I and Eye

Walking, running, and skipping along,

My eyes are alert for things that are wrong.

That tree with a branch which hangs way too low,

Or the curb which is waiting, to stub my toe.

The cars who reverse too quick out of their drive,

Or the buzzing bees, heading back to their hives.

All of these dangers most people can tell  

Their eyes are efficient, they do their job well,

But visually impaired eyes don’t have the same circuits,

Or if they do, they are broken, not perfect.

When we look, the world’s not the same

It’s a fact of life, there is no-one is to blame.

Blurred edges and colours is the form our world takes

Resulting in other senses becoming awake,

While you can see, what I cannot,

I can hear and smell more than you lot.

So although I will probably walk into that tree,

Stub my toe, and get stung by a bee,

I will carry on, full steam ahead,

And when I am bruised, I will recover in bed. 

I hope you enjoyed my poem, so until next time remember to find the humour in whatever form is comes @klang_28

Jumping on Football Frenzy!

As you may be aware, the entire world has been taken over by football due to World Cup, so with that in mind I thought I would jump on the bandwagon and reminisce on a football related story.

I have never been a huge football supporter, unless England is playing. I am that person that enjoys running around like a headless chicken, trying to get the ball, instead of encouraging other to get it. My dad would always joke I would make the perfect goalie because most other children would run away from fast approaching ball for fear of being hurt, but not me. I wouldn’t see it till the last minute, and end up stopping it with my face. I am sure there were always some awakened laughs from other parents on the pitch side, as dad delivered this joke with a dead straight face!

Anyway when Berkshire County Blind Society asked me if I wanted to attend a Reading match and have a penalty shoot out against the Mascot, I couldn’t just say no. The Mascot for those that don’t know is a Lion. I was pretty confident I could score against a slow moving cuddly lion. So during half time, I walked on to the pitch wearing a personalized t-shirt with close to 20,000 pairs of eyes watching me and the loud speaker announcing me and the other taking part. I took up my position, kicked.....and missed. I then went in for the rebound and then scored. Not technically how one does a penalty, but I still count that as a win. I even got a hug of the Lion.

But this according to my dad this was not the highlight of the day for him. In order to do my penalty at the half time we were invited to watch the whole match. So we were in our seats, the stadium fills up. I then I turn to my dad and ask “When does it start?” his response “They have been playing for the last 10 minutes.” So there is a simple note to any parents taking their visually impaired child to a match, a running commentary is always needed, because otherwise we don’t have a clue what is going on, including when they stop warming up and starting playing.

I will start to write again now that I have finished my dis and university, so until next time remember to find the humour in whatever form it comes.@klang_28

Karina in the Kitchen....a BIG mistake....

Not that long ago, I decided that with the pending end of university and moving out, I needed to start using up some food in my freezer. So after trying and failing to guess the identity of several freezer bags worth of brown stuff, (a risk better left for another day), I came to the conclusion I should make salmon wellington. The salmon fillets and pastry were in freezer, so I popped into town and got some spinach and a jar of sundried tomatoes, (although it almost ended being a jar of spicy chillies).

I was prepared. The pastry and fish had defrosted, and I had a simply recipe to follow on my Ipad. I turned the oven on, and took the fish out of its bag. There was a slight pong, but nothing more than I would expect. I picked up the salmon fillet, and that was when I noticed it was a funny colour; a greeny brown colour. Now, not sure if my dodgy eyes had imagined things, I sent a photo to my mum (the next best thing, as my flatmate wasn’t in). After a quick phone call, she came to conclusion that if there was any doubt, it would be better not to use it….so salmon wellington was off the menu, to my immense disappointment.

All hope was not lost though. I still had the pastry, spinach, cheese and some other random vegetables, so I was determined to make something. I cleaned all traces of the fish away, and was ready to go again. I began with the rolling out of pastry. But there were lumps in my pastry! If I had made the pastry I can understand lumps, but not in shop bought perfect pastry, so I phoned my mum. My mum joked about how today was not my day to cook, and explained that frozen pastry sometimes gets lumps, but I wasn’t going to die, and to carry on cooking as normal. So I did.

