what a delightfully thought-provoking truism.
and one that's been playing on repeat in my head, like kid cudi and his strangely mesmerizing track "day & night". And disguised in that noise, introspection creeps in and begins to motor up it's little engine that always thought it could.
This year, thus far atleast, I find that the days seem to bleed into each other. Colours of one sunset - bright, vibrant and drunk on homegrown toddy - tinge the thoughts and actions of the next.
I assume this is what it's like when you spend your life pain painstakingly assembling 6 yards of personalized silk. To me, this time around the metaphor that rings like temple bells through the ornate halls of '09 is this:
life. feels like. six yards. of. glorious. kanjeevaram silk.
I feel like this life and the lovelies who fill it hand me a constant supply of thread - in varying lengths, a rainbow of colours and consistently - well, inconsistent.
My task, as i've chosen to embrace it, is to keep weaving those threads together, in an attempt to make sense of it all.
Until it eventually personifies this life i'm living. no limits. no boundaries. except the ones that i set for myself,that is. Sadly, the task is not as easy as it seems in passing conversation - afterall, this metaphor assumes that every moment is a contribution made towards that story being woven.
And my life is a constant struggle because i'm not willing to accept just any tired, ole' life. i want it all. ah, i know, the folly of my egocentric north american ways. i work at living a life where the focus is firmly affixed on pleasure, passion and a vehement stance against mediocrity. and this means constantly questioning everything and accepting nothing but the past as concrete.
this sari that i weave is enveloped in the remains of my daily courtship with destiny, fate and karma. i am but the person i am because every action (yours and mine) has an equal and opposite reaction.
--::--
while flipping through the dailies today, buried between the Obama drama i found another morsel of news that rang true. it was penned in regards to the chinese new year celebrations that will paint Toronto in a sea of red envelopes, lanterns and tasty dim sum. when asked to comment on his schedule, a Chinese-Canadian event manager said this:
"The Chinese-Canadian's here are more Chinese than the Chinese in Hong Kong".
hmm. so it's not just Indo-Canadians that are plagued by this lack of true national identity that drives them to treasure every inflexible ritual in the hopes of making them feel more of something.
while the Tdot is a beautiful and tremendously organic city vibrant with the colours of a thousand different threads, a luke warm sense of sadness underlies it all. we ( as a collective) are all clamoring to hold on to whatever remnants we have from our own national pasts, led by our faulty memories and hearsay. And in the comfort of that process, we've inadvertently married ourselves to memories of a frozen past and have indeed taken a step away from evolving culturally.
i know it's true in the case of most SL's in Toronto. there's a huge population that left the war torn island fleeing with nothing but their shell shocked memories. and in their little cultural cul-de-sacs they've recreated an SL that doesn't exist - atleast not today. i don't know too many SL's personally because well they've always given me the creeps - close minded, firmly stuck in their pasts - their lives a testament of how oppressive one's culture can be. yet while i was in SL, i thoroughly enjoyed it's residents - forward thinking, liberal, and filled with all sorts of goodness that makes someone a pleasure to be around.
someone dropped the ball people... and there's the seed of something literary in that insight - variations of it have been mined dry in the past - but i think a fresh take or two still waits to be harvested by the right mind.
--
another post about nothing *yawn* sometimes you need to get through these painful ones to hit a chunk of gold.
heck, atleast it gave my fingers a good workout.
one more sleep to that TGIF feeling.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
i wish
i was watching history unfold.
instead i sit here sullenly typing this sorry-ass post.
i heart my job but honestly don't clients know that big things are going down today? who sets up a meeting from 8:30 to 11 am on Inauguration day?
c'mon people, YOU are getting in the way of life. i think it hurts even more because i can hear our creative guys watching it in the studio and me, i'm stuck, discussing growth opportunities.
*sigh* i guess i'll read about it in the newspapers like other less than fortunate souls.
instead i sit here sullenly typing this sorry-ass post.
i heart my job but honestly don't clients know that big things are going down today? who sets up a meeting from 8:30 to 11 am on Inauguration day?
c'mon people, YOU are getting in the way of life. i think it hurts even more because i can hear our creative guys watching it in the studio and me, i'm stuck, discussing growth opportunities.
*sigh* i guess i'll read about it in the newspapers like other less than fortunate souls.
you
are on my mind.
and on the minds of thousands, around the globe, who will no doubt cluster around television screens, pulled by a force larger than themselves - magnetically, inexplicably - they will wait with bated breath.
and it's quite fitting actually.
that today came after yesterday.
yesterday marked the day when one chocolate-skinned man, decades ago, spoke of a dream when everybody else refused to stand up and speak out. and today, another caramel toned brother will step up on the podium and loudly proclaim that "yes we can" - hope in something larger than what we've had in the past.
i refused to be caught up in the oba-mania spreading like wild fire, globally. but i would be lying if i said a little part of me isn't magnetically drawn to the force that is Barack. Change is on it's way people - whether it's big, small or revolutionary.
the media sits waiting, ready to pounce. the world, with bated breath speak of the "weight of the world" resting on his shoulders. communities, are rallying for the cause of good. But all of it is relative to what we've experienced globally in the past. Nothing will change overnight. Nothing will fix itself so purely that the world will return to a pre-apple-thiefing-eve rosiness. But today, we are once again making history folks - scratch that, we are living history.
but one thing is sure - folks, it is time for a change. and Barack is endearing enough that I can't help but get excited for him.
and for all of us.
whether we succeed in the fight against evil, one thing is certain - we certainly will give it all we've got because YES.WE.CAN.
and on the minds of thousands, around the globe, who will no doubt cluster around television screens, pulled by a force larger than themselves - magnetically, inexplicably - they will wait with bated breath.
and it's quite fitting actually.
that today came after yesterday.
yesterday marked the day when one chocolate-skinned man, decades ago, spoke of a dream when everybody else refused to stand up and speak out. and today, another caramel toned brother will step up on the podium and loudly proclaim that "yes we can" - hope in something larger than what we've had in the past.
i refused to be caught up in the oba-mania spreading like wild fire, globally. but i would be lying if i said a little part of me isn't magnetically drawn to the force that is Barack. Change is on it's way people - whether it's big, small or revolutionary.
the media sits waiting, ready to pounce. the world, with bated breath speak of the "weight of the world" resting on his shoulders. communities, are rallying for the cause of good. But all of it is relative to what we've experienced globally in the past. Nothing will change overnight. Nothing will fix itself so purely that the world will return to a pre-apple-thiefing-eve rosiness. But today, we are once again making history folks - scratch that, we are living history.
but one thing is sure - folks, it is time for a change. and Barack is endearing enough that I can't help but get excited for him.
and for all of us.
whether we succeed in the fight against evil
Sunday, January 18, 2009
the truth is..
