I chanced upon this short story Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes. I found it quite absorbing but more than that it touched me on an emotional level. It is about this young man, Charlie, who is intellectually underdeveloped and who is made a participant in a psychological experiment to exponentially increase intelligence. The entire story is in the form of “progress reports”, something like diary entries, that Charlie writes from the beginning of the experiment to the end. I do not want to get into the end in case you, dear reader, feel tempted to read this story for yourself. What I found really poignant is how his new-found intelligence makes Charlie see the world in a very different light. Simple as the story is, it actually made me think about how different cognitive capacities engage with and interpret the world, and how their ability to make sense of it in one way or another might cause them to experience life itself differently.

Here’s an excerpt:

"All right! All right, you dope," shouted the owner, "don't just stand there!

Get the broom and sweep that mess up. A broom… a broom, you idiot! It's in the kitchen. Sweep up all the pieces."

The boy saw that he was not going to be punished. His frightened expression disappeared and he smiled and hummed as he came back with the broom to sweep the floor. A few of the rowdier customers kept up the remarks, amusing themselves at his expense.

"Here, sonny, over here there's a nice piece behind you ..."

"C'mon, do it again ..."

"He's not so dumb. It's easier to break 'em than to wash 'em ..."

As his vacant eyes moved across the crowd of amused onlookers, he slowly mirrored their smiles and finally broke into an uncertain grin at the joke which he obviously did not understand.

I felt sick inside as I looked at his dull, vacuous smile, the wide, bright eyes of a child, uncertain but eager to please. They were laughing at him because he was mentally retarded.

And I had been laughing at him too.

Suddenly, I was furious at myself and all those who were smirking at him. I jumped up and shouted, "Shut up! Leave him alone! It's not his fault he can't understand! He can't help what he is! But for God's sake ... he's still a human being!"

The room grew silent. I cursed myself for losing control and creating a scene. I tried not to look at the boy as I paid my check and walked out without touching my food. I felt ashamed for both of us.

How strange it is that people of honest feelings and sensibility, who would not take advantage of a man born without arms or legs or eyes—how such people think nothing of abusing a man born with low intelligence. It infuriated me to think that not too long ago I, like this boy, had foolishly played the clown.

And I had almost forgotten.

I'd hidden the picture of the old Charlie Gordon from myself because now that I was intelligent it was something that had to be pushed out of my mind. But today in looking at that boy, for the first time I saw what I had been.

I was just like him!

Only a short time ago, I learned that people laughed at me. Now I can see that unknowingly I joined with them in laughing at myself. That hurts most of all.

I have often reread my progress reports and seen the illiteracy, the childish naïveté, the mind of low intelligence peering from a dark room, through the keyhole, at the dazzling light outside. I see that even in my dullness I knew that I was inferior, and that other people had something I lacked—something denied me. In my mental blindness, I thought that it was somehow connected with the ability to read and write, and I was sure that if I could get those skills I would automatically have intelligence too.

Even a feeble-minded man wants to be like other men.

A child may not know how to feed itself, or what to eat, yet it knows of hunger.

I was at Sainsbury's today to do my fortnightly "big shop" as they call it here. Yes, I know I have been referring to supermarkets, foods, etc. a lot these days but what with pandemic enforced living, it's not a surprise I assume? :) But to move on... I love grocery shopping in general (even before the pandemic ;)) and one of the things I enjoy is browsing through novel items. I usually pick one or two things that I haven't tried before, say a new variety of biscuit or chips (crisps here) or cheese or what have you. It's always a bit of a gamble-- either I'll find something I like so much that it will become part of my routine shop or I will hate it so much that I'll either force myself to eat it somehow or I'll reluctantly and guiltily throw it away. Today when I was picking something interesting and a bit on the expensive side, I was hit with a pang of anticipated guilt in case it's not to my taste. And then I thought to myself that I wouldn't be able to broaden my tastes or learn about new foods if I didn't take such risks. I decided to chalk up the expense to learning something new.

This led to a light bulb realisation. The more monetary risks I am able to afford, the more I am able to learn! Take for example starting a new venture and the learning that comes with it even if one fails or going for an expensive training programme, being okay with not making use of that knowledge. The more one is able to give oneself up to new experiences without worrying about the costs involved, the more one learns and the more one grows in that sense.

Of course, I don't mean to say this spending is the only path to learning. In fact, not having resources could mean one learns a completely different set of skills formidable in their own way. Creative problem solving, for example. One can't get something new easily so one tries to make creative use of what one already has. In this food context, maybe you make new dishes of stuff you have in the kitchen instead of buying something new.