It was all going swimmingly, spinach was in, cheese on top, sundried tomatoes included. It looked proper tasty (not to toot my own trumpet). I was chopping up some mushrooms, when one rolled off the worktop. I bent down, picked it up, and then proceeded to whack my head on the corner of the cupboard, when I stood up, as it was stupidly open. OUCH is all I can say. Banging your head on the cupboard door is the equivalent of hitting your elbow. It hurts, and there is nothing you can do!

I was beginning to regret my decision to cook, so before anything else could go wrong, I put the pastry thing, in the oven and began to clear up. I was taking the almost full jar of sundried tomatoes back to the fridge when it slipped out of my hand…..someone how the lid came off…resulting in a huge puddle of tomatoes and oil all over the kitchen floor and my socks.

I didn’t move for a couple of seconds, a weird combination of shock and despair. So again I phoned my mum, to ask the best way to clear up oil, (because I knew water wouldn’t do it), and being the hugely supportive mother she is, she just laughed down the phone. It was half a pity laugh, and half genuine hilarity.

Despite my mum’s helpful advice, (once she had stopped laughing) the floor was still slippery a week or so later, and I very nearly went flying, only catching myself at the last minute. As you can guess, I have no plans to make salmon wellington any time soon, the trauma once was enough, but until next time remember to find the humour in whatever form it comes. @klang_28

How do you know my name??....

I have been told by some people that they didn't know I couldn’t see very well until I mentioned it ...and the simple reason for that (which I always explain), is that I have developed some very clever coping strategies. But these strategies, like many things are not fool proof, and there really are some fools out there.

Strategy number 1.
If someone knows my name, it means they know me....

The exception to the rule.
I recently joined a leisure facility so I could go swimming. They give you a card and you have to swipe this card on a square box on the wall every time you go in..Very straight forward...nice and simple..anyone can do it.

The reception desk is about 3 metres away from this box, close enough for me to see someone is there, but not close enough to see who it is. On my first visit, after swiping my card, the person behind the desk, shouts

“Hi Karina, how are you today?”

So I stop, turn, take a step forward and answer his question, assuming because he knows my name he must know me, So I respond with

“Good thanks, how are you?”

This, I think we would all agree is the start to any conversation you would have with someone you know. Well a conversation I didn't get, in fact I got no response at all, but by now I was embarrassingly close enough to make a guess at his expression, which turned out to be one of confusion, and maybe slight shock, like I had just hurled a torrent of abuse at him, and then as quick as it occurred he turned away to talk someone else, meaning I could retreat, like nothing had happened.

My conclusion was he clearly didn't know me, but how did he know my name if he didn't know me. This circular pattern of thought went round and round my head for 45 minutes, and I could not come up with any explanation. My strategy that had worked for years had failed me, and made me look like a complete numpty, but I couldn't understand why or how.

The next time I went in, the same situation happened. The automatic reaction of words came out my mouth, before I could edited them. “Good thanks, how are you?” This time I did get a response of “umm..good...yeah thanks.”, Although my mouth hadn’t received the amendments to routine, luckily the message had reached my feet, and they carried on walking, no stopping, or even a change in direction, allowing me to make a clean break from that awkward situation.

When the person behind me swiped their card, and was welcomed by name, the revelation hit me, like a strike of lighting. When I swipe my card, my name appear behind the desk on a computer screen. They don't mean to start a conversation; it is a common curiosity, company policy, their welcome doesn’t really mean anything, hence them both being taken aback by my answer.

Upon reflection, I now realize society response is “good thanks”, and that is it, nothing more, nothing less. But that doesn’t mean I don’t respond with a question just to see what stumbled and shocked answer I can get. It is my little bit of fun...pay back for ruining my almost watertight coping strategy.