"i'm a writer, i use people for what i write" - sharon stone in basic instinct.
unintentionally of course, i find myself storing away little details. the way a man raises his eyebrow and cocks his head when a PYT struts past him - his eyes sending hurried instant messages. the way a mom instinctively puts her hand out to hold her child back from bounding down the stairs in front of them - even though they've probably done this a dozen times before. the nervous laughter that punctuates a sentence in the hopes of covering up awkwardness - boy/girl, girl/girl, boy...you get the picture, i'm sure. it all gets collected, sorted and thrown into piles for pickling. the fermentation process is sketchy but they exist in their neat little jars on a cerebral shelf - feather dusted every once in a while when i stomp through the place, ripping things apart in the hopes of discovering one little thought stuck in a jar of brine - still waiting to become just right.
this weekend was a varied mix of goodness and growth.
friday night - we joined some of mr.man's friends for a night of arabic food and memories of their lifetimes in dubai, eons ago. The shawarma was no match to the delightful handfuls that you get at Yahala Shawarma in Karama, Dubai. No joke, those were by far the tastiest little wraps I've ever consumed and for a measly 3 dhiram's at that. No matter, Paramount, the restaurant we hit up, had all sorts of other authentic goodies - from Zaffer sprinkled cheese pizza type delicacies to mouth watering hummus and fresh ballooned pita's...it was definitely a night of reminiscing and laughter. the night ended at our place after the guys trekked down nostalgia avenue and watched a retrorific superman flick.
saturday was another fun filled day. First there was our brunch at saravana's - the only time we get a hit of real south indian food in our monotonous routine of sautee'd this and stir fried that. I got some mouth-watering rava kichadi and kesari. tres-yum. we then watched basic instinct - which i had never watched fully much to Mr.man's chagrin. it was okay. i still felt it was more porn than movie. The plan for the evening was to hit up a 75th birthday fam jam - it was the first time that thatha had ever cut a cake - in 75 years. And I think i found a new localized cake lady - woot woot! Driving on a blanket of snow would have been much more ideallyic had the traffic been bearable - but with 4 car spin outs littering the 401 - our 25min ride took us 2hours. No matter, the family fun that followed more than made up for it.
sunday - today was supposed to have been my day of familial bliss. the breakfast and movie club had a much-anticipated meeting set up - except mother nature took a poo all over it. with 15 cms of nastiness on the ground - i was stuck in sauga with mr.man. i was incredibly bummed and so mr.man went out of his way to make sure i had a good time. we did a little browsing, a little shopping ( i finally found some GRAY nailpolish and I bought an awesome little dress), a little canoodling and then it was sunday dinner with the inlaws - a regular ritual in my existence.
And that's when i realized how good i have it. My MIL is probably one of the nicest ladies around. She's smart, funny, interesting, fashionable, witty and well connected with the world. And she's fairly non-intrusive. And when she does judge me - she keeps it to herself - which works great for me. So it's easy to be her friend. And while I was bitching and moaning about the few hiccups we might have - never have i taken a moment to be grateful that she's so wonderfully approachable and always open to anything i might have to say. AND she loves my family.
Now, that folks - always seals the deal.
Also, this weekend i missed my bfg. These days we keep missing each other and the truth is that its starting to grate on both our nerves a little. So this tuesday night we have a date and then the three of us will watch Bride Wars. Which i'm sure isn't worth talking or writing about but heck, it's a nice little fluffy number that i'm sure we'll all enjoy as a time pass.
This coming week promises to be hectic. But here are two promises i hope to keep for the next 5 days.
1. Talk to my BFG every day - even if it means i have to phone stalk her until she's tired of me.
2. Go to the gym atleast 3 times this week - and no, getting dressed, going down there and then turning around and coming back home does not count.
grr...sunday-nitis is the worst and this coming from someone who loves her job.
--
Lest I forget, i saw this wicked documentary on sri lanka and the kathirgama festival. Appa used to tell me that when i was super young, we used to go to kathirgama every year when i visited SL. I must make a point to go there the next time I hit SL - which at this point in time looks like it might only happen at the end of this year. No matter, it definitely gives me something to look forward to.
--
time to hit the sack and dream of something special enough to pen in the AM.
unintentionally of course, i find myself storing away little details. the way a man raises his eyebrow and cocks his head when a PYT struts past him - his eyes sending hurried instant messages. the way a mom instinctively puts her hand out to hold her child back from bounding down the stairs in front of them - even though they've probably done this a dozen times before. the nervous laughter that punctuates a sentence in the hopes of covering up awkwardness - boy/girl, girl/girl, boy...you get the picture, i'm sure. it all gets collected, sorted and thrown into piles for pickling. the fermentation process is sketchy but they exist in their neat little jars on a cerebral shelf - feather dusted every once in a while when i stomp through the place, ripping things apart in the hopes of discovering one little thought stuck in a jar of brine - still waiting to become just right.
this weekend was a varied mix of goodness and growth.
friday night - we joined some of mr.man's friends for a night of arabic food and memories of their lifetimes in dubai, eons ago. The shawarma was no match to the delightful handfuls that you get at Yahala Shawarma in Karama, Dubai. No joke, those were by far the tastiest little wraps I've ever consumed and for a measly 3 dhiram's at that. No matter, Paramount, the restaurant we hit up, had all sorts of other authentic goodies - from Zaffer sprinkled cheese pizza type delicacies to mouth watering hummus and fresh ballooned pita's...it was definitely a night of reminiscing and laughter. the night ended at our place after the guys trekked down nostalgia avenue and watched a retrorific superman flick.
saturday was another fun filled day. First there was our brunch at saravana's - the only time we get a hit of real south indian food in our monotonous routine of sautee'd this and stir fried that. I got some mouth-watering rava kichadi and kesari. tres-yum. we then watched basic instinct - which i had never watched fully much to Mr.man's chagrin. it was okay. i still felt it was more porn than movie. The plan for the evening was to hit up a 75th birthday fam jam - it was the first time that thatha had ever cut a cake - in 75 years. And I think i found a new localized cake lady - woot woot! Driving on a blanket of snow would have been much more ideallyic had the traffic been bearable - but with 4 car spin outs littering the 401 - our 25min ride took us 2hours. No matter, the family fun that followed more than made up for it.
sunday - today was supposed to have been my day of familial bliss. the breakfast and movie club had a much-anticipated meeting set up - except mother nature took a poo all over it. with 15 cms of nastiness on the ground - i was stuck in sauga with mr.man. i was incredibly bummed and so mr.man went out of his way to make sure i had a good time. we did a little browsing, a little shopping ( i finally found some GRAY nailpolish and I bought an awesome little dress), a little canoodling and then it was sunday dinner with the inlaws - a regular ritual in my existence.
And that's when i realized how good i have it. My MIL is probably one of the nicest ladies around. She's smart, funny, interesting, fashionable, witty and well connected with the world. And she's fairly non-intrusive. And when she does judge me - she keeps it to herself - which works great for me. So it's easy to be her friend. And while I was bitching and moaning about the few hiccups we might have - never have i taken a moment to be grateful that she's so wonderfully approachable and always open to anything i might have to say. AND she loves my family.
Now, that folks - always seals the deal.
