Closing Chapter

The phrase “closing shop” is more familiar but I felt that would indicate hope, of the shop reopening the next day and that was not entirely what I wanted to convey. Chapter seemed more like it. One would always reopen a chapter only as means of reference – at least that is what I do.

The influx of posts – yes three days in a row is an influx indeed with my average of two a month – is not a result of frustration or anger. Maybe slightly but not entirely. Sadness has also overtaken me. Sadness and realisation. My sister flew back to Dubai today, that didn’t really feel that great – still in the process of accepting. I’d be flying back soon to the land of masala and no spice. I have an extra paper to take now thanks to my nonchalant behaviour and external influences.

In the pudding – a word influenced by my last tweet – I also try to thrown in a little hope, a little strength to move on and close chapter.

I’ve written only one-hundred-seventy-now-two words. It’s too short a post I feel. But then again, it’s not as though I really want to write more. My little stream of consciousness ran out of steam post-lunch.

Next chapter: Do not stop for lunch while writing.

Being Away, Being Here

First thing I noticed was that WordPress seems to have changed. At least a tad bit. Second thing I remembered was that I don’t quite remember as to why I even wanted write a post. Besides the obvious pangs of frustration, occasional dents of depression, I think there were more urgent matters that seemed to find itself in need of a post but pray, they seem to have been forgotten. Like most other things in life.

Home has been good to me so far. Lots have happened within these few days. Some good. Mostly – I won’t say bad but rather that of which that left me confused. The remaining well, that of which should find itself to my unconscious.

Much has changed down here. The city looks beautiful. The Government should be commended, undoubtedly. However, one could not help but think if the pretty painted picture is not a façade meant to drape the reality of things. Personally, I feel that CoL is atrocious. Yet I sense that people are happy. Or that might just be my bubble speaking. Or it might only be in my house. That Southern Expressway they all speak of is pretty darn good, drove down to Unawatuna a little too soon maybe.

I suppose one thing most people find difficult to accept, especially after coming back home after a lapse of an year or more – for others – is the fact that the country and everyone around them have changed without them. It’s not as though we expect development, life and all activity to cease while we are not around but the fact that people get used to you not being around is a bit of a bummer I feel. Most people might not agree, but be away for a long time and come back and whoa, you’d be amazed. I could only imagine the plight of the diaspora. I can merely sympathise with them as the picture painted in front of them passing Katunayake is not different, but new.

Work is going good. I realised after having worked in Sri Lanka for a little while. that living in the island makes me lazy. I take things as it comes and I don’t seem to have that compulsion to plan. I neither am motivated to work. Which is a bad thing. Maybe I might even be diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. I suppose unless I live alone, I wouldn’t understand the burden of responsibility and independence. I also enjoy having my compulsive tendencies and my need to govern and take life by the horns. Yes, I like being control-freak.

Okay so WordPress hasn’t changed. I just used something new.

Exploiting That Freedom

First impressions count. As kids we are taught not to judge a book by its cover. As adults we are told that it is important to look best when presenting oneself the first time: ideally an interview.

However, there is a certain segment of society who has facial issues, literally. I for one, empathise with them. Or maybe I am one of them. I do try to look presentable, most of the time at least, but still, it is just not enough. Since adolescence, I looked the “type” who disobeyed her parents, smoked up and hooked up with random boys. Maybe the penultimate and the last phrases have been blessed with hyperbole. Point being, I looked “that” type.

In reality however, things weren’t as rosy. I was given freedom, apparently lots of it – as I was told by some of the kids who grew up. But I never really found the necessity to well, misuse it. I’d rather stay at home and sleep with no disturbances as opposed to bringing friends over and throwing Hollywood-inspired house parties. The only house parties I did enjoy were the ones I threw for my Sims. I was allowed to go wherever I wanted to, and leaving aside the exception of say, two or three instances, my Mum and I never seemed to disagree on where I could and could not go.