More strategies will be revealed at a later stage, as I can definitely make this topic last a couple of blog post, so until next time remember to find the humour in whatever form it comes. @klang_28

Geeks in grubby glasses, rather than knight in shining armour.....

Almost three and half years ago, I started university...which seems a whole life time ago now that I am coming to the end in about 2 months. I was determined to join a sports team when I started uni, so I picked Women's Basketball. It has a big bright ball, bigish hoop, and doesn't matter if you fall over into another player because you can just pretend it was slight barge.

One week into uni, I was still meeting people, still figuring out who is who, and also who to avoid. In the middle of all this uncertainty I couldn't find a single girl who would even consider joining Women’s Basketball, so I was going alone. All sports were held at Oxstalls Campus, which is different to the campus I lived on, which meant I had to tackle the bus ALONE! I have never really done the buses by myself before, at home everywhere was either close enough to walk to or I used a fabulous taxi service called “Dad’s Taxi”.

So the night arrived. I was ready, wearing sports kit, waiting at bus stop, timetable in one hand, and an old school Nokia mobile phone in the other. After 6pm at night there isn't a direct bus from campus to campus so I was required to walk a little at the end. I was ready for this, I knew what to expect or at least I thought I did....

The bus pulled up, I got on, gave the bus driver my money and said "to the bus stop nearest to Oxstalls please". After what seemed like an eternity he finally makes a face, mutters something under his breath and waved me on, which isn’t a great start to a bus journey.

I knew how long it should take (according to the timetable), so when I thought it was time to stop, I pressed the buzzer and got off. I did ask the bus driver to confirm, but again he just mumbled something which was inaudible to humans. I wondered in one direction for a few minutes, and then came to realisation I wasn't where I thought I was, at all. So somehow I had ended up somewhere in the vague area of Gloucester, in the dark, and all I had was now useless timetable and my pre-technology phone, that could barely make calls.

Now I logically came to the conclusion phoning my parents was not really a viable option. I didn't need to fuel their fear I was going to end up dead, like I am sure every parent has, when their child goes to uni…so I phoned my brother.

I very quickly explained to my brother what had happened, conscience that time is money when you are on pay as you go, and he said “I need road names or big places”. As a visually impaired person the best I could do was; petrol station, roundabout, and a massive building with a yellow logo, but couldn't tell you what the logo was for. With that he hung up the phone, (to save credit). I decided that staying put was the best option, and then what seemed like an hour later, because by now it was also quite cold, but was probably only 5 minutes later in reality, I got a phone call with some directions.

Now not even Google maps and street view is good enough to identify my location from the information I had given him, but luckily through random chance my brother shared a flat in Falmouth, with a born and raised Gloucester guy. (I had never been more grateful for a small world in my life.) Anyway, some 25 minute walk later I had made it, and did enjoy the remaining 15 minutes of training.

I thought I had learnt my lesson...I hadn’t. The next week the same situation took place; apart from I stayed on the bus too long, so again ended up phoning my brother. Him and his flat mate came to my virtual rescue – expect they were Geeks in grubby glasses, rather than Knight in shining armour.

After telling my parents this story a couple of weeks later, and after they stopped laughing at me for being a numpty, it was decided that I needed a phone with satnav and not on pay as to go. So naturally I used my charm, and parents blissful ignorance of technology and got a iPhone, and I would never ever go back to another phone.

Now, 3 years later, after using a careful combination of my iPhone and even more forward planning than just a timetable, I can successfully get off at the right bus…to everyone else that may seem easy, but to a visually impaired person that is a mini achievement, and should at least get a round of applause, if not a medal. So until next time remember to find the humour in whatever form it comes. @klang_28

Is that a wig?......

So my visual impairment is a result of genetic condition called Albinism. The condition is caused by some genes getting mutated somewhere along the way, (there is a complicated science theory, but I won’t bore you with that). Another side effect of Albinism, is the complete lack of melanin, which is the chemical which adds colour to your skin and hair. As a result I am very pale, and have the whitest hair you have seen. Unless I go swimming, in which case in goes a greeny yellow colour, but that is a disaster for another day.