Also, this weekend i missed my bfg. These days we keep missing each other and the truth is that its starting to grate on both our nerves a little. So this tuesday night we have a date and then the three of us will watch Bride Wars. Which i'm sure isn't worth talking or writing about but heck, it's a nice little fluffy number that i'm sure we'll all enjoy as a time pass.
This coming week promises to be hectic. But here are two promises i hope to keep for the next 5 days.
1. Talk to my BFG every day - even if it means i have to phone stalk her until she's tired of me.
2. Go to the gym atleast 3 times this week - and no, getting dressed, going down there and then turning around and coming back home does not count.
grr...sunday-nitis is the worst and this coming from someone who loves her job.
--
Lest I forget, i saw this wicked documentary on sri lanka and the kathirgama festival. Appa used to tell me that when i was super young, we used to go to kathirgama every year when i visited SL. I must make a point to go there the next time I hit SL - which at this point in time looks like it might only happen at the end of this year. No matter, it definitely gives me something to look forward to.
--
time to hit the sack and dream of something special enough to pen in the AM.
Friday, January 16, 2009
a silly little survey
and boy oh boy, do i ever love these. They are the best "time passes" ever!
-- the j 55: who's yo daddy now?!? -- (completed over two days)
1. What is in the back seat of your car right now?
Kleenex. Because with this type of crazed weather - you need all the help you can get. A better question would be "what's in your dickey?" (i heart that term..it reminds me of araliya's, thambili and doing no wrong)
2. What's your favorite curse word?
The f-bomb of course. Although I am exploring incorporating the following into my rhetoric: you smelly pirate hooker
3. Name 3 people who made you smile today?
My bff, M and Ammio
4. What were you doing at 8 am this morning?
Sitting on the Gardiner – waiting for someone to move from the parking lot we call a highway
5. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
Briefing the creative team on a new project
6. What will you be doing 3 hours from now?
Watching a flick with Mr.Man and his mansome friends. Can we say, sausage fest?!?!
7. Have you ever been to a strip club?
Nope. Because quite frankly i find nothing aesthetically pleasing about pee-pee's or vajayjay's for that matter.
9. What is the last thing you said aloud?
Pee-pee. Hmmm, i still use the same word I did when I was 12 to describe the male genitalia.
10. What is the best ice cream flavor?
Ice cream? I can't stomach it. Sorbet/Gelato on the other hand - *slurp* - I would have to go with lemon/lime, closely followed by raspberry.
11. What was the last thing you had to drink?
Coffee - never deny an advertising accounts jerk her version of water. Not unless you want an unexpected brief that is :)
12. What was the last thing you ate?
A sorry little mandarin orange. I wish they came peeled.
14. Have you bought any new clothing items this week?
Yup. A chocolate brown cardi and a white swiss dot shirt.
15. What's the last sporting event you watched?
The Raps play the Celtics.
16. Who is the last person you emailed?
One of my clients
17. Ever go camping?
Briefly. Literally, I got there, freaked out and wanted to get back home asap. Then I called my dad and asked him to drive 2 hrs north of toronto to pick me up. I'm a...what do you call those people....PUSSY. Everything scares me - the dark, the bugs, the sounds...eeek!
18. Do you have a tan?
According to white people, yes. I love feeling my skin burn in tropical heat though - so according to me, NO.
19. Do you drink your soda from a straw?
I don't do soda. And when I do, it's usually in a glass.
20. What did your last IM say?
What the hell is Nihari?!?
21. Are you someone's best friend?
Yup and it warms the cockles of my heart :)
22. What are you doing tomorrow?
Breakfast with Mr.Man, Seeing above mentioned BFF and my peeps at a fam jam!
23. Where is your mom right now?
At Home. 54 kms away from me.
24. Look to your left, what do you see?
Stacks of paper work. competitive reviews. client files. A constant reminder of my neverending workload. TGILoveMyJob.
25. What color is your watch?
Metallic chocolate brown. I'm sure DKNY has a name for it.
26. What do you think of when you think of Australia ?
My crazy cousins and the Gold Coast.
27. Would you consider plastic surgery?
Ummm, if you know me you totally know I would consider it - theoretically. But if you know me, you also know that I would be too afraid of the pain to actually follow through with it.
28. What is your birthstone?
Don't know and never thought about it.
29.How many kids do you want?
Anything except one. I think having an only child is a curse worse than death. I'd rather have zero than 1. So 2 or more. I'd like to create my own lil' world vision camp.
30. Do you have a dog?
My parents do. A little puggle. He's naughty but lovable. Kinda like the three of us.
31. Last person you talked to on the phone?
Mr.Man - he's picking me up in 20 mins.
32. Have you met anyone famous? (sat morning answers)
When i was young - Nadhiya. This tamil actress. I remember her wearing loads of makeup and everyone in boarding school fawning over her fame and drooling all over my photos. I on the other hand, had no idea what the heck they were going on about! In my adult years, Rohinton Mistry. I cried when I met him. Pathetic? Maybe. But heck, he's better than any boyband in my books.
33. Any plans today?
Well since its now tomorrow, i'd say yea - i've got a jam packed day that I rolled into a little later than originally planned.
34. How many states have you lived in?
None. Countries on the other hand - that's another discussion.
35. Ever go to college?
Yup. And university. I read and write good.
36. Where are you right now?
On my couch in my jammies nursing a cup of starbucks. God, I love Mikey's tassimo. I just named him Marley.
37. Biggest annoyance in your life right now?
My diabetes. But heck, that's always the effin pain in my kundi.
38. Last song listened to?
Love locked down.
39. Are you allergic to anything?
Ignorant people, making breakfast at the condo, mopping....the list could go on and on and on
40. Favorite pair of shoes you wear all the time?
These days my fugly North Face geriatric snow boots - it's the caddy of snowboots but uglier than sin.
41. Are you jealous of anyone?
Mmm lots of people - whole continents of them - who get to bask in warm sunshine and tropical rains all year round.
42. What time is it?
10:38am
43 Do any of your friends have children?
I'm at the phase where everyone i know is pregnant, thinking about it or trying really hard. Everyone's got babies on their brain - including my daddy.
44. What do you usually do during the day?
I'm an accounts jerk that used to be a copywriter - so my work days are filled with loads of psychology (i've always got someone in my office with an issue about something), strategic thinking and making things happen.
45. Has something upset you lately?
Not enough to awaken the volcano that rests within.
46. Do you use the word 'hello' daily?
Or some version of that concept. Usually i'm an "hola" / "whas'happenin?" kinda girl
47. How old will you be turning on your next birthday?
Twenty five...for the 7th time. Crap.
48. Have you ever been to Six Flags?
Nope. And i'd like to keep it that way - I'm shit scared of rollercoasters.
54. How did you get one of your scars?
The one on my left hand - impatiently trying to cut some sugarcane. That's another story for another time.
55. What is your best personality trait?
I'm a whiney, high-maintenance, diva that's a heady combination of a variety of oxymorons. Yup, that's my best personality trait.
--
Now, it's time for some Saravana Bhavan love and maybe a jaunt to Chapters. Yay, to a lazy saturday morning.