Also, I apparently have a very cool Mum. She is cool, I agree. But I think what makes her “cooler” is the fact that my Sister and I made it a point, since childhood to tell her things, as opposed to keeping it away from her. Thereby we were given freedom, and most importantly trusted.

But that is not the point is it? Maybe due to the overlapping of ethnicities, us siblings may not have the typical Melayu babath mukha or sharp Kandyan features. So what if my sister likes experimenting with her hair and I enjoy drilling my ears with jewellery? Conventionally speaking and observing, such activities speak of questionable upbringing, indecency and of course the unfailing “that” type.

So I am told that I look Indian now. Furthermore, my accent compliments my features.

In non-Indian clothes and regular jewellery, all I need is a bottle on my left and a cigarette in my right.

Passive smoking is cool, the cigarette tastes a little blah to me though.

Bottles are a big no-no.

It doesn’t make a different though does it?

She is still “that” type.

Oh fuck em all. Re-evaluate your own kids before you make your pass your blessed verdict on others.

Creating Impressions

My sister always said that a good impression was more important than a better expression, or vice versa, or something to that extent. But what happens when creating either a good impression or an expression was simply not your thing? What happens, when your “true self” is revealed only upon someone getting to know you?

While in school, I apparently “looked” the many boyfriends type and spoilt. Or so they said. Little does anyone know that I never had a boyfriend while in school! As for spoilt. I won’t say that I am not. But having observed spoilt and unspoilt children, my age I would say that I was average spoilt; spoilt to the basic extent that any parent would spoil their kid – if that made any sense to anyone.

Now in college, I look the type who smokes, smokes up, drinks and parties. For the love of Susan. I like partying only because I love dancing. However, the good side to keeping quiet and bearing all “assumed impressions” the last few years, wisdom has begun to surface? Wink wink.

Mama used to pinch the living lights out of me under the table to keep me from saying the wrong thing at the wrong time or worse, the right thing at the wrong time. As for the faux pas, but that’s getting better. Phew. However, once the backdrop of formality is removed, life only gets better. But that is not what is in question today, is it? Most people are more interested in what lies on the surface as opposed to actually seeing what is beneath that layer of social malfunction. Sigh. FML.

Of Life and Its Learnings

What made me blog, in such a close-knit interval, especially when exams are literally, “round the corner”? I don’t know. Perhaps, it is like buying shoes for me, an incentive. An incentive to tell myself that I can write and do the things I normally do in the midst of exams and all that jazz.

Ever since India, I’ve become accustomed to spending time with myself. This is neither meant to denote peculiarity nor perverseness. Instead, I look at it in the light of self-discovery and acceptance.

Self-discovery. I would be twenty-one in a few months. While I have been cribbing to all who would hear me out about growing old, it’s fascinating because, at times I laugh to myself when walking down S.G. Palya and think, ‘who knew I’d get this far?’ Looking back, I’m amazed at how soon the years flew by. Looking back, I remember when I wrote my first poem. Looking back, I count the number of career choices that I lay in front of me. Irony is that, none of the choices seem to appeal to me today.

Acceptance; I think begins with appreciation. I have begun to appreciate more, the members of my family, the new members in my family and most importantly God. I also have learnt that while it is only Facebook that gives me some 600 friends, life gives me a few friends who are good, reliable and beautiful no matter how far away they physically may be. I have also learnt that cribbing about being in India would not really get me anywhere. I asked to be here, I made the choice of coming here and therefore, I am indeed responsible for it.

Perhaps due to an overdose of psychology and studying the workings of the mind of a twenty-one year old, I have learnt that this also a period of crossroads in the context of choices whether it be career, relationships and so on. In that light, I also see that while God has indeed written and planned as to how things should work, He also gives us the choice of making the right or wrong decisions.

My tea tastes good and the post seems relatively all right. Let’s hit the books now.

To Mama, With Love

Dear Mama,

This post has been coming a while, however I was in question as to how it must be framed. Thus I thought, what better and easier way than a letter? It’s not one of those reply-me ones, but rhetorical to a great extent.

