis only appear in 1946, and after DSM-IV criteria to diagnose it was modified in 1986, the number of children labeled with the spectrum increased dramatically. Is it an actual clinical spectrum, or is it more possible that children with psychological and behavioural traits that are actually standard deviations from normal are unwittingly included and medicalized, despite being wedged at the 'high-functioning' end? I would opt for the latter.



_____

update : addendum from the comment section


I know I wasn't autistic, not even nearing it.

If I need a psychiatric diagnosis, bipolar or manic-depressive would be more likely! That's the thing with psychiatry, sometimes it is a one-size-fits-all thing. Yes, there are proper diagnostic criteria for such-and-such, and I did multiple psychiatry placements as a medical student (one of my unforgettable moment was that of a patient digging his nose and patting my shoulder with his snotty finger...ouch), but the mind is a much more abstract item than the body, and its illnesses, moreso.

I remember a psychiatry clinician once telling me, something to this effect,

"Not everybody may agree with me, the textbooks may say the contrary, but I tend to believe that mental illness is a spectrum of multiple symptoms. When you have several diagnoses of mental illnesses, a bit of each symptom may be present in each, but the diagnoses are by no means mutually exclusive. We are merely trying to compartmentalize them into boxes as an attempt of understanding, and henceforth, treating, them, with varying degrees of success."
He has at least one person who agrees with him - me.

I have always known that I was not 'typical'. Weird, maybe. (But I hope that I am pleasantly, interestingly weird, in the company of people I am happy to be with). Being able to read at age three, write at the age of five, go through Yusuf al-Qardhawi and Ashaari Muhammad's books (and other not-meant-for-kids literature) and discuss philosophy at the age of six, if my parents were the fuss-making type, I might've been on TV on 1990s.

I battled with obsessive-compulsive disorder presenting itself as 'penyakit waswas' I was once convinced I'd never be able to lead a normal life, let alone go to boarding schools and study overseas, so preoccupied with matters of washing and aqidah and all that comes. It is only these past few years I'm fairly content with my degree of control over it - which comes with a deeper, and less conventional, understanding of the Deen and the Deity.

My response came about actually because I was just a bit miffed with my perception that Rosie King sounds perfectly normal, how she described herself sounds not far from normal, but she claims that she is not. Autism as a diagnosis was my subject of study as a second-year medical student, and I secured a nice little honours on it (unnecessary mention? hehe). I have worked with developmentally-challenged kids as a college and university student, and I am not belittling the challenges they and their families went through.

I was only questioning, are we as a society over-medicalizing the variations of normal, leading to normal people self-identifying as abnormal, which itself brings multiple ramifications?

serpih-serpih 2 : payung, hujan, empat saat

payung

Tahun lepas, dalam bulan 11-12, tengkujuh datang ziarah, langit retak, jalan-jalan raya tersedak, lantai bilik bersalin berjelejehan air hujan bercampur selut lumpur, turut bersememeh dengan tompok-tompok air ketuban, lendir dan darah yang tumpah.

Aku terperangkap dalam bilik di quarters hospital pada hari syif tidak bekerja, dengan perut yang merintih-rintih lapar, tanpa ada satu pun makanan, akibat tidak ada payung. Di luar, air pancur mengguyur tidak mahu berhenti. Sesekali ia jeda, lebatnya mengendur, lalu aku tertunggu-tunggu jedanya menjadi reda. Harapanku hanya palsu, awan hanya menarik nafas melepaskan lelah, sebelum kembali menghambur hujan, turun ke tanah menunggang ribut.

Aku lapar.

Aku tidak ada payung. Kadbod atau baju hujan atau apa-apa sahaja yang boleh membantu melindungi aku daripada kuyup, juga tidak ada.

Tuhan yang kasihan mengirimkan kepadaku ilham untuk meminjam payung di pondok pengawal. Terima kasih Tuhan, aku berlari anak meredah hujan basah kurang seminit dari muka tangga bangunan sampai ke teduhan di sebelah gerbang, lalu menghayun langkah ke kafe hospital untuk mendapatkan sebungkus hangat nasi ayam. Menghirup sup panas dalam keselesaan kamar sendiri selepas kelaparan, sejuk dan basah berhujan, syurga Allah lebih indah daripada ini, maka tentu syurga itu indahnya tidak dapat manusia gambarkan sama sekali.