-- the j 55: who's yo daddy now?!? -- (completed over two days)
1. What is in the back seat of your car right now?
Kleenex. Because with this type of crazed weather - you need all the help you can get. A better question would be "what's in your dickey?" (i heart that term..it reminds me of araliya's, thambili and doing no wrong)
2. What's your favorite curse word?
The f-bomb of course. Although I am exploring incorporating the following into my rhetoric: you smelly pirate hooker
3. Name 3 people who made you smile today?
My bff, M and Ammio
4. What were you doing at 8 am this morning?
Sitting on the Gardiner – waiting for someone to move from the parking lot we call a highway
5. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
Briefing the creative team on a new project
6. What will you be doing 3 hours from now?
Watching a flick with Mr.Man and his mansome friends. Can we say, sausage fest?!?!
7. Have you ever been to a strip club?
Nope. Because quite frankly i find nothing aesthetically pleasing about pee-pee's or vajayjay's for that matter.
9. What is the last thing you said aloud?
Pee-pee. Hmmm, i still use the same word I did when I was 12 to describe the male genitalia.
10. What is the best ice cream flavor?
Ice cream? I can't stomach it. Sorbet/Gelato on the other hand - *slurp* - I would have to go with lemon/lime, closely followed by raspberry.
11. What was the last thing you had to drink?
Coffee - never deny an advertising accounts jerk her version of water. Not unless you want an unexpected brief that is :)
12. What was the last thing you ate?
A sorry little mandarin orange. I wish they came peeled.
14. Have you bought any new clothing items this week?
Yup. A chocolate brown cardi and a white swiss dot shirt.
15. What's the last sporting event you watched?
The Raps play the Celtics.
16. Who is the last person you emailed?
One of my clients
17. Ever go camping?
Briefly. Literally, I got there, freaked out and wanted to get back home asap. Then I called my dad and asked him to drive 2 hrs north of toronto to pick me up. I'm a...what do you call those people....PUSSY. Everything scares me - the dark, the bugs, the sounds...eeek!
18. Do you have a tan?
According to white people, yes. I love feeling my skin burn in tropical heat though - so according to me, NO.
19. Do you drink your soda from a straw?
I don't do soda. And when I do, it's usually in a glass.
20. What did your last IM say?
What the hell is Nihari?!?
21. Are you someone's best friend?
Yup and it warms the cockles of my heart :)
22. What are you doing tomorrow?
Breakfast with Mr.Man, Seeing above mentioned BFF and my peeps at a fam jam!
23. Where is your mom right now?
At Home. 54 kms away from me.
24. Look to your left, what do you see?
Stacks of paper work. competitive reviews. client files. A constant reminder of my neverending workload. TGILoveMyJob.
25. What color is your watch?
Metallic chocolate brown. I'm sure DKNY has a name for it.
26. What do you think of when you think of Australia ?
My crazy cousins and the Gold Coast.
27. Would you consider plastic surgery?
Ummm, if you know me you totally know I would consider it - theoretically. But if you know me, you also know that I would be too afraid of the pain to actually follow through with it.
28. What is your birthstone?
Don't know and never thought about it.
29.How many kids do you want?
Anything except one. I think having an only child is a curse worse than death. I'd rather have zero than 1. So 2 or more. I'd like to create my own lil' world vision camp.
30. Do you have a dog?
My parents do. A little puggle. He's naughty but lovable. Kinda like the three of us.
31. Last person you talked to on the phone?
Mr.Man - he's picking me up in 20 mins.
32. Have you met anyone famous? (sat morning answers)
When i was young - Nadhiya. This tamil actress. I remember her wearing loads of makeup and everyone in boarding school fawning over her fame and drooling all over my photos. I on the other hand, had no idea what the heck they were going on about! In my adult years, Rohinton Mistry. I cried when I met him. Pathetic? Maybe. But heck, he's better than any boyband in my books.
33. Any plans today?
Well since its now tomorrow, i'd say yea - i've got a jam packed day that I rolled into a little later than originally planned.
34. How many states have you lived in?
None. Countries on the other hand - that's another discussion.
35. Ever go to college?
Yup. And university. I read and write good.
36. Where are you right now?
On my couch in my jammies nursing a cup of starbucks. God, I love Mikey's tassimo. I just named him Marley.
37. Biggest annoyance in your life right now?
My diabetes. But heck, that's always the effin pain in my kundi.
38. Last song listened to?
Love locked down.
39. Are you allergic to anything?
Ignorant people, making breakfast at the condo, mopping....the list could go on and on and on
40. Favorite pair of shoes you wear all the time?
These days my fugly North Face geriatric snow boots - it's the caddy of snowboots but uglier than sin.
41. Are you jealous of anyone?
Mmm lots of people - whole continents of them - who get to bask in warm sunshine and tropical rains all year round.
42. What time is it?
10:38am
43 Do any of your friends have children?
I'm at the phase where everyone i know is pregnant, thinking about it or trying really hard. Everyone's got babies on their brain - including my daddy.
44. What do you usually do during the day?
I'm an accounts jerk that used to be a copywriter - so my work days are filled with loads of psychology (i've always got someone in my office with an issue about something), strategic thinking and making things happen.
45. Has something upset you lately?
Not enough to awaken the volcano that rests within.
46. Do you use the word 'hello' daily?
Or some version of that concept. Usually i'm an "hola" / "whas'happenin?" kinda girl
47. How old will you be turning on your next birthday?
Twenty five...for the 7th time. Crap.
48. Have you ever been to Six Flags?
Nope. And i'd like to keep it that way - I'm shit scared of rollercoasters.
54. How did you get one of your scars?
The one on my left hand - impatiently trying to cut some sugarcane. That's another story for another time.
55. What is your best personality trait?
I'm a whiney, high-maintenance, diva that's a heady combination of a variety of oxymorons. Yup, that's my best personality trait.
--
Now, it's time for some Saravana Bhavan love and maybe a jaunt to Chapters. Yay, to a lazy saturday morning.
even in death....
his truth shall ring in the ears and echo in the minds of the reflective few - transcending geography.
A lot has been happening in Sri Lanka. More so than usual. SL is a country where you could lose your life for more than one reason - none which would resonate with a rational human being. Being a controversial journalist, albeit a brave and courageous one, is similar to drawing a massive red target on yourself. Your lease on life is exactly that - a lease. One that can be terminated at any given moment by either side.
That's what happened to Lasantha.
Lasantha Wickrematunge, 50, was stabbed and shot to death in broad daylight last Friday (Jan 9th) as he drove to work at The Sunday Leader, the liberal Colombo-based newspaper he edited. As most people in his position, he knew that the work he did would eventually catch up to him considering the climate of his contextual existence. In preparation, he wrote his own eulogy. I've attached it below, for memories sake.
