Touch as Medicine

11 August 2019

Street Dog at Shivapuri asking for sayang (Meaning Love in Malay) from Hong Kuen (June 2013, Nepal)

He was known for running away. He ran away from home, from school and from situations that he felt overwhelmed by.

When I first saw Runner, he was huddled in the corner of the room, partially concealed by the curtain.

I leant my walking cane calmly against the wall as he watched me warily. Appearance-wise, this boy wasn’t particularly endearing but he reminded me of a wounded animal.

When I invited him to come sit with me in the centre so that we could get some learning done, his answer was an emphatic “No”.

“You come here!” Runner slurred stubbornly, causing him to look even more unappealing.

The truth is, I knew better than to engage in a battle of wills with an 11 year old who had boundless energy & a difficult history. But for learning to be transmitted successfully, I had to win, and to win without humiliating him, or hurting his feelings.

So I said, “Runner, I don’t like your corner. It’s too dark,” while narrowing my eyes at the word “dark” for dramatic effect.

Then I expounded on how sunny my spot was and how much light it was receiving so that whoever sat at my spot would be able to learn easily & happily.

Upon hearing this, Runner gave up his corner and came forward.

But he kept his distance. He tilted his chair slightly at an angle away from me so that he could take off & head for the door if he didn’t want to learn from me.

Thus with us an ocean length apart, our lesson began.

Nepalese handcrafted Lokta papers were first used for writing sacred texts.

I took out my scrap book made from Nepalese handmade Lokta papers. Each page contained photos and writings of my Nepal visit in 2013.

Runner was immediately curious and craned to see the grey book that I had reverently placed in front of me.

Handsewn Lokta book bought from Thamel, Nepal in 2013. I never knew then 6 years on it could be my teaching aid.

As I flipped to the first page which featured my friends putting their palms together to make the “Namaste” sign, Runner dragged his chair closer to mine.

Namaste from Hong Kuen and Naina’s Dad, Mr Kapali. (June 2013, Thamel, Nepal)

And then as if embarrassed by how fast he had caved in, he mumbled awkwardly, “I’m sitting closer to you now.”

I quickly complimented him for being so sensible. He smiled.

Then I offered him tissue papers to wipe his nose. I showed him how to receive things with both hands, which he imitated cheerfully. He also learnt that his nose was the gateway to breath so he must not wipe it so harshly or it might tear.

Soon, the boy who was prone to yelling at people and kicking them was entranced by the Lokta paper crafted from shrubs thousands of metres away from Singapore and up the Himalayas.

He turned the pages of the book slowly & deliberately by gently lifting the edges. Perhaps he was tired of being angry and rude. And the weight, texture and seeming fragility of the Lokta papers had a grounding effect on him.

I noticed his elegant wrist and his fingers seemed to dance above the pages as he turned them.

When he came to photos of street dogs in Shivapuri, Nagarkot and Thamel, he stroked their photos softly while saying dreamily to himself, “So smooth, so smooth.”

“So many dogs… want sayang,” he said as he caressed the fur of the dogs in the photographs meditatively.

Hong Kuen’s pictures of dogs she met on her Nagarkot stroll. (June 2013)

This touching and tracing of paper veins & creases, photo subjects, stickers and handwriting seemed to relax Runner further.

He then moved on to study the quotes and comments around the photos. Without prompting, he read aloud the words, only pausing for help with the more challenging ones.

I think for kids like Runner, touch is the medicine he needs to still his fearful mind and mend his broken heart before learning can happen.

“Is she crying?” Runner asked when he saw Kali’s picture.

Margo’s Mandala for Full Moon Tonight

21 March 2019

I met Margo, then a stray dog, seeking shelter in a bus stop in Taman Jurong on a stormy evening like this. The year was 2004.

One night I saw her lounging quietly in the moonlight while the tree branches above her swayed.

“Margo in the Moonlight” came to mind as her body seemed to gleam amidst the vast darkness of Jurong Park. This is how the dog found her name.