Tentu juga aku membeli sekaki payung besar berbelang-belang, petanda bersedia menghadap anugerah musim yang bakal berlimpahan lagi pada hari-hari hadapan.


hujan

Dua kali sejak mula bekerja, aku benar-benar terperangkap dalam hujan di tengah-tengah jalan tanpa payung lalu basah kuyup.

Aku berjalan mengejar teduh, cuba berlumba dengan angin yang laju dan awan yang hitam-hitam kelabu, tetapi tidak sempat.

 Waktu di MRSM dahulu, suatu petang ketika hujan turun, aku pernah mengikut hati dan kaki, berjalan seorang diri ke lapangan kosong di tengah-tengah blok akademik yang sepi. Hari hujan dan masa sudah lewat, warga sekolah mungkin sedang makan atau berehat.

Hujan turun lebat.

Aku berdiri di tengah-tengah lapangan berumput, kiri kanan depan belakangku bilik-bilik kelas tidak berorang, di atasku langit yang mencurahkan hujan. Aku tidak peduli bagaimana akan pulang ke asrama dengan keadaan basah kuyup sesudah itu.Yang penting, ketika itu, semua serabutku larut diserap rumput.


empat saat

Hari-hari kebelakangan ini, aku pergi bekerja dengan sekaki payung lipat kecil berwarna ungu, diam kemas di dalam beg tanganku. Lima belas minit pergi dan lima belas minit untuk pulang kembali, dari rumah ke hospital, aku tidak takut akan hujan atau ribut, tetapi aku takut akan matahari.

Jalan-jalan raya Malaysia tidak mesra pejalan kaki.

Perempuan berbaju kuning air, skirt labuh coklat gelap dan tudung merah magenta yang berjalan seorang diri pada tengah hari terik, memegang payung ungu, menduga-duga lalu lintas dan cuba mengelak dilanggar lori atau kereta yang berebut tubir jalan yang sempit.

Adakah imej itu dapat menarik perhatian orang-orang di sekeliling melebihi dua saat ketika aku melintas? Adakah orang yang perasan kehadiranku, ingat tentang aku lebih daripada dua saat selepas aku berlalu?

Cuaca panas, kehidupan kalut, dan manusia sebenarnya tidaklah begitu mempedulikan manusia lain. Kita selalu berasa diri terlalu penting sehingga bimbang resah gelisah tentang fikiran dan penilaian orang, sedangkan orang yang kita risau-risaukan itu hanya menyedari kewujudan kita paling lama pun kurang empat saat.

serpih-serpih 1 - tumit kasut

tumit kasut

Kali pertama aku memakai kasut bertumit adalah di Kolej MARA Banting. Warnanya hitam, tumitnya lebar, tinggi hampir dua inci. Hadiah kecemerlangan sewaktu menamatkan pengajian di MRSM - aku membolot terlalu banyak anugerah sehingga guru hilang idea mahu menghadiahkan apa, bungkusan yang kubawa pulang termasuklah sepasang kain sutera jacquard. Aku memakainya ke kolej. Baru belajar-belajar berpakaian molek, mahu beralih daripada tabiat selekeh waktu di maktab. Baru membiasakan diri menyeterika baju dan tudung tiap-tiap hari sebelum ke kelas. Aduh, renyahnya.

Aku hampir jatuh tergelincir di dewan makan kolej.

Hanya tiga tahun selepas itu, sewaktu berada dalam tahun kedua di Manchester, aku memakai kasut bertumit tinggi semula. Kasut berwarna coklat, harganya hanya sepuluh pound, dibeli di kedai LIDL. Selesa dan menyenangkan, ia melekap di kakiku ke mana-mana sehingga tumitnya remuk hampir pecah, jahitannya rekah-rekah dan tapaknya hampir tercabut.

