I paint ukuleles. I also play them. They are my therapy.
Mental wellness is important, more so now during these stressful times. Art and music have tremendous therapeutic virtues, and I’ve always advocated tapping into them for a rewarding “pick me up”. You’ll feel so much better after a stressful day—it’s always worked for me!
So I recently ordered some art supplies and turned one of my ukuleles into my canvas. It was surprisingly well-received and has since spawned an entire collection. Here are a few of my favourites:
My childhood friend, who lives in Canada with her husband and their adorable fur-kid, was feeling overwhelmed with her work in healthcare… understandably so, no thanks to COVID-19. So after our video chat, I painted this to make her laugh. This hilarious uke is now in Toronto.
This was a fun one to do. You can probably guess, it was a birthday present for a big Studio Ghibli fan. Picking a pineapple-shaped ukulele was a good choice; it gave Totoro and friends a bit more space and breathing room. It now resides in The Netherlands.
This is the last one I did, based on The Great Wave Off Kanagawa by Hokusai. Since the original was a woodblock, it felt rather like coming full circle with the iconic artwork on a mahogany ukulele. Its black base paint helped make the painted imagery pop.
THAT SINKING FEELING
2020 has been a rollercoaster of challenges and changes. If you’ve struggled to get out of bed some days; had toxic positivity (#goodvibesonly) slapped in your face when confiding in a friend; or even worse, been labeled an attention seeker by the very ones you’d hoped would understand, you’re not alone. The struggle with mental stress is a very real experience for many, but much remains unspoken.
Not many people realise that depression can be high-functioning. They see us smiling for pictures on social media or cracking jokes (texting LOL but we’re really dead inside), achieving our goals and seemingly crushing it at work or school… unaware that deep down, we are grappling with processing complex and difficult emotions, not wanting to be left alone with our own thoughts, wrestling with a classic case of imposter syndrome even.
Also, no thanks to our Asian culture where one is expected to be stoic, some people assume mental illness is something you can snap out of. But it is not a trend. Not a choice. Not an excuse. And not always visible.
While the world knew me as a confident illusionist who manipulated and ate fire from sticks like it was candy, who escaped from a straitjacket while hanging upside down from a construction crane, who posed for the cover of FHM magazine, only a tight circle of friends knew it was all a carefully curated “wild child” persona. Not many were privy to my anxiety attacks before a show, how I endured scathing chastisement from the producer at rehearsals. No one saw my tears and injuries.
When I finally—inevitably—parted ways with my agency, I spiralled into a pit of despair. I had given up about a decade of my life, but when I left, I wasn’t allowed to take the thick folders of my press clippings with me. Apparently it was company property. There were also other disappointing gestures, like the removal of all my clips on YouTube from their channel. I felt destroyed. What was I to do next?
TO PROCESS AND PIVOT
Processing everything would take time, so I left for Thailand to reflect and get out of my funk. Thankfully my spouse understood why I needed this alone time. There, I lived close to nature, ate clean, exercised everyday, made new friends.
I figured that my treasured folder of press clippings which charted my progress through the years was probably lying in a dumpster now. Attachment brings misery, so best to let that go. My sleight of hand skills were extremely specific, but then there was knowledge I had gained from my years in magic that was also transferable—magic is all about communication, after all.
depression can be high-functioning. They see us smiling for pictures on social media or cracking jokes (texting LOL but we’re really dead inside), achieving our goals and seemingly crushing it at work or school… unaware that deep down, we are grappling with processing complex and difficult emotions, not wanting to be left alone with our own thoughts, wrestling with a classic case of imposter syndrome even.
Prior to being a full-time magician (after years of saving for night classes, I’d graduated from university with $300 left to my name, which was a huge push factor in my decision to sign on with the agency), I had always wanted to write.
So I threw myself into it with the same fervent hunger I first had when I started out as “Magic Babe” (yes, it’s corny but the stage name worked back in the day). Fast forward to the present: my sixth book will be published by Epigram Books next year.
All that hard work paid off. Despite my lifelong struggle with dyslexia, I was longlisted for a major writing competition, shortlisted for the Singapore Literature Prize, and awarded a scholarship by the National Arts Council to do my postgrad studies in the UK.