Which brings me to another of my points. Because I have been brought up in a household and environment where we lived in relative austerity, where we learnt never to waste or throw away food, where we utilised things to the extent we could and found use for the leftovers even... It doesn't quite sit well with me to waste or discard anything and that is why I feel extremely guilty if I have to do it.

I have come to the conclusion though that neither extreme is good. To waste things indiscriminately without a second thought is not good and to be so hung up about conserving things that your enjoyment and pleasure doesn't count is also not good. I try to feel less guilty if I have to get rid of something that just doesn't give me any joy. I also try to use more discretion so I don't have to waste or get rid of anything, and if I have to, then I give some thought to possible uses before I do it. It never feels easy on my conscience to waste or throw or discard.

Interestingly, it strikes me that the two ways in which learning occurs that I just put forward can be distilled to abundance or scarcity with regard to money. Suggests the kind of times we live in?

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

~ J. R. R. Tolkein

Expectations. They always trip me up. Is it possible to not have expectations of anyone who means anything to us? Maybe this is why it's liberating to be indifferent to people; you have no expectations and you are never disappointed. At best there are lovely surprises and at worst it's water down the duck's back. It doesn't matter.

But even the most indifferent person can't help but have a few people who are close to their heart. And you have expectations from those few people. And you will be disappointed. Not because they want to disappoint you or don't want to meet your expectations... but mostly because different people have different ways to show they care, to show you matter to them. It might seem like they fall short of your expectations if that's all you are focusing on but if you focus on their actions instead maybe you will see they are trying very hard to meet your expectations in their own way. Sometimes we lose sight of this... or at least I do. We prefer to believe people couldn't care less and we want to convince ourselves they don't. We want to look for what confirms these beliefs than that which is to the contrary. It can be self-fulfilling sometimes. Maybe it's good to keep our expectations aside even when we have them... and let people choose their own kind of way to our hearts.

My house smells of milk today. A large can jumped out of the fridge while I was arranging all my groceries. It was a shock in the moment because I rarely tend to have such accidents. A river of milk started flowing and crawling all over the floor while I just stared mutely realising that this was the first time in my life—very strangely—that I would have to singlehandedly cope with such an event. I froze with the thought of how to fix it. If you have done it before you know what to do but for me this was unprecedented. I first tried cleaning it with tissue papers and it was evidently a bad idea. Then I got a towel and squeezed it into a bucket. Memory very faintly suggested that that's what people did back home. It worked. Slowly I realised that I have a mop and bucket and that would sort this even better. So I finally cleaned up the remaining white patches and blotches with a mop. 

I guess when something unexpected happens we are transported to similar experiences we might have had earlier. This milk incident sort of made me think about how whenever something like this occurred back home there were always people who "took care of it". Magically everything that needed to be done was done. Today it felt like I was confronting this "problem" for the first time with none of those who just dealt with it around... it felt strange. Unlike theoretical problems that I resolve as a matter of course every day, this practical problem made me feel a bit stumped because I had very little history of dealing with it. Which is why I felt a little proud of myself for rising to the occasion albeit a bit late. I know what to do if it happens again so I feel like I gained something. But at the same time I felt my heart grow a bit heavy… thinking of those who took on all practical worries to give me a life of some ease…

I was watching this Spanish Netflix series Three Days of Christmas which started with a thought that's been on my mind. It said that we truly live only in childhood, after that it's just memories. Lately when I go to sleep I have flashes of memories of all sorts of past events, moments, times. It's like a pastiche of ordinary and poignant stuff, and me looking on at myself... wishing I could go back and relive some of these moments. I feel like I didn't fully appreciate them. I don't know if it's the pandemic that's brought this on because it all starts with me wishing I could be home... and then thinking about people at home, our former times... I don't know if things were normal I would still be experiencing this yearning for the old, or if it's just a regular part of growing older... where the more time elapses, the more memories beckon. Or maybe it's just me... this blog isn't named nostalgica for nothing ;)

What if we had two lives and we could apply the lessons we learnt in one life to the next? Some would say that already happens if you were to believe in rebirth, but then you don't consciously remember anything so how do you apply the lessons? What if one could remember, what if you didn't have only one shot at everything, what if you could do things all over again... what would you do differently? Like some sort of hindsight being applied forward. In the other life new events would happen so how useful would this hindsight really be? Don't we keep making the same mistakes even though we learn lessons in the past? Some we do, some we don't.

I would cherish a lot of moments more, I feel... but what would it mean to cherish them more? I couldn't make them stop! How would it be to cherish more if I  just thought of it as a moment I love and that won't come back...wouldn't it be even less of living that specific moment? The hard fact is there's nothing one can do to hold or grasp a moment... it slips like sand from our fingers as they say. Maybe these memories I have, that is the only thing one can cherish... like the feel of the sand even after it slips through... that no one can take away from me.