A Symphony of Chaos
On the beauty of complexity.
A Notes From The In-between Substack post by Denise Sivasubramaniam
In separating out all the parts of me and dancing them around in front of you like marionettes, I’ve fallen into the trappings of negative bias. So today, I’m going to focus on the beauty of complexity.
We are each orchestras. Inside us, different instruments compete for attention, sometimes in harmony, sometimes in dissonance. The trumpet blares too brightly. The percussion hammers too hard. The strings whisper so quietly they’re almost drowned out. It can feel like chaos, like no one is keeping time.
Yet chaos also makes music. Chaos can teach us about ourselves. The wrong note creates opportunity, and when the instruments eventually line up, the beauty is palpable.
Yes, my intersectionality is a thousand competing sections, each fighting for airspace.
Bipolar is the trumpet, bursting out too bright, too wild. It’s been known to lift the whole piece higher than it has ever gone and drop away without warning.
Autism is the oboe, offbeat and unexpected, pulling the melody into strange, astonishing places.
ADHD is the snare drum, cutting through the noise but sometimes stumbling over its own rhythm.
Chronic illness and disability are the cello, heavy and grounding, forcing the tempo to slow, humbling me in the process.
Culture is the violin section, permeating through every piece.
But I’m the conductor, learning when to let an instrument sing, when to hush it, and when to pause for silence.
Sometimes silence and time between movements are necessary, which is why I can’t always write on a rigid schedule (and why I’ll be shifting to a fortnightly rhythm on Substack).
Being sick, and I have been very sick in my life, teaches you that the orchestra can keep playing even after a devastating silence. PTSD treatment taught me how to re-enter the score, shaky but still standing. Survival is its own kind of rhythm, a beat I once thought I’d never find again.
People will sometimes try to mute you, sideline you, act as though your instrument doesn’t belong in the hall at all. That hurts in ways I can’t always name. But when my last Substack was published in the Sydney Morning Herald, I was met with an overwhelming chorus of support. Strangers and friends, voices louder than the ones who wanted me erased. Some of the other voices just had to be blocked, quite literally. I’m carving this out as a safe space for people who want to explore their identities without recrimination.
But why isn’t an examination of identity a narcissistic solo performance? Why examine it at all?
Because without examination, chaos can’t make music. Naming the instruments helps you know which are drowning you out and which need a rest. Because stories shift culture, making visible what is usually silenced. Because examination transforms shame into language, recognition, and community. Because the act of examination itself resists erasure. Writing my score is survival, and it is an invitation for others to recognise their own parts.
My story isn’t just about me, it’s about the ways our instruments overlap, the chaos we share, the unexpected harmonies that emerge when difference collides with difference. My trumpet, oboe, snare, cello, and violins might sound particular to me, but they belong to a hall filled with other musicians.
If we each contain an orchestra, then together we are a symphony hall, every person bringing their own messy, complex score. And through exploration, the overlapping chaos becomes harmony.
That’s the beauty of complexity, not just within us, but between us.
Thanks to all who supported me after my last Substack. To those who did the opposite, you won’t be the first or the last aggressive voices coming at me. I’ve been through worse than you, and I’m still here. Still writing. Still playing my part in the score. And if there’s one thing survival has taught me, it’s this: the music always continues.
If you like this post you’ll like:
Intersectionality is a Bra That Doesn’t Fit
Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride (Until Today)
Find out more about me here:
Eloquently put 👏🏾
As I cannot even imagine what it is like to be ill like this, I at least can understand how it impacts. Thank you😌 and the naysayers can get stuffed.😉