Sepanjang bergelar pelajar di kolej dan seterusnya kampus, aku boleh mengira kasutku dengan dua belah tangan sahaja. Dalam satu-satu waktu aku hanya mempunyai satu atau dua pasang alas kaki yang elok untuk kupakai ke mana-mana. Harga tidak penting, murah atau mahal, yang penting aku mahu dan berkenan. Itulah yang akan kugunakan sehingga rosak, sampai puas hati. Aku tidak faham dengan kawan-kawan yang mempunyai berpasang-pasang kasut, hobinya membeli kasut, dan mempunyai rak khas untuk kasut (dan beg tangan) miliknya seorang.

Sewaktu satu program mahasiswa di selatan United Kingdom, aku berangkat dengan memakai but paras buku lali, warnanya perang, tumitnya kecil tirus setinggi kira-kira satu inci. Alasanku mudah, itulah sepatu terbaik yang kumiliki, yang tidak buruk dan tidak pula pecah. Namun alasan itu tidak memadai untuk membeli selesa. Kebanyakan waktuku semasa program itu dilalui dengan berkaki ayam, hanya menyarungkan stokin ke sana ke mari di atas lantai simen atau karpet.

Kasutku yang terakhir sebelum pulang ke Malaysia adalah sepasang but baldu Monsoon, bertumit rata dan menutup kaki sampai beberapa inci di atas buku lali. Ketika membelinya, aku sudah agak lama bersetia dengan sepatu bertumit rata. Seperti jera dengan tumit tinggi yang sukar sekali memberi selesa. But baldu inilah yang kupakai selama beberapa bulan terakhir di Manchester, sejak musim dingin hujung tahun 2010 mengalas kakiku memijak salji tebal, lalu berjalan ke mana-mana membawa akal, hati, dan rasa, mengutip kenangan, bergelandangan ke Ireland lebih seminggu merayau-rayau hingga kaki merayu minta ampun, dan akhirnya ia diam mengumpul habuk di atas rak di luar pintu rumahku di Kelantan. Walaupun masih elok.

Orang Malaysia tidak perlu memakai but.

Terima kasih, budi dan baktinya sudah cukup banyak untukku. Kenangan yang ditadahnya barangkali boleh dikumpul menjadi travelog (atau novel cinta tragis!).

Setelah mula bekerja, aku mula pandai-pandai bermain dengan pilihan alas kaki.
(Banyak lagi yang aku mula berpandai-pandai ... tetapi lain kali.)

Aku cuba-cuba memakai kasut tumit tinggi. Beberapa pasang, beberapa gaya. Aku tergolong rendah (dan tembam? aduhai), memakai sepatu bertumit menyebabkan aku rasa lebih molek. Sepasang kasut hitam comel bercorak bunga-bunga di dalamnya (inner sole), tumitnya tercotek comel, tetapi Tuhan, memakainya sepanjang hari, berjalan dari katil ke katil pesakit, turun naik tangga, berdiri dan separuh berlari, berkejaran ke sana sini, sendatnya menghimpit kakiku rasa lemas hampir mati. Aku yang tidak biasa berkasut tumit tinggi juga seringkali seperti bertatih-tatih, takut tergelincir atau terpelecok sambil berlari-lari anak atau berjalan cepat-cepat.

Namun kerana aku menyenangi potongannya, dan aku yang pantang beralah hatta dengan sepasang kasut, aku degilkan diri, sehingga sama ada kaki dan tubuhku jinak dengan sepatu baru itu, atau ia yang akur dengan tuannya yang baru, aku sudah mampu memakainya dengan yakin dan selesa.

Setelah yakin bahawa aku sudah pandai berjalan dengan kasut bertumit tinggi (walaupun tidak sampai dua inci, ia satu pencapaian!), atau sepatu baji (wedges) setinggi tiga inci, maka aku menggilirkan dengan sepatu rata pada waktu-waktunya.

Anak-anak kecil belajar berjalan dengan kaki ayam. Berjalan adalah satu kemahiran yang dikuasai dengan susah payah.

Mengenakan sepatu dengan gaya dan ketinggian yang berbeza-beza juga merupakan kemahiran yang perlu dipelajari.