‘I don’t know, sir. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood. The Milo might help.’
The Prime Minister would nod. ‘Then you tell me all about Jan.’
And I do so. I do not tell him of the things he should do with the other ministers, as I do not know how. I simply tell him about Jan.
Perhaps that alone would be a big start.
Notes
1. www.autismspeaks.org
2. www.lightitupblue.org
3. www.worldautismawarenessday.org
4. http://theonlinecitizen.com/2011/04/call-for-inter-ministerial-effort-to-tackle-autism-issues/
Chapter 9
Go The Distance
The 1st Step
It began when I was chatting with some friends.
Many people wish to travel and see the world. One often hears of female friends and acquaintances titivating themselves before taking off as flight attendants, to do just that. I had been musing about it for some time. Then somehow the topic weaved itself into a conversation we were having.
‘One day, I want to see the world,’ said I.
‘One day, we will,’ said one of my friends. ‘Europe, Africa, New Zealand. And we’ll drive cars all over their roads.’
‘Imagine that,’ said I.
‘We’ll make a list of places we want to see,’ said another friend. ‘And plan how we’ll get lost in foreign lands.’
‘We’ll get guides,’ someone replied.
‘Oh, don’t worry about getting lost. If you continue walking in a straight line long enough, you’re bound to come across a working telephone, and the worst you’ll end up is right back where you started.’
‘We get lost in our own country.’
‘You can’t get lost in Singapore.’
‘How sure are you about that?’ I asked. ‘Have you really tried exploring Singapore?’
We all looked at one another.
Right then, a notion latched itself onto my brain and would not let go.
Then, seven or eight years ago, I was in my teens, and dispirited after having just let go of my formal education for the third or fourth time. Money troubles were abound and I had nowhere to go – it felt as if I were a prisoner in a gaol. One day, things in my sight got too dim a shade of grey, and the air in the house seemed not quite enough to go around.
I impulsively grabbed five things: my bus farecard, a small bundle of five-cent coins, a bottle of water, this massive dinosaur of a floppy-disk camera that belonged to my father, and my brother, although my brother is not a thing.
The 2nd Step
I did not know where we were going. I just knew that I wanted to walk and take pictures. Most importantly, walking and taking pictures would not cost money. All the money I had with me was the five-cent coins in case our bus farecards ran out of credit.
I did not know where to go and had never ventured out randomly like that before. My determination, however, led me to bring Jan to seek high adventure in the neighbourhood park across the street. As we walked, I took pictures of things so familiar to us, yet to which I had never really paid any attention before.
I took a photo of the obscure park fountain, carved out of stone like the head of a fish, which never spouted any water. I clicked my camera at a dirt trail amidst the grass growing on the side of the hill. People often scuttled down that trail, preferring to descend that way to the shops rather than wend their way a little further to the stairs on the other side.
The daily stampeding along that trail had left the grass no room to grow. Interestingly enough, everyone had stomped down the same route, so the rest of the grass patch remained green. Only that thin sandy trail stood out, stark against the verdure. (Sure enough, just a few months after, construction began on a flight of stairs right where the trail had been.)
With my brother marching alongside me, I took a picture of this little void deck under a block of flats made to resemble a greenhouse. I had always been fond of it. I also took a picture of the afternoon sun. The white rays set themselves in pink in the photo taken by that old camera.
We had done something so simple, yet I was happy, and Jan was happy.
That was our first “sunwalk”, as I like to call it. It was the first of many to come.
The 3rd Step
On our regular capers, Jan and I would walk far and wide, for hours and hours, with a large bottle of water. If there happened to be a few coins to spare, it was custom for me to buy him a souvenir for the day – a can of soft drink or a small bun to bring home. On days when our personal economy permitted it, I would treat him to a supper or dinner of his favourite foods. Then, as often as possible, we tried to look out for double-decker buses to ride home on. Jan loves to sit in the frontmost seat of the upper deck.
And so the sunwalks continued. We tread along beaches and on the banks of rivers, the sunlight making the water sparkle like diamonds. We conquered hills, and from their heights saw the ships and cranes at the ports, and the distant islands looking like gargantuan green beasts curled up on the water.
We walked around ponds and along the beach. We got baked under the sun and soaked in the rain, climbed up stairs and walls, explored footpaths and deserted nooks and crannies. We traipsed through flower gardens and sought hilltop views, catching hidden glimpses of the sea through secret apertures in the trees. We got ourselves hungry, thirsty, lost, happy.
Jan and I often climbed the pagodas in the Chinese Gardens, and my brother would watch the clouds sail from the highest one. Once, we narrowly avoided a confrontation with a furious monitor lizard which was going amok, thrashing its legs and tail and trying to make for us.
On one of our evening visits to the Botanic Gardens, I brought Jan to see the symphony