This story took place when I was about 8. I was casually walking through the Woolworths car park in town with my parents, when two girls of about 14 approached from the other direction. Now my folks have always told me that people have a good stare as they walk past. A pale, white haired albino, probably squinting or wearing dark glasses - most people haven’t seen one before, why wouldn't you have a stare? It is human nature to be curious. And to be fair I don’t notice half the time, I guess it is a perk of being visually impaired. If on that rare occasion they are so unsubtle that I do notice, I give a little cheeky smile and a wave, and I am pretty sure it makes them feel guilty for the rest of the day.

Anyway I don’t remember seeing these 14 year old girls staring, but I have been reassured they were. My mum and dad just assumed they were going to carry on walking by, like everyone else does, but they didn’t. They stopped right in front of me and said

“Excuse me…..but is that a wig?”

This question was accompanied with a point to my hair. Some people may have reacted to this in a negative way, broken down in tears, shouted at them for being rude, or just ignored them….but not me. I simply replied, before my parents could get a word in edge way… “No…It is real..see?” as I reached up and tugged my own hair. With that simple and to point explanation both girls replied “cool” and carried on walking, like our quick passing conversation had been about the weather or something else just as routine.

I don’t remember what my parents said after this bizarre conversation. If anything at all, but to this day if anyone does ask me if my hair is wig, I still revert to being 8 years old and pull my own hair to prove a point.

So until next time remember to find the humour in whatever form it comes. @klang_28

The 1994 Incident in the Park

So remember the year 1994? - The T.V show “Friends” aired for the first time, Brazil won the world cup, the Channel tunnel opened, the existence of black holes was proved, and a 4 year old Karina takes on her most dangerous stunt yet…cycling in the park.

As a 90’s kid I was rocking some awesome bright clothes, (clashing bright colour I add). I had huge dark glasses to cut out the sun light, (but really made me look like a celebrity) and I was kitted out with every possible item of protective clothing my parents could possibly buy; helmet, elbow pads, knee pads, gloves…

I have been told that it was normal spring day, no wind, warm but not too bright or sunny, and no rain…which rules out me blaming the “incident” on the weather conditions. My parents took me and brother to our local park. This was my first time I would ride my bike (with stabilisers) anywhere other than the comfort of our back garden, and I was so excited to be riding at record-breaking speeds of 4mph across open spaces.

The park had been carefully chosen because it had flat level grass, the size of 4 football pitches. 1 concrete path, with green soft grass on both sides, no trees, branches or bushes in sight. The only obstacle in the entire expanse of space was a single lamppost - so in my parents calculating risk minds, this was almost the perfect location.

My brother was a pro at cycling (he is two years older than me) and was off quicker than a grey hound at the races. I was determined not to be left behind, so jumped on my bike and started to cycle. I cycled, gaining speed with every pedal, but before I could gain any distance, I had a collision. In fact this particular collision was so hard, I was fully knocked off my bike and landed flat on my bum, on the concrete. This collision wasn’t with some unexpected object appearing out of nowhere, or my brother darting in front of me, but was with in fact with the one single solitary lamppost in the entire of the park, which my parents thought I would never hit. They were clearly wrong.

My parents ran over, and scooped me up, and through my tears of shock and pain, and some hidden laughs from my parents (once they realized I wasn’t injured) - I sobbed “I wish I had a bottom pad”. To this day I genuinely think that inventions by my 4 year-old self would be golden, especially for any visually impaired child learning to ride a bike, as we do fall off a lot! Anyway five minutes later, I was back on the bike, and I never collided with that particular lamppost ever again, shame the same can’t be said for other lampposts, or shiny Mercedes Benz...

So until next time remember to find the humour in whatever form it comes. @klang_28