Later on, Margo was to face danger from some park goers who found her “dangerous”. Once she was even caught, thrown into a gunny sack and taken to be drowned in Jurong Lake.

Old men frequenting the park to chat or play chess came to know of the scheme and intervened.

The one who loved Margo most when she was living in the park approached me to find a proper home for his “Ah Girl.” He was ready to lose Margo’s companionship in exchange for her safety.

Shortly after Margo was adopted, her parents invited the old man to come & visit Margo so as to assure him that his “Ah Girl” is in good hands. (6 Nov 2004)

That was how Margo came to be my friend, Lily and her husband’s beloved doghter for the next 15 glorious years.

I remember the day Lily gently leashing Margo in order to walk her to the waiting car. One of the old men spoke with a ritualistic air in the cantonese dialect to the collared dog, “Henceforth you are wearing a gold chain and have no need to roam or be hungry again.”

And true to the blessing bestowed, Margo lived the life of a princess after she left Jurong Park.

Earlier this evening, this brave girl who had overcome the perils of homelessness to live a life of loving & giving, transited into Light.

As the rain lashed at my window and the full moon rose, I dedicated a mandala on Margo’s behalf.

15 years ago Margo appeared to me in a rain storm and gained her name in the moonlight.

15 years later, wind and rain escorted her as she left us during the full moon. Margo’s life has indeed “come full circle,” as her mom observed.

May all sentient beings have the good fortune of Margo to live a full life.

May all elements assist to facilitate an auspicious transit into Light when the time comes.

Bad Legs, Good Faith

18 January 2019

Meeting Andy on wheels for the first time on full moon day in Dec 2016.

I was advised from a very young age not to run lest it called attention to my deformed leg. Yet whenever someone paid me a compliment whether it was for being clever, or pretty, some of the female folks in my family would rush in to respond with a sigh, “What’s the point? She has a bad leg.” I resented their speaking on my behalf. But most of all I resented them for robbing me of the joy of receiving a praise, however transient, and for using my leg to negate all the other possible positives that I could be experiencing.

In trying to prepare me for the “real” world, they could have thought that by highlighting my handicap earlier on in life each time I got complimented, they were training me to be realistic so that I wouldn’t be easily hurt by remarks pertaining to my leg later on when I grew up.

But protective measures that are motivated by guilt and fear have a way of increasing the burden of the very person or animal we claim to be helping.

Black Lion (“Or Sai” in hokkien dialect) is the emblem for Centre for Communicable Diseases at Moulmein Rd. I spent 3 months in it when I was a baby after contracting poliomyelitis which led to permanent paralysis of my left leg.

Long after my folks had stopped reminding me of my leg, I carried their collective responses in my head like a favourite chorus from a childhood song.

“What’s the point?” was there when a handsome boy asked me to dance at Chatsworth Drive. “What’s the point?” was there when Mr Lee said my manuscript writing was nice. “What’s the point?” would show up to sneer and jeer each time something good happened to me.

It took me a long time to exorcise “What’s the point?” from my system.

By then my leg had taught me to recognise students and people who had been similarly hurt by the good intentions of the adults in their life.

The girl who smiles while pursing her lips, the boy who dares not sing in a group setting, the lady who refuses to wear certain garments etc. They all carry voices in their head tactlessly commenting on their dental structure during childhood photo shoots, their singing ability during primary school choir lessons and their body shape during secondary school P.E lessons.

So when I see handicapped people or disabled animals, I try to rein in my own fears and see them for who they are – not quitting even when it hurts, and not letting their defects or lack of symmetry prevent them from trying.

Andy crawled his way to me to get a cuddle.

In my visit to Street Dog Care last December, one disabled dog called Andy fought his way with other clean limbed dogs to get a cuddle from me. Andy’s legs were damaged by motor vehicle when he was living on the streets.

I thought that being paraplegic, he would retreat to a corner & wait for his turn. But not so with Andy!