Elated, I packed up and left for Edinburgh. It was a challenge finishing a new manuscript while churning out research essays and creative writing pieces. Everything was made tougher because I was missing everyone back in Singapore, where there’s a staggering eight hour time difference—by the time I woke up, everyone in Singapore would be having their mid-afternoon snack.
And then, I had my first brush with seasonal affective disorder.
DEPRESSION HAS NO FACE
As Winter approached, the Scottish sun was late to rise and then it would set at 4pm. Trees lost their leaves to the autumn winds, and the skies were a happy shade of haggis. Walking the cold cobblestones made me think of “Ae Fond Kiss, And Then We Sever”, a song by Scottish bard Robert Burns. I yearned for the warmth of summer just past, and the humidity of home. 
Someone I was especially grateful for at that time was my friend Anthony Owen. A talented British magician whom I respected dearly, I always looked forward to his messages when working late into the wee hours of the morning. We’d talk about the new material he released, brilliant ideas he came up with for big names in the industry that he consulted for, such as Dynamo and Copperfield. It was always a welcome chat with him that helped keep me awake till I was done with whatever assignment was in front of me.
Then one day, Anthony disappeared from Facebook. My messages went unread but I chalked it all up to him being busy. Then the news hit.
Anthony’s body had been found in a pond.
The coroner ruled his death a suicide as he never knew how to swim. It hit me hard. I didn’t believe it. Didn’t want to. He had three kids. He wouldn’t, would he? My hands were shaking when I opened Facebook messenger to send him a message. Asking if he’s okay. Begging Anthony to please tell me that it’s all a huge misunderstanding. Or a really bad joke. It can’t be real. We were only chatting just a week ago. I stared at the screen, waiting for him to reply.
But, nothing.
My messages remain unread, unchecked. I cried so hard, knowing I’ll never get another one of his welcomed messages at 2am, asking me how my day had been.
It didn’t make sense. Anthony appeared to have had everything. And now, he was gone. Scrolling to the top, I reread all our messages. There weren’t any red flags. We laughed and joked, he last called me a muppet for something silly I shared, everything seemed normal. Depression doesn’t have a face. And it isn’t always visible.
STRINGS THAT HEAL
The weeks rolled by and despite being surrounded by friends, I felt lonely. There was a cavity of sadness inside me, and I didn’t know how to patch up that void.
A professor checked in on me when she noticed I wasn’t as cheerful and enthusiastic as I usually was. After hearing me share about my recent lethargy and mood swings, she figured I had seasonal affective disorder which usually hits once the weather turns. After some research, I ordered a yoga mat, supplements, and a SAD light therapy lamp (until then, I didn’t even know they were a thing)… but just before checking out my cart, I decided to also purchase a ukulele. Because, well, music soothes the savage beast.
My uke back home was the one thing I regretted not taking along with me. It’s a little guitar with four strings, and considered an instrument of joy to many. If you don’t believe me, you’ll surely believe good ‘ol George Harrison.
So with a solid support system and specific goals in place, things gradually got better for me. Exercise produced the necessary endorphins to make me feel good, Vitamin D helped with the inadequate sunlight, and that ultra bright lamp simulated sunshine in my room. Music, in particular, allowed me to go to my happy place. Long story short, it worked. I was back to feeling like myself once again.
On that note, feeling hopeless is not a sign of weakness. But anxiety and depression do need to be addressed. Please see a professional, and also do nice things for yourself that are therapeutic, like writing or painting or playing a musical instrument like the ukulele. Maybe baking is your jam. These are especially trying times, so be kind to—and patient with—yourself. The sun always shines after the storm.
Ning Cai on a 5 string ukulele, playing Swansong by Matt Warnes.
Celebrated in October, World Mental Health Day is an international day for global mental health education, awareness and advocacy against social stigma.
Based in Switzerland, Ning Cai is a bestselling author who also writes for UKE Magazine. Sign up now for her Singapore Writers Festival 2020 workshop, Travel Writing in the Time of Quarantine, at https://www.singaporewritersfestival.com/nacswf/nacswf/programme-listing/Workshops/Travel-Writing-in-the-time-of-Quarantine.html