I wasn't going to blog about this. Mostly because his murder does not afflict the bubble in which I exist. And in true human fashion, if something doesn't directly impact my life - it's worthy of a few ummm's, ahh's and cursory remarks - but then it's brushed aside to make way for the really important things in my life. Like sales for instance - JCrew is having one (extra 20% off their already marked down stuff), obsessing over driving in the snow, the conundrum of which flick is worthy of a sunday matinee date or the Obama fever that does impact my mostly placid Canadian existence.
Superficial? Totally.
But is it real? Do we all do this? Absolutely.
Does that make it right? Absolutely Not.
Perhaps now is a good time to get someone to change that freaking bulb so the switch can finally go on.
I have always had an incredibly organic relationship with SL. It's like a set of behaviors neatly labeled and set aside for the right time and the right place. It emerges, rumbling awake from it's dormant state, at the strangest triggers. I still haven't figured this part of my life out.
I'm constantly questioned about my ethnicity. I'm not tamil enough for the tamil folk. Not Sri Lankan enough for the Sinhalese folk. Not brown enough to exist anywhere wholly. I seem to be part of that generation that's caught between different worlds. Constantly defining my culture. Consistently trying to prove that I am in fact worthy of my nationalities. And it's tiring. The tread marks of getting run over by skeptics, at every turn, is starting to slow the mojo down. I can't get over how often I've tried to be "more" of something to no avail. It always comes down to the fact that I'm too white, too Canadian, too disengaged, too far gone - to belong. To any one place - fully.
And somewhere in my twenties it clicked.
All I have to do is be me. And I will be as Sri Lankan and as Canadian as only I can. And that is okay. It doesn't matter if I fit their definition - because nobody walks in my shoes - except me. Simple I know - but for me, it's been a journey. well, more like an uphill battle...not that I'm bitter about it or anything ;)
Like others, my perspective of the world is built on the views of my past. And my past is firmly rooted in the happenings of a broken Sri Lanka. One day, I hope to be able to explain this journey that I've witnessed, perhaps even allude to how it started and the cost of this internal war on our people. Most importantly, one day, I hope to understand it. One day...I'm sure there are lots of us, who feel this way about a lot of things. And in the spirit of that, I wanted to document this event more for myself than for anyone else.
---
'And Then They Came For Me'
By Lasantha Wickrematunge
NO other profession calls on its practitioners to lay down their lives for their art save the armed forces and, in Sri Lanka, journalism. In the course of the past few years, the independent media have increasingly come under attack. Electronic and print-media institutions have been burnt, bombed, sealed and coerced. Countless journalists have been harassed, threatened and killed. It has been my honour to belong to all those categories and now especially the last.
I have been in the business of journalism a good long time. Indeed, 2009 will be The Sunday Leader's 15th year. Many things have changed in Sri Lanka during that time, and it does not need me to tell you that the greater part of that change has been for the worse. We find ourselves in the midst of a civil war ruthlessly prosecuted by protagonists whose bloodlust knows no bounds. Terror, whether perpetrated by terrorists or the state, has become the order of the day. Indeed, murder has become the primary tool whereby the state seeks to control the organs of liberty. Today it is the journalists, tomorrow it will be the judges. For neither group have the risks ever been higher or the stakes lower.
Why then do we do it? I often wonder that. After all, I too am a husband, and the father of three wonderful children. I too have responsibilities and obligations that transcend my profession, be it the law or journalism. Is it worth the risk? Many people tell me it is not. Friends tell me to revert to the bar, and goodness knows it offers a better and safer livelihood. Others, including political leaders on both sides, have at various times sought to induce me to take to politics, going so far as to offer me ministries of my choice. Diplomats, recognising the risk journalists face in Sri Lanka, have offered me safe passage and the right of residence in their countries. Whatever else I may have been stuck for, I have not been stuck for choice.
But there is a calling that is yet above high office, fame, lucre and security. It is the call of conscience.
The Sunday Leader has been a controversial newspaper because we say it like we see it: whether it be a spade, a thief or a murderer, we call it by that name. We do not hide behind euphemism. The investigative articles we print are supported by documentary evidence thanks to the public-spiritedness of citizens who at great risk to themselves pass on this material to us. We have exposed scandal after scandal, and never once in these 15 years has anyone proved us wrong or successfully prosecuted us.
The free media serve as a mirror in which the public can see itself sans mascara and styling gel. From us you learn the state of your nation, and especially its management by the people you elected to give your children a better future. Sometimes the image you see in that mirror is not a pleasant one. But while you may grumble in the privacy of your armchair, the journalists who hold the mirror up to you do so publicly and at great risk to themselves. That is our calling, and we do not shirk it.
Every newspaper has its angle, and we do not hide the fact that we have ours. Our commitment is to see Sri Lanka as a transparent, secular, liberal democracy. Think about those words, for they each has profound meaning. Transparent because government must be openly accountable to the people and never abuse their trust. Secular because in a multi-ethnic and multi-cultural society such as ours, secularism offers the only common ground by which we might all be united. Liberal because we recognise that all human beings are created different, and we need to accept others for what they are and not what we would like them to be. And democratic... well, if you need me to explain why that is important, you'd best stop buying this paper.
The Sunday Leader has never sought safety by unquestioningly articulating the majority view. Let's face it, that is the way to sell newspapers. On the contrary, as our opinion pieces over the years amply demonstrate, we often voice ideas that many people find distasteful. For example, we have consistently espoused the view that while separatist terrorism must be eradicated, it is more important to address the root causes of terrorism, and urged government to view Sri Lanka's ethnic strife in the context of history and not through the telescope of terrorism. We have also agitated against state terrorism in the so-called war against terror, and made no secret of our horror that Sri Lanka is the only country in the world routinely to bomb its own citizens. For these views we have been labelled traitors, and if this be treachery, we wear that label proudly.
Many people suspect that The Sunday Leader has a political agenda: it does not. If we appear more critical of the government than of the opposition it is only because we believe that - pray excuse cricketing argot - there is no point in bowling to the fielding side. Remember that for the few years of our existence in which the UNP was in office, we proved to be the biggest thorn in its flesh, exposing excess and corruption wherever it occurred. Indeed, the steady stream of embarrassing expos‚s we published may well have served to precipitate the downfall of that government.
Neither should our distaste for the war be interpreted to mean that we support the Tigers. The LTTE are among the most ruthless and bloodthirsty organisations ever to have infested the planet. There is no gainsaying that it must be eradicated. But to do so by violating the rights of Tamil citizens, bombing and shooting them mercilessly, is not only wrong but shames the Sinhalese, whose claim to be custodians of the dhamma is forever called into question by this savagery, much of which is unknown to the public because of censorship.
What is more, a military occupation of the country's north and east will require the Tamil people of those regions to live eternally as second-class citizens, deprived of all self respect. Do not imagine that you can placate them by showering "development" and "reconstruction" on them in the post-war era. The wounds of war will scar them forever, and you will also have an even more bitter and hateful Diaspora to contend with. A problem amenable to a political solution will thus become a festering wound that will yield strife for all eternity. If I seem angry and frustrated, it is only because most of my countrymen - and all of the government - cannot see this writing so plainly on the wall.
