My name is Sabrina, I am autistic, and I will be just fine.
This is the first lesson that my mother taught me ever since I can remember. I have always held onto these words, clutched them close to my heart, like a talisman. These are the words that obliterate any doubts that I have in my mind about myself, despite the overwhelming skepticism of people around me.Mama says they just don’t understand me. Maybe this is why I can relate to nature and I enjoy spending time in the lush emerald fields outside my home, basking in the incandescent light from the sun, appreciating its celestial glow. For no one understands nature either.
I am passionate about art. It is definitely my greatest talent as I can capture emotions and represent them in a galore of colors. Mama says I breathe life into everything I draw and that my drawings are a kaleidoscope of images of my life and sentiments, and this is what makes me an amazing raconteur in her eyes. Her words always find a place in my heart, like seeds in the crevice of a wall, and her ardent faith in me compelled me to apply to my dream university, Yale School of Art. The desire to get a Bachelor’s degree in Fine Art became my obsession. It lit a fire inside me, illuminating my path to the door of happiness. It made every morning seem sunny, every evening appear balmy, turning my world into a cornucopia of pleasures. But nothing in this world lasts forever and my story is no exception.
It was 7th July 2008, my eighteenth birthday. The celebrations and festivities got marred by the grisly tidings brought to me by my mother. Yale had rejected my application. I still remember how I felt at that time, as though my whole world was crashing around my ears, giving way to nothing but hollowness as I stood silently, paralyzed and rooted to the spot, watching tears well up inside mama’s bright aquamarine eyes and pour down her rosy cheeks. I yearned to comfort her, put my arms around her, like she had done for me countless times, but somehow my brain was stupefied. All that registered was the illusion that I had painted about my life had shattered, as I found myself trapped between the walls of despair with no light at the end of the tunnel. The only door to my happiness had closed. I spent the next few months looking longingly at the closed door. The thought of not ever getting a Bachelor’s degree pierced through my heart like a shard of glass. Pain, hurt and despair became my biggest companions and suddenly my drawings became dark, cold and obsidian‐like, void of any happiness and color. But this agony caused by one closed door became fate’s biggest gift for me, as it opened another door to happiness. It happened when a family friend visited our home and saw my paintings. She was immediately brought to tears as she saw the reflection of my anguish reverberating
through every drawing. And for some inexplicable reason, she decided to purchase one of my paintings.
It is true that when one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us. I never got a degree in Fine Art, but today, four years after receiving the rejection letter from Yale, I can hold my head up high with pride and claim to be the owner of a very successful art gallery.
My name is Sabrina, I am autistic, and I am just fine.
