Short Stories from Monday's Mental Health Daycare Club: My New Friend

I heard there is a secret remnant checking on this blog. Because you can still be bothered with this lazy writer, these untold stories are for you.

I help out at an art salon in a mental health residence and daycare on Mondays. Names have been withheld. Art Therapy has not been attempted, just pure art-making and conversations like the ones recorded below.

My New Friend

Z never smiles. She appears suddenly with a blank face and a shock of hair, looks at me, and looks away.

'Want to draw?' I ask, and helpfully push over paper and markers.

In silent cooperation she uncaps one marker, scrawls geometric 'z's across the page, and caps it again. Over and over, until the paper looks like a modern geometric rug. Never does she put down her bag while doing this, because 'i have a lot of money.'

Then, job done, she ups and leaves.

So it was a surprise to me when she looked in my direction yesterday after many looking-aways and said, 'I added you on Instagram.'

'Really? What is your username?'' I quickly scrolled through my likes, too guilty of ignoring the last few follows. And wondering how she had found me. She typed in her username and we found her.

'I follow you back?'
'Yes, click follow.'

The rest of the day on our National Gallery excursion, she talked to me about normal things.

'Now got Great Singapore Sale.'
('Ah, yes I think so.')
---
'That is the main Bata store.'
('Yes, I think it is the biggest.')
---
'My necklace is $4.95.'
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'I will bring my parents here. They also like to go museums.'
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'This place the food is quite nice. But expensive. Once in a while is okay.'
--
I believe we had a good time. She may even have smiled twice.

So it was a surprise to me--again-- when she found an interactive feedback station and promptly gave ratings of zero for everything. How could they improve? Food and cleanliness, she chose.

It reminded me that I don't understand her. Unlike other new friends, there will be subjects in conversation we must avoid. There will be a moat I cannot cross--one that guards her mind in jealous lapping circles, darkening logic.

But just like normal friends, we can have a meal together. We can look at paintings, and talk about shopping.

And we're friends on Instagram too, okay.