A fish swims into a bar...

I think there is something wrong with me. I am tired, lethargic and have no energy. I go swimming but am sluggish. After only a single lap, I feel like I am pulling a 20 stone, 96 year old me through jelly. My body complains of aches and pains and my head is beginning feel like it's no longer attached to my body; I can't sleep, and then when I do, I wake up several times a night convinced someone must have clambered under my mosquito net with a screwdriver to tighten my jaw and secure my shoulders a couple of inches closer to my ears. I have strange dreams in which people are being abducted using handkerchiefs laced with noxious substances (in another I am frantically attempting to save a friend who has been locked in a tiny oven on a boat!). My appetite appears to belong to someone (or something) else, and I think I could probably make a pretty good attempt at challenging the world record for the most ginger nuts eaten in one sitting (there must be one, surely?).

Now, I can't deny that I am prone to an occasional spot of hypochondriasis, I'm actually rather good at it as if happens. And so, I took to my self diagnosing google search with a surprising burst of new found energy and enthusiasm, starting of course with the most deadly of diseases and working my way down the list. I am pleased to announce that I have managed to rule out a great number of life threatening diseases along with some less serious ailments. I have neither a fever nor a rash, and so I can safely remove dengue fever, bird flu and malaria from the list (for now, at least). Instead, it seems that I may be enjoying a small bout of culture shock. Is that a collective “harumph” I hear as it dawns on you I seem to be seeking your sympathy for the trials of living in a tropical paradise away from the dull dank drizzle of home? Please bear with me. I can honestly assure you that no sympathy (well, not much anyway) and only another minute of your attention is required.

Yes, it all fits. Put those vague and irritating physical ailments together with a few other tell tale signs and it makes perfect sense. Why else would the “simple” bus journey to and from work have become so emotionally charged that I begin to imagine I might spontaneously combust? And what is it about a trip to the local supermarket that pushes me dangerously close to shouting the best and worst swear words I know at the top of my voice? What else could possibly explain the increasingly frequent absence of my sense of humour whilst others around me laugh hysterically, the wistful passing thoughts of the afore mentioned dull dank drizzle, or more worryingly still, the whole conversations I am having with my 3 pet goldfish on a daily basis?!

No, absolutely no need to panic. It's quite alright, they warned me about this. It's to be expected. It is perfectly normal. It's only a touch of culture shock, and seemingly a mild case at that. After all, in between the near hysterical breakdowns and sleepless nights, I'm having a ball. And I haven't lost my sense of humour completely. Only this morning I cracked a rather good joke. The fish loved it.  

Rubbing shoulders (or should I say wings?) with the stars

So, how did I find myself doing a chicken dance in front of 60 people and an award winning Sri Lankan actress? Good question! It certainly has to be one of the more bizarre moments of my VSO life so far, but one I took to with great enthusiasm and, dare I say, a certain amount of natural flair.

It all started early on Wednesday as I arrived at the hospital. Within minutes, it became clear that almost everything I had planned for the day was not going to happen. Despite the now familiar sinking sensation triggered by this rather common turn of events, I resisted the urge to melodramatically throw my arms up in the air, adopt a self-righteous grimace and mutter idiotically under my breath about the virtues of using a diary to no-one in particular. Nobody likes a moaner! Instead I gave myself a good talking to and went in search of something a little more positive to do. And, I certainly found it.

For the past couple of weeks, one of the rehabilitation units at the hospital has been home to a series of sessions run by Anoja Weerasinghe, the afore mentioned star and Director of a local Academy of Performing Arts. Involving some 40 inpatients and almost as many staff, the sessions have been running all day, 3 days a week for the whole of this month. The hope is to demonstrate the therapeutic use of dance drama and other activities for mental well-being whilst training up staff to use the techniques in future. All good stuff, I'm sure you'll agree. And so I was happy to be invited to join in with the morning session and felt my spirits lift as I witnessed something truly great happening in mental health services in Sri Lanka.

Starting with some basic mindful walking, the session moved on to yoga, singing, and then finally some dance. After taking part in a gigantic pulsating conga, an enormous circle was formed and the music turned up a notch. The spinning of a pen was used to invite individuals at random into the centre where they were encouraged to dance, whilst those on the outside copied. There is something quite magical about seeing some of the most stigmatised and dis-empowered individuals in society being given the chance to call the shots and take a lead in such a visual way. I found myself thinking that maybe if we were to organise a massive dance-off in the streets of Colombo, or a flash mob for mental health, it couldn't help but go some way towards combating the all too present stigma. I was amazed at the confidence with which people took to the centre, all the while noticing the growing unease in the pit of my stomach as the pen was spun again and again and again. And so, to calm my nerves, I made a plan. I considered the various options available to me should the situation require it. Pirouette? Never did take ballet lessons and not feeling particularly graceful today. Tap? I'm barefoot, it wont work. Cossack? Already sweating far too much and my knees aren't as young as they used to be. Moon walk? Bit too showy and I haven't got my slippers. Chicken dance? Yes! That's it! I was struck by the perfect simplicity of it, a basic flap of the elbows accompanied by some bendy knees and maybe a spot of side stepping. What could be better? And it was with that thought that I watched the pen spin round and round and round, as if in slow motion, until it came to a stop pointing right at me.