On & on, Andy circled us in his pair of shrivelled legs like a relentless little shark, trying to find a gap to come closer while another dog called Old Man was leaning smugly on me & barking at him. Old Man was equally determined not to let Andy into our circle of embrace.

It was very comical watching wormlike Andy on the ground challenging Old Man safely seated above on the bench with me. El commented that even without functioning legs Andy is still a formidable threat. Imagine if he could run!

Old Man pretending to look chastised. He wouldn’t let Andy or anyone come close to me. But this Old Man is so endearing and when he still refused to let Andy join us, SDC staff, Junu, just scooped him up & put him in a cage temporarily.

Finally vet tech, Junu, had to intervene. She peeled Old Man away from me to allow Andy to come closer, so that he could show me how much he had grown in strength & confidence since we met in 2016.

Andy the shape shifting canine. He can morph into a shark or a worm depending on the situation.

Up close, I saw that Andy’s “useless” legs & bruises from contact with roughness did not harden his facial features one bit. His hazel brown gaze were soft and liquid, while his signature caramel coloured nose stood out against the creamy beige of his smooth fur. I hugged him for being so brave, so beautiful & so buttery!

It is fairly safe to say that every one struggles with some imperfections. And we are defective in manners of form & severity in one way or another. But becoming complete is not about hiding or killing the parts that we are less proud of. Becoming whole is about accepting all parts, so that even the so called unfavourable bits can be harnessed to work in our favour.

My “bad” leg has given me some restrictions but it has also trained me to be observant and shown me the goodness of people, even complete strangers.

Andy’s “bad” legs have inspired a community beset with all kinds of unthinkable challenges to secure a set of wheels for him to improve his mobility, instead of euthanizing him.

So when the bad happens in our life, it could be a portal to the good, if we don’t get stuck on judgement, guilt & blame.

At the Boudha Stupa last year, I gave thanks for my family for trying their best to raise me. But it was when I sought forgiveness for the trauma & hardship my handicap had caused them, that I realised, “What’s the point?” is finally & completely exorcised.

The symmetry of consecrated structures such as the Boudha Stupa encourages the seer to achieve his/ her own inner balance & alignment.

Blessed Blacks

9 Jan 2019

Nearly twenty years ago while stacking up old newspapers in the kitchen I came across a picture of a dead dog lying on its side. The caption read that 50 people chased it down the streets with sticks and rods, and beat the black dog, suspected of having rabies, to death.

I felt the fear of being chased & the pain of being beaten when I looked at the matted & wet fur of the dead canine. A combination of factors such as self preservation instincts, unresolved personal problems and a mob mentality could have been the trigger for 50 humans to deal so cruelly with 1 defenseless and sick dog.

That episode in Thailand was the start of my interest in keeping press cuttings on animal news. The constant collection also evolved into a habit of putting bad news next to good ones to provide some form of mental & emotional balance for myself. It also creates some degree of objectivity when looking at the community where the news emerge.

In 2011 in Nepal, I befriended a black dog called Kali. She lives on the pavement along Hotel Harati in Thamel and is being cared for by Jamuna, the tea seller. I saw Kali again in 2013, 2014 and 2016 when I visited Nepal. She has survived the 2015 earthquake so I hope she’s still going strong.

With Kali in 2014 outside Jamuna’s tea stall.

In 2016, when we called her name, she looked up and wagged her tail at us.

Humans have all kinds of misgivings against the colour black, often forgetting that black is the most generous of all colours. Black allows other colours to come forth and shine while remaining in the background. Black comes to our aid when we need to hide a mistake so that we can start afresh.

Black puppy Blaze recovering at Street Dog Care. (3 Dec 2018)

Surrounded by Blessed Blacks. (SDC 3 Dec 2018)

Recently Ron kept a copy of the Bangkok Post dated 16 November 2018 for me. It featured a picture of Thai rescued dogs greeting visitors in a state-run dog shelter in Uthai Thani. This wouldn’t be possible 20 years ago. May all dogs in this centre be well treated.