It is well known that I was on two occasions brutally assaulted, while on another my house was sprayed with machine-gun fire. Despite the government's sanctimonious assurances, there was never a serious police inquiry into the perpetrators of these attacks, and the attackers were never apprehended. In all these cases, I have reason to believe the attacks were inspired by the government. When finally I am killed, it will be the government that kills me.
The irony in this is that, unknown to most of the public, Mahinda and I have been friends for more than a quarter century. Indeed, I suspect that I am one of the few people remaining who routinely addresses him by his first name and uses the familiar Sinhala address oya when talking to him. Although I do not attend the meetings he periodically holds for newspaper editors, hardly a month passes when we do not meet, privately or with a few close friends present, late at night at President's House. There we swap yarns, discuss politics and joke about the good old days. A few remarks to him would therefore be in order here.
Mahinda, when you finally fought your way to the SLFP presidential nomination in 2005, nowhere were you welcomed more warmly than in this column. Indeed, we broke with a decade of tradition by referring to you throughout by your first name. So well known were your commitments to human rights and liberal values that we ushered you in like a breath of fresh air. Then, through an act of folly, you got yourself involved in the Helping Hambantota scandal. It was after a lot of soul-searching that we broke the story, at the same time urging you to return the money. By the time you did so several weeks later, a great blow had been struck to your reputation. It is one you are still trying to live down.
You have told me yourself that you were not greedy for the presidency. You did not have to hanker after it: it fell into your lap. You have told me that your sons are your greatest joy, and that you love spending time with them, leaving your brothers to operate the machinery of state. Now, it is clear to all who will see that that machinery has operated so well that my sons and daughter do not themselves have a father.
In the wake of my death I know you will make all the usual sanctimonious noises and call upon the police to hold a swift and thorough inquiry. But like all the inquiries you have ordered in the past, nothing will come of this one, too. For truth be told, we both know who will be behind my death, but dare not call his name. Not just my life, but yours too, depends on it.
Sadly, for all the dreams you had for our country in your younger days, in just three years you have reduced it to rubble. In the name of patriotism you have trampled on human rights, nurtured unbridled corruption and squandered public money like no other President before you. Indeed, your conduct has been like a small child suddenly let loose in a toyshop. That analogy is perhaps inapt because no child could have caused so much blood to be spilled on this land as you have, or trampled on the rights of its citizens as you do. Although you are now so drunk with power that you cannot see it, you will come to regret your sons having so rich an inheritance of blood. It can only bring tragedy. As for me, it is with a clear conscience that I go to meet my Maker. I wish, when your time finally comes, you could do the same. I wish.
As for me, I have the satisfaction of knowing that I walked tall and bowed to no man. And I have not travelled this journey alone. Fellow journalists in other branches of the media walked with me: most of them are now dead, imprisoned without trial or exiled in far-off lands. Others walk in the shadow of death that your Presidency has cast on the freedoms for which you once fought so hard. You will never be allowed to forget that my death took place under your watch. As anguished as I know you will be, I also know that you will have no choice but to protect my killers: you will see to it that the guilty one is never convicted. You have no choice. I feel sorry for you, and Shiranthi will have a long time to spend on her knees when next she goes for Confession for it is not just her owns sins which she must confess, but those of her extended family that keeps you in office.
As for the readers of The Sunday Leader, what can I say but Thank You for supporting our mission. We have espoused unpopular causes, stood up for those too feeble to stand up for themselves, locked horns with the high and mighty so swollen with power that they have forgotten their roots, exposed corruption and the waste of your hard-earned tax rupees, and made sure that whatever the propaganda of the day, you were allowed to hear a contrary view. For this I - and my family - have now paid the price that I have long known I will one day have to pay. I am - and have always been - ready for that. I have done nothing to prevent this outcome: no security, no precautions. I want my murderer to know that I am not a coward like he is, hiding behind human shields while condemning thousands of innocents to death. What am I among so many? It has long been written that my life would be taken, and by whom. All that remains to be written is when.
That The Sunday Leader will continue fighting the good fight, too, is written. For I did not fight this fight alone. Many more of us have to be - and will be - killed before The Leader is laid to rest. I hope my assassination will be seen not as a defeat of freedom but an inspiration for those who survive to step up their efforts. Indeed, I hope that it will help galvanise forces that will usher in a new era of human liberty in our beloved motherland. I also hope it will open the eyes of your President to the fact that however many are slaughtered in the name of patriotism, the human spirit will endure and flourish. Not all the Rajapakses combined can kill that.
People often ask me why I take such risks and tell me it is a matter of time before I am bumped off. Of course I know that: it is inevitable. But if we do not speak out now, there will be no one left to speak for those who cannot, whether they be ethnic minorities, the disadvantaged or the persecuted. An example that has inspired me throughout my career in journalism has been that of the German theologian, Martin Niem"ller. In his youth he was an anti-Semite and an admirer of Hitler. As Nazism took hold in Germany, however, he saw Nazism for what it was: it was not just the Jews Hitler sought to extirpate, it was just about anyone with an alternate point of view. Niem"ller spoke out, and for his trouble was incarcerated in the Sachsenhausen and Dachau concentration camps from 1937 to 1945, and very nearly executed. While incarcerated, Niem"ller wrote a poem that, from the first time I read it in my teenage years, stuck hauntingly in my mind:
First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left to speak out for me.
If you remember nothing else, remember this: The Leader is there for you, be you Sinhalese, Tamil, Muslim, low-caste, homosexual, dissident or disabled. Its staff will fight on, unbowed and unafraid, with the courage to which you have become accustomed. Do not take that commitment for granted. Let there be no doubt that whatever sacrifices we journalists make, they are not made for our own glory or enrichment: they are made for you. Whether you deserve their sacrifice is another matter. As for me, God knows I tried.
---
*sigh* definitely, blog worthy.
A lot has been happening in Sri Lanka. More so than usual. SL is a country where you could lose your life for more than one reason - none which would resonate with a rational human being. Being a controversial journalist, albeit a brave and courageous one, is similar to drawing a massive red target on yourself. Your lease on life is exactly that - a lease. One that can be terminated at any given moment by either side.
That's what happened to Lasantha.
Lasantha Wickrematunge, 50, was stabbed and shot to death in broad daylight last Friday (Jan 9th) as he drove to work at The Sunday Leader, the liberal Colombo-based newspaper he edited. As most people in his position, he knew that the work he did would eventually catch up to him considering the climate of his contextual existence. In preparation, he wrote his own eulogy. I've attached it below, for memories sake.
I wasn't going to blog about this. Mostly because his murder does not afflict the bubble in which I exist. And in true human fashion, if something doesn't directly impact my life - it's worthy of a few ummm's, ahh's and cursory remarks - but then it's brushed aside to make way for the really important things in my life. Like sales for instance - JCrew is having one (extra 20% off their already marked down stuff), obsessing over driving in the snow, the conundrum of which flick is worthy of a sunday matinee date or the Obama fever that does impact my mostly placid Canadian existence.
Superficial? Totally.
But is it real? Do we all do this? Absolutely.
