Independence Day

05°56'N 79°58'E

That’s where I was born. And yesterday, amidst cluster bombs, hostile take-overs and countless lives lost, the island turned 61. The political lips paid service to their achievements blanketed by false bravado while in the north, another bomb wiped out a lone standing hospital. With patients who had no doubt traveled to find medicinal relief from their pain and suffering. Big surprise: came for a Tylenol. Went. Back. Dead.

Happy Birthday Sri Lanka!

Sixty-one years of independence. The celebrations of a much sought after freedom from a country that left its imprint by significantly scarring the identity of the island. Unmistakably. They came together then. It was probably the last time the Tamil folk saw eye to eye with the Sinhalese majority. Like displaced children, the island now hobbles along. Survival, being its only goal.



And cloistered in the warm glow of those sixty-one years is the hidden pearl of Ravana. A fifty-year old civil war. One that has effectively eradicated the idea of Sri Lanka being the Isle of Serendipity. The only hidden jewel on the island these days – is the rampant unpredictability that is a mainstay. There’s so much beauty there but once the government is through with their grenade-play, who knows what will be left for the outside world to see.

My history will always remain inaccessible, just like that. A past learnt through stories told and lives lost. Make shift graveyards, mass funerals, ration cards, no lights, and no hope that the situation will be resolved– that’s what tinges every memory I’ve ever been privy to hearing. Their tear ducts have cried themselves dry. The well of their emotions, dry after each pail drew more out. Some things just don’t replenish themselves. To me, there is no freedom in that context. No freedom of speech, thought or action when even your memories are molested, raped and pillaged by faceless ghosts of a past you will never understand. Let alone accept.

It’s alarming that nobody I know remembers it the way I do. In the folly of my youth, I must have collected those droplets of Ceylon perfection and stored them like tamarind seeds in air-tight tins, stashed away to be found by a displaced and slightly jaded North American.

To me, the island is like a beautiful painting that once thought it could. And THAT makes me just a tad sadder than I already am.

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I lied. The only other person who remembers things the way I do is probably my BFF.

It’s just one of the many many things we share. That’s why I love her the best. Because she has the same memories as me – and when you have a childhood that involved packing up and moving around a lot – you really appreciate the one or two consistencies in your life. For me, it was her. Regardless of the boarding school, I always knew that BFF was a couple of buildings down glad that we were in this together.

It’s the one thing that got us through a lot of different things. And yet these days, connecting with BFF has been harder than it ever has been.

You see, my BFF is getting married. She is getting married to someone who is incredibly interested and involved in the wedding planning and process. Good for them! I mean, how often do you see a groom that’s interested in EVERYTHING? (Including the bride’s makeup choices!* I can be so catty when threatened.). But, here’s the larger question – where does that leave me? I had an unsettling conversation with BFF last night that left us both sad, broken hearted and weeping ourselves to sleep.

The general impression she has is that as her BFF I should be more involved and know more about the details of their wedding. Agreed. She pretty much ran the entire year and a half before my big day. But, I didn’t have a groom that wanted to be involved in the big things, let alone the details. The other thing is that my BFF isn’t the most “bridey” of all brides. I mean, at least I was okay with talking about the wedding – she usually turns grumpy and sour when the wedding is brought up. She’s just not that into the planning phase of things. Strange –because she was all over it for mine. I mean, it was more like her wedding than my own. And I was grateful because I wasn’t really into the details either. But with BFF, nobody brings up the wedding because we don’t want to upset her.

And last night, I realized that it upset her that we weren’t trying to push our way in and get involved.

So where do I fit into this equation? What am I Supposed To Do?

I have a BFF that I absolutely adore. A soon-to-be Brother In Law that wants to keep the planning process under wraps – involving just himself, BFF and my dad on select occasions. And then there’s BFF herself – she’s definitely the Gayle to my Oprah – and yet last night, I felt like we had both let each other down in a fundamental way. She thinks I don’t care about her and her impending nuptials. (Which is enough to make me livid – because how.can.you.not.notice.how.much.i.care?!?!) And because I care so much, I try not to upset her fiancée by being myself (the bully that tells people how things should be done). Instead, I tip toe around wishing I could be more involved and return to those days of late night conversations about silly things like napkin colours, overlays and the song our parents will walk in to!

I would love to be all up in this – looking at options, making decisions, bustin’ serious vendor balls– I thrive on this type of thing. But one of the most important things in my life is my relationship with BFF and I don’t want to say or do anything to jeopardize that in the long run. And so I’ve kept myself out of the loop and I’ve been extremely un-involved. To the point where it makes me sad and is probably collecting particles to become the big ball of resentment. Dysfunctional much? Probably. But heck, at least I can self-diagnose it!

Argh. I am so frustrated. Sad. And taking it all out on my poor hubs. His only mistake was to marry my overly-emotional, manic depressive behind. Oh yes, and he married my family. A typical 5 for the price of 1 Sri Lankan Deal!



Don’t get me wrong, I heart coming from an estrogen driven family. Usually. But, these are the types of misunderstandings that get in the way of our standing order of laughter and good times. And just this once, I’d like to be able to say: …next! And move the ‘eff on. But a little birdy tells me there’s probably a lot more of this to come before July 11th 2009.