Former stray dogs greeting visitors at a state-run dog shelter in Thailand.

I think of “my first” black dog that was beaten to death. Had he or she been born at a later time, the end might not be so tragic.

So in the spirit of the many Blessed Blacks that I have met, and the improvements in street dog welfare I’ve seen, I would like to name my Thai black canine from 20 years ago, Tara.

Tara is the name of the Goddess of Compassion. The stately guard dog of Street Dog Care that we met recently was also named after her.

And may the bestowing of auspicious names on all sentient beings that have suffered, release them from fear and pain, and fill them with peace & forgiveness. 🙏

Ron having a moment with Tara, who took her name from the Goddess of Compassion. Blaze the puppy who watches from the floor also gets lots of treats from Ron.

Touching Thor

Thor blended into the sandy slope on the sunny morning of our visit. (3 Dec 2018)

Andrea & Junu held on to Thor as I repeated wishes of healing on his head. He soon calmed down. Perhaps he realised that not everyone who held a stick would hurt him.

Touching Thor
12 Dec 2018

Thor sat on his haunches and watched from afar, while the other dogs in the treatment centre crowded excitedly around us for cuddles.

Against the winter morning glare & dressed in a fawn coloured dog sweater for warmth, Thor’s crusty skin blended in with the sandy slope where he sat.

He was a recent arrival at the centre, skeletal and full of sores from untreated mange.

Besides medicating and feeding him, his rescuers/ caregivers also named him Thor, after the Norse God of Thunder. They wanted to imbue in him the much needed power to overcome his poor health.

Mange is a skin condition where parasitic mites burrow into the dog’s skin to feed on it. The disease is curable. However if left untreated, mange causes incessant itching, scratching, fur loss and open sores, while secondary infections set in to weaken the dog’s immune system further. Their deteriorating conditions make them look repulsive and smell terrible too. Death by starvation & organ failure is a fate that awaits mangy street dogs as they are less likely to evoke sympathy & get fed or helped.

As a newbie, Thor was the lowest ranking member of the dog pack at the centre. He couldn’t come to me even if he wanted to or even if I had called for him.

Panda, the alpha dog makes sure Thor knows his place & remains there. They will work out their dynamics in good time but just not at my visit yet.

So before we left the centre, I asked the carers if they could take me to Thor instead. I just wanted to touch him and let him know that I saw him and that he mattered.

“Hello, Thor!” I called out his name excitedly while moving in his direction with his carers.

Instead of sprinting happily towards me as I imagined, he got up to run away.

Luckily his carers were fast & caught hold of him before he bolted further. They assured him.

As he was brought to me, it dawned on me that it wasn’t me that he was scared of. He was afraid of what I had in my hand. My walking stick!

Living on the streets & scavenging for food in his conditions, Thor must have had his share of beatings from shopkeepers, hawkers, householders and even from those who felt justified to have a go at him just because of the way he looked and smelled.

And with my stick in hand charging towards him like that, I had all the visual cues of his abusers. From Thor’s point of view, what else could I be doing there except to hit him too?

I didn’t want to stress him further and decided not to get any closer. But his carers wouldn’t give up. They coaxed Thor and brought him nearer to me so that I could touch him.

I then had the honour of praying over this battle worn, terrified being by placing my hand over his gritty skin. I implored the elements to come to Thor’s aid and to remove all unpleasantness in his life.

At first he stood rigidly and I could feel him tensing. But as I lowered my face to his, and stroked his head while repeating my wishes for him, he began to understand. Peace.

How presumptuous I was in my initial interaction with Thor to think that he would know I meant to help him!

And how grateful I am to his carers that they wouldn’t allow Thor to stay frightened. They brought him to me so that he could see that not every human being who holds a stick will hurt him.

So may we cherish our hands because they can cause great misery to others.

And for all sentient beings that have been harshly treated, may they receive kindness even from those who resemble their enemies.

And may tormentors turn into friends.

Namaste.

🙏♥️🐾