Monday, November 26, 2007
A little boy quietly sits in front of a piano, with his fingers poised over the bright white keys. His teacher, seated beside him on the bench, plays a complicated series of chords, filling the air with a beautiful melody. After a single hearing, the boy begins to play, perfectly reproducing the song he has just heard. As the last notes fade away, the boy sits still for a moment and then begins to rock gently back and forth, only stopping once the music begins again.
In the case of the little pianist, the essence of Savant Syndrome and autism becomes very clear. While in any other situation, the boy's skill would be praised as the mark of prodigal genius, in this case it is thought of with little but sadness and fascination. After all, were it not for the presence of developmental displays within his brain, the talent would more than likely never have touched his life on the conscious level. In a sense, the unrealized potential here is much less tragic that the tinge of genius which touches the lives of the autistic savant.
by Sural Shah
I just stared and stared with all my might, hoping my staring powers will somehow be strong enough to will Mr PF into putting down his pen.
Perhaps my sense of justice is not that strong, but some things are just not worth the effort.
//
My mom. Had been gone for 3 weeks now. Most times I forget she's not around, but her absence is most pronounced when I open the fridge. It's empty, barren, void of anything remotely edible. The freezer's empty, the bottom fruit compartment's empty, and the middle section is empty too. There're packets of chilli/ketchup sauce we saved from MacDonalds or KFC, medicine and some random jars filled with random (tasteless) stuff.. I found this jar of dried ginger slices, in my hunger, tried a little and immediately regretted it.
Worst of all there's no one to stock up on toilet rolls. Rawr.
We're so pathetic without my mummy.
//
My dad. Has this twitching problem with his eye, which later morphed into a full semi-facial twitch. The chinese sinseh said it's some blood vessel pressing against a nerve (???). But I think perhaps some neurons are faulty, and they must be firing away constantly, causing motor neurons to contract every second.
Didn't someone say when your eye twitches someone's talking about you. Alot of people must be talking about my dad. And it's 24 hours, even when he sleeps. How awful he must feel.
//
“If you really wish for something in life, then the whole universe conspires to get it to you”, says Shah Rukh Khan in the movie Om Shanti Om. It was my first Hindi film at the cinema and I love it. I've always been interested in Bollywood films, perhaps due to spending many lazy afternoons with my grandma watching them on Vasantham Central. I love all the music, the dancing, singing, the colours, everything. I love how justice always prevail in the end, and I love how it always ends happily-ever-after.
Now I'm considering catching Saawariya as well. The trailer makes it look very captivating.
People who suffer from OCD have obsessions in recurrent or persistent thoughts which are intrusive and difficult to suppress, and in a bid to stop the obsessions people have compulsive behaviour, or repetitive behaviour. Like everytime you touch something you contaminated and you have to keep washing your hands countless times a day, sometimes until they are raw.
In any normal situation, like sitting down to dinner I imagine someone accidentally cutting my arm when holding their butter knife, or when my friend is lending me a pencil I imagine her accidentally poking it into my eye, or while crossing the road I imagine some car speeding up to me and pinning me under. How easy these things can happen, if you think about it. If not for social rules and appropriate behaviour, such things CAN happen. I picture myself slipping and rolling down the stairs, or tripping over myself when walking up the stage, suffering a concussion after running into a pole during training. It's not like these things are out of the world; it's not like they've never happened before.
And it's not like I intentionally think about them, these thoughts just bombard my mind. I think, maybe the effects of watching Happy Tree Friends have finally surfaced from the unconscious after so many years.
It feels good to win man.
A little boy quietly sits in front of a piano, with his fingers poised over the bright white keys. His teacher, seated beside him on the bench, plays a complicated series of chords, filling the air with a beautiful melody. After a single hearing, the boy begins to play, perfectly reproducing the song he has just heard. As the last notes fade away, the boy sits still for a moment and then begins to rock gently back and forth, only stopping once the music begins again.
.
.
.
In the case of the little pianist, the essence of Savant Syndrome and autism becomes very clear. While in any other situation, the boy's skill would be praised as the mark of prodigal genius, in this case it is thought of with little but sadness and fascination. After all, were it not for the presence of developmental displays within his brain, the talent would more than likely never have touched his life on the conscious level. In a sense, the unrealized potential here is much less tragic that the tinge of genius which touches the lives of the autistic savant.
by Sural Shah
Could it be possible that a Rain Man exists in each and everyone of us.
writing at 4:28 PM
Saturday, November 24, 2007
I just stared and stared with all my might, hoping my staring powers will somehow be strong enough to will Mr PF into putting down his pen.
Perhaps my sense of justice is not that strong, but some things are just not worth the effort.
//
My mom. Had been gone for 3 weeks now. Most times I forget she's not around, but her absence is most pronounced when I open the fridge. It's empty, barren, void of anything remotely edible. The freezer's empty, the bottom fruit compartment's empty, and the middle section is empty too. There're packets of chilli/ketchup sauce we saved from MacDonalds or KFC, medicine and some random jars filled with random (tasteless) stuff.. I found this jar of dried ginger slices, in my hunger, tried a little and immediately regretted it.
Worst of all there's no one to stock up on toilet rolls. Rawr.
We're so pathetic without my mummy.
//
My dad. Has this twitching problem with his eye, which later morphed into a full semi-facial twitch. The chinese sinseh said it's some blood vessel pressing against a nerve (???). But I think perhaps some neurons are faulty, and they must be firing away constantly, causing motor neurons to contract every second.
Didn't someone say when your eye twitches someone's talking about you. Alot of people must be talking about my dad. And it's 24 hours, even when he sleeps. How awful he must feel.
writing at 1:26 PM
Friday, November 16, 2007
//
“If you really wish for something in life, then the whole universe conspires to get it to you”, says Shah Rukh Khan in the movie Om Shanti Om. It was my first Hindi film at the cinema and I love it. I've always been interested in Bollywood films, perhaps due to spending many lazy afternoons with my grandma watching them on Vasantham Central. I love all the music, the dancing, singing, the colours, everything. I love how justice always prevail in the end, and I love how it always ends happily-ever-after.
Now I'm considering catching Saawariya as well. The trailer makes it look very captivating.
writing at 8:32 AM
Thursday, November 08, 2007
People who suffer from OCD have obsessions in recurrent or persistent thoughts which are intrusive and difficult to suppress, and in a bid to stop the obsessions people have compulsive behaviour, or repetitive behaviour. Like everytime you touch something you contaminated and you have to keep washing your hands countless times a day, sometimes until they are raw.
In any normal situation, like sitting down to dinner I imagine someone accidentally cutting my arm when holding their butter knife, or when my friend is lending me a pencil I imagine her accidentally poking it into my eye, or while crossing the road I imagine some car speeding up to me and pinning me under. How easy these things can happen, if you think about it. If not for social rules and appropriate behaviour, such things CAN happen. I picture myself slipping and rolling down the stairs, or tripping over myself when walking up the stage, suffering a concussion after running into a pole during training. It's not like these things are out of the world; it's not like they've never happened before.
And it's not like I intentionally think about them, these thoughts just bombard my mind. I think, maybe the effects of watching Happy Tree Friends have finally surfaced from the unconscious after so many years.
writing at 9:18 AM
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
writing at 3:09 AM
Saturday, November 03, 2007
It feels good to win man.
writing at 7:35 PM
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