As I said, this has been a long time coming. I cannot thank you enough for what you have given me and on the same lines, I cannot but cringe at those moments I always cried for more. Among Akki’s and my friends you were always nicknamed the “coolest”. However to Akki and I, you are beyond being merely “cool”.

Looking back at my twenty-one years, of which I remember around fifteen, more or less, I’ve seen a woman who has risen to a height in terms of her family and now her career. We are indeed proud to be your daughters.

I always think to myself especially at those times when I ask you something and you answer, ‘Would I be able to answer all the questions my daughters ask me?’ The most common response blinks in front of me: Google. However, what’s amazing about Mama and her generation is that they never needed Google. Now I wouldn’t even know how to write my research paper without it. I am a core tech-buff, I agree, whole heartedly. However, the picture of me educating my child on puberty with a reader on my palm, headset on my ear and a constant eye on the laptop laying on top of the coffee table in front of me awaiting that very email, [Heaven forbid what other technological developments would be available fifteen years from now] does not seem too appealing.

Mama, you would not believe how truly grateful I am about you not turning Akki and I into book-worm. Even if you attempted so, I sincerely doubt that we would’ve been any good at it. What you did was very commendable and looking back at it, prudent. Our Mama did not cut off our allowances or give us less food or do something that would be considered a “punishment” if we were to horrible at our exams. One of the reasons we did not do all that bad was because, she had faith in us that we would do our best, and indeed we did, attempted to or at least tried not to fail :)  Being in University now I am glad I do not have the pressure being haloed over me and as a result of which am able to partake in everything my now-weakening flesh and bones allow me to.

Mama, you taught me how to cook. Rather, I observed and learnt to cook looking at you make all those yummy dishes. Dammit. I want beef.

This letter would be incomplete if I don’t add a realistic touch to it and tell you Mama that you need to work on your patience. Yes you do have patience, I agree, having brought up to unruly monkeys like Akki and I all by yourself. However, you don’t have enough patience to teach me to drive nor teach me to read Arabic. LoL.

With that, I would like to say thank you once again. For bringing us in to this world. For raising us to be responsible children. For teaching us that we don’t need a man to get through in life. For finding yourself a charity-buddy, always-friend-in-need and others’-first, me-last man.

All the best in all you do Mama. We will be there with you every step of the way.

Love,

Akki and Nangi

Summer 2011. Merci

The days I thought that would never be. The days I waited for the most for as long as I have known. The days that were indeed the best of my life. My earlier post spoke of the downside of growing up and the disadvantage in us being able to recall what once was. Perhaps, God saw the shadow looming overhead and called for the Light. Thank you God :)

I repeat, these two months were indeed the best two I’ve ever had. There maybe better months ahead, I do not know, but for the past twenty odd years I’ve been around, these two were indeed great. It’s at times like this that I remind myself as to how much more grateful I should be to God and thank Him for all the wonderful people He has blessed me with. This post would serve as a collective thank you note for all those who made these sixty plus days truly fabulous.

My family – With our new home located far far away from civilisation, I only think it brought us closer and tighter as a family. In this instance I should be thankful to *ahem* Bangalore too, as it instilled in me elements of silence and the ability to observe without jumping the gun which was of use during my stay at home :D Holidays were made brighter in May, when Akki venerated the household with her presence. Cheers, to good times.

Hussain. No, I am not blushing, merely smiling – wide. He makes me excessively happy and I needn’t say more about it. We shall meet soon and I will be happier than a clown.

David. The boy who never learns and the boy who thinks that he is thirty-five. For all those reading, he and I are the same age. Amazing writer and for ladies interested, single *wink* LoL. Apologies for dropping you off by the road the other day.

Nisthar, Uditha, Marianne, Cheranka, Joe, Cassandra, Shezna, layout boys and all other FT jokers. The poster you gave me when I left FT is the first thing I see every morning. My very short work period there brought back a snippet of the memories I longed for.

Vositha. My future lawyer, fellow-tree hugger and *ahem* older best-friend. Would’ve loved to see you more but it’s not the number of times that we met but what made it more worth it is the happiness those meetings engulfed.