Does that make it right? Absolutely Not.
Perhaps now is a good time to get someone to change that freaking bulb so the switch can finally go on.
I have always had an incredibly organic relationship with SL. It's like a set of behaviors neatly labeled and set aside for the right time and the right place. It emerges, rumbling awake from it's dormant state, at the strangest triggers. I still haven't figured this part of my life out.
I'm constantly questioned about my ethnicity. I'm not tamil enough for the tamil folk. Not Sri Lankan enough for the Sinhalese folk. Not brown enough to exist anywhere wholly. I seem to be part of that generation that's caught between different worlds. Constantly defining my culture. Consistently trying to prove that I am in fact worthy of my nationalities. And it's tiring. The tread marks of getting run over by skeptics, at every turn, is starting to slow the mojo down. I can't get over how often I've tried to be "more" of something to no avail. It always comes down to the fact that I'm too white, too Canadian, too disengaged, too far gone - to belong. To any one place - fully.
And somewhere in my twenties it clicked.
All I have to do is be me. And I will be as Sri Lankan and as Canadian as only I can. And that is okay. It doesn't matter if I fit their definition - because nobody walks in my shoes - except me. Simple I know - but for me, it's been a journey. well, more like an uphill battle...not that I'm bitter about it or anything ;)
Like others, my perspective of the world is built on the views of my past. And my past is firmly rooted in the happenings of a broken Sri Lanka. One day, I hope to be able to explain this journey that I've witnessed, perhaps even allude to how it started and the cost of this internal war on our people. Most importantly, one day, I hope to understand it. One day...I'm sure there are lots of us, who feel this way about a lot of things. And in the spirit of that, I wanted to document this event more for myself than for anyone else.
---
'And Then They Came For Me'
By Lasantha Wickrematunge
NO other profession calls on its practitioners to lay down their lives for their art save the armed forces and, in Sri Lanka, journalism. In the course of the past few years, the independent media have increasingly come under attack. Electronic and print-media institutions have been burnt, bombed, sealed and coerced. Countless journalists have been harassed, threatened and killed. It has been my honour to belong to all those categories and now especially the last.
I have been in the business of journalism a good long time. Indeed, 2009 will be The Sunday Leader's 15th year. Many things have changed in Sri Lanka during that time, and it does not need me to tell you that the greater part of that change has been for the worse. We find ourselves in the midst of a civil war ruthlessly prosecuted by protagonists whose bloodlust knows no bounds. Terror, whether perpetrated by terrorists or the state, has become the order of the day. Indeed, murder has become the primary tool whereby the state seeks to control the organs of liberty. Today it is the journalists, tomorrow it will be the judges. For neither group have the risks ever been higher or the stakes lower.
Why then do we do it? I often wonder that. After all, I too am a husband, and the father of three wonderful children. I too have responsibilities and obligations that transcend my profession, be it the law or journalism. Is it worth the risk? Many people tell me it is not. Friends tell me to revert to the bar, and goodness knows it offers a better and safer livelihood. Others, including political leaders on both sides, have at various times sought to induce me to take to politics, going so far as to offer me ministries of my choice. Diplomats, recognising the risk journalists face in Sri Lanka, have offered me safe passage and the right of residence in their countries. Whatever else I may have been stuck for, I have not been stuck for choice.
But there is a calling that is yet above high office, fame, lucre and security. It is the call of conscience.
The Sunday Leader has been a controversial newspaper because we say it like we see it: whether it be a spade, a thief or a murderer, we call it by that name. We do not hide behind euphemism. The investigative articles we print are supported by documentary evidence thanks to the public-spiritedness of citizens who at great risk to themselves pass on this material to us. We have exposed scandal after scandal, and never once in these 15 years has anyone proved us wrong or successfully prosecuted us.
The free media serve as a mirror in which the public can see itself sans mascara and styling gel. From us you learn the state of your nation, and especially its management by the people you elected to give your children a better future. Sometimes the image you see in that mirror is not a pleasant one. But while you may grumble in the privacy of your armchair, the journalists who hold the mirror up to you do so publicly and at great risk to themselves. That is our calling, and we do not shirk it.
Every newspaper has its angle, and we do not hide the fact that we have ours. Our commitment is to see Sri Lanka as a transparent, secular, liberal democracy. Think about those words, for they each has profound meaning. Transparent because government must be openly accountable to the people and never abuse their trust. Secular because in a multi-ethnic and multi-cultural society such as ours, secularism offers the only common ground by which we might all be united. Liberal because we recognise that all human beings are created different, and we need to accept others for what they are and not what we would like them to be. And democratic... well, if you need me to explain why that is important, you'd best stop buying this paper.
The Sunday Leader has never sought safety by unquestioningly articulating the majority view. Let's face it, that is the way to sell newspapers. On the contrary, as our opinion pieces over the years amply demonstrate, we often voice ideas that many people find distasteful. For example, we have consistently espoused the view that while separatist terrorism must be eradicated, it is more important to address the root causes of terrorism, and urged government to view Sri Lanka's ethnic strife in the context of history and not through the telescope of terrorism. We have also agitated against state terrorism in the so-called war against terror, and made no secret of our horror that Sri Lanka is the only country in the world routinely to bomb its own citizens. For these views we have been labelled traitors, and if this be treachery, we wear that label proudly.
Many people suspect that The Sunday Leader has a political agenda: it does not. If we appear more critical of the government than of the opposition it is only because we believe that - pray excuse cricketing argot - there is no point in bowling to the fielding side. Remember that for the few years of our existence in which the UNP was in office, we proved to be the biggest thorn in its flesh, exposing excess and corruption wherever it occurred. Indeed, the steady stream of embarrassing expos‚s we published may well have served to precipitate the downfall of that government.
Neither should our distaste for the war be interpreted to mean that we support the Tigers. The LTTE are among the most ruthless and bloodthirsty organisations ever to have infested the planet. There is no gainsaying that it must be eradicated. But to do so by violating the rights of Tamil citizens, bombing and shooting them mercilessly, is not only wrong but shames the Sinhalese, whose claim to be custodians of the dhamma is forever called into question by this savagery, much of which is unknown to the public because of censorship.
What is more, a military occupation of the country's north and east will require the Tamil people of those regions to live eternally as second-class citizens, deprived of all self respect. Do not imagine that you can placate them by showering "development" and "reconstruction" on them in the post-war era. The wounds of war will scar them forever, and you will also have an even more bitter and hateful Diaspora to contend with. A problem amenable to a political solution will thus become a festering wound that will yield strife for all eternity. If I seem angry and frustrated, it is only because most of my countrymen - and all of the government - cannot see this writing so plainly on the wall.
It is well known that I was on two occasions brutally assaulted, while on another my house was sprayed with machine-gun fire. Despite the government's sanctimonious assurances, there was never a serious police inquiry into the perpetrators of these attacks, and the attackers were never apprehended. In all these cases, I have reason to believe the attacks were inspired by the government. When finally I am killed, it will be the government that kills me.
The irony in this is that, unknown to most of the public, Mahinda and I have been friends for more than a quarter century. Indeed, I suspect that I am one of the few people remaining who routinely addresses him by his first name and uses the familiar Sinhala address oya when talking to him. Although I do not attend the meetings he periodically holds for newspaper editors, hardly a month passes when we do not meet, privately or with a few close friends present, late at night at President's House. There we swap yarns, discuss politics and joke about the good old days. A few remarks to him would therefore be in order here.
Mahinda, when you finally fought your way to the SLFP presidential nomination in 2005, nowhere were you welcomed more warmly than in this column. Indeed, we broke with a decade of tradition by referring to you throughout by your first name. So well known were your commitments to human rights and liberal values that we ushered you in like a breath of fresh air. Then, through an act of folly, you got yourself involved in the Helping Hambantota scandal. It was after a lot of soul-searching that we broke the story, at the same time urging you to return the money. By the time you did so several weeks later, a great blow had been struck to your reputation. It is one you are still trying to live down.
You have told me yourself that you were not greedy for the presidency. You did not have to hanker after it: it fell into your lap. You have told me that your sons are your greatest joy, and that you love spending time with them, leaving your brothers to operate the machinery of state. Now, it is clear to all who will see that that machinery has operated so well that my sons and daughter do not themselves have a father.
In the wake of my death I know you will make all the usual sanctimonious noises and call upon the police to hold a swift and thorough inquiry. But like all the inquiries you have ordered in the past, nothing will come of this one, too. For truth be told, we both know who will be behind my death, but dare not call his name. Not just my life, but yours too, depends on it.
Sadly, for all the dreams you had for our country in your younger days, in just three years you have reduced it to rubble. In the name of patriotism you have trampled on human rights, nurtured unbridled corruption and squandered public money like no other President before you. Indeed, your conduct has been like a small child suddenly let loose in a toyshop. That analogy is perhaps inapt because no child could have caused so much blood to be spilled on this land as you have, or trampled on the rights of its citizens as you do. Although you are now so drunk with power that you cannot see it, you will come to regret your sons having so rich an inheritance of blood. It can only bring tragedy. As for me, it is with a clear conscience that I go to meet my Maker. I wish, when your time finally comes, you could do the same. I wish.
As for me, I have the satisfaction of knowing that I walked tall and bowed to no man. And I have not travelled this journey alone. Fellow journalists in other branches of the media walked with me: most of them are now dead, imprisoned without trial or exiled in far-off lands. Others walk in the shadow of death that your Presidency has cast on the freedoms for which you once fought so hard. You will never be allowed to forget that my death took place under your watch. As anguished as I know you will be, I also know that you will have no choice but to protect my killers: you will see to it that the guilty one is never convicted. You have no choice. I feel sorry for you, and Shiranthi will have a long time to spend on her knees when next she goes for Confession for it is not just her owns sins which she must confess, but those of her extended family that keeps you in office.
As for the readers of The Sunday Leader, what can I say but Thank You for supporting our mission. We have espoused unpopular causes, stood up for those too feeble to stand up for themselves, locked horns with the high and mighty so swollen with power that they have forgotten their roots, exposed corruption and the waste of your hard-earned tax rupees, and made sure that whatever the propaganda of the day, you were allowed to hear a contrary view. For this I - and my family - have now paid the price that I have long known I will one day have to pay. I am - and have always been - ready for that. I have done nothing to prevent this outcome: no security, no precautions. I want my murderer to know that I am not a coward like he is, hiding behind human shields while condemning thousands of innocents to death. What am I among so many? It has long been written that my life would be taken, and by whom. All that remains to be written is when.
That The Sunday Leader will continue fighting the good fight, too, is written. For I did not fight this fight alone. Many more of us have to be - and will be - killed before The Leader is laid to rest. I hope my assassination will be seen not as a defeat of freedom but an inspiration for those who survive to step up their efforts. Indeed, I hope that it will help galvanise forces that will usher in a new era of human liberty in our beloved motherland. I also hope it will open the eyes of your President to the fact that however many are slaughtered in the name of patriotism, the human spirit will endure and flourish. Not all the Rajapakses combined can kill that.
People often ask me why I take such risks and tell me it is a matter of time before I am bumped off. Of course I know that: it is inevitable. But if we do not speak out now, there will be no one left to speak for those who cannot, whether they be ethnic minorities, the disadvantaged or the persecuted. An example that has inspired me throughout my career in journalism has been that of the German theologian, Martin Niem"ller. In his youth he was an anti-Semite and an admirer of Hitler. As Nazism took hold in Germany, however, he saw Nazism for what it was: it was not just the Jews Hitler sought to extirpate, it was just about anyone with an alternate point of view. Niem"ller spoke out, and for his trouble was incarcerated in the Sachsenhausen and Dachau concentration camps from 1937 to 1945, and very nearly executed. While incarcerated, Niem"ller wrote a poem that, from the first time I read it in my teenage years, stuck hauntingly in my mind:
First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left to speak out for me.
If you remember nothing else, remember this: The Leader is there for you, be you Sinhalese, Tamil, Muslim, low-caste, homosexual, dissident or disabled. Its staff will fight on, unbowed and unafraid, with the courage to which you have become accustomed. Do not take that commitment for granted. Let there be no doubt that whatever sacrifices we journalists make, they are not made for our own glory or enrichment: they are made for you. Whether you deserve their sacrifice is another matter. As for me, God knows I tried.
---
*sigh* definitely, blog worthy.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
"Happy Pongal..
wishing you and your family all the best" the email said.
And that's when i realized that crikey, once again my brown self had misplaced a date. Mind you, here Pongal is nothing like it is back in India. I don't really remember too many Pongal's in Sri Lanka either. There's only one that stands out. But in India, it's a week filled with religious debauchery.
--::-- The only memorable Pongal in Sri Lanka --::--
I must have been about 7 . I say this without the conviction of factual knowledge, because much like most Sri Lankan children brutally severed from their pasts, I don’t have too many childhood tangibles that traveled with us. The one picture I remember seeing had both my grandparents in it - so it must have been '85 or '86.
Because SHE passed away in ’86 leaving a void that never managed to get filled. Despite our best efforts.
The morning air carried with it the scent of sea salt. And the sullen promise of unpredictability. I can still recall the symphony of the torrential downpour from the night before, leaving everything vibrating in dew as dawn squeaked past it and wiped the slate clean. Water, it cleanses everything in it’s path.
A profound insight, I couldn’t wait to share.
I remember climbing on thatha’s brown leather chair to peek out the window. Yup, there they were. Curled into themselves, shielding their fleshy pink faces from the sudden downpour of stinging hot rain. The lotus’ were her favorite. I used to think the pond existed just so that they had a home. She loved us all that wholly.
My Chithi sauntered out, wrapped in a white sari, the colour earmarked for mourning by Hindu’s. Maybe she knew, subconsciously, that the end was in fact, grazing against the bubble that we lived in – slowly and most certainly eating away at the protective membrane they’d taken years to cultivate. White was just that. The signal that as one