Bhagya. The girl who can’t get enough of India and supposedly the daughter who we picked up after work. See you soon in Bangalore.

MallaSatyajit. The boy who plays with stocks and earns more than an average nineteen year old. Very nice kid, a little spoilt but good soul. Sen-saal may have been a one-timer but I’ll be back.

The ladies from Metho – Afrah, Mayanthi, Tamara and Ruth. Girls, I used the full form only as it would look and sound better. We may have all met only once but we will continue the gossip through Facebook. I don’t see any other purpose for that social networking site anyway. Saashya and Dilshani, we shall see you soon.

Shalini. We didn’t meet each other much, but we saw each other’s new houses and I cannot be happier that you are a workaholic.

A little uncalled for but Coco Veranda. Your tagline is so true, as I did keep going back and it was the only place that I kept on visiting as often. Convenient and very very comfortable – loved it.

Pavani. My bubbly Sri Lankan room-mate in India. We are dependent on each other. Even if we weren’t I wouldn’t love you less. Cheers to free lunch *wink*

Kei. The half-Japanese girl. It was delightful meeting you even though you were asleep post-lunch.

Sumi. I ran in to you at the theatres. However, I’ll be back. We will meet again, soon.

Hilly. The one boy whom I didn’t meet and deeply regret. We will meet, as I don’t have any other chick friend and can’t give that title to anyone else. Await next April and we shall jam, just like old days.

Rukman. My beloved hairdresser. I doubt that you would read this but apologies again for the mistake in the keytag.

For those of whom who know me, yes I did make a list, just so that I don’t leave out anyone. If I did, the post would be edited immediately and you included. Thank you all once more for making my vacation truly memorable and the wait much much more worth it than I thought it to be. I couldn’t have asked for more.

#nowplaying Time of Your Life - Greenday

D for David

I may have been a journalist for a little over six months, but if written content appeals to me, I call it good writing. Bias, opinionated and very unprofessional as it lacks the required objectivity in journalism but I honestly don’t care. I love myself and believe that my take on things that matter to me are accurate. The first paragraph is self-explanatory of the initial half of the previous sentence *chuckle*

I look forward Lasantha David’s writings not only because he is my friend; I look forward to it because I am able to see his passion for writing and the subject matter visibly whilst reading it. When it comes to being a friend, I am terribly proud of this boy and his book. I wanted to publish two books containing my poetry before I was twenty. I was fifteen when this thought occurred to me – naive, very new to poetry and to reality. I will be twenty-one and have closer upon to seventy poems that are hidden in my closet. But, when I look at Lasantha, “half an IT grad” *chuckle* I am proud of him for having written his first book. I feel like a Mother who is watching her child grow up and pass out of school and university with flying colours. Okay, maybe not all that. It’d be a little creepy if it were so, but the general idea has been established eh?

Another thing about this boy. He is my age, yes will be twenty-one sooner than I would, and Susan, he is mature. As a policy, not only don’t I date but I also refuse, (or maybe it happened unconsciously – which is a very big possibility) to be friends with boys my age. Yes, the clear use of word “boy” in this context was meant to serve its purpose. They are so immature that I can’t help blaming our respective biological functioning. However, since of recent I’ve known two of them, yes a big achievement on my part; and Lasantha is one of them. In fact, he is more mature than guys older than us and no, mention names I shan’t. He was the only soul who kept me sane after my scary treadmill accident. I needed someone to talk to, just blabber with at 7.30am on a Saturday, and this boy was good enough to do so. He didn’t freak out, didn’t insist on flying to India that instant, but he just yapped and played funny YouTube videos of jokers such as myself falling flat on exercise machines #bliss

This boy, often jinxed – as much as I hate to say that – is truly one of a kind. He’s had a hard journey from the very beginning, and I can’t be more thankful to God for giving me one of the bestest friend’s, ever.

Thank you God and thank you David, for showing me that one’s passion could reach to great heights, without a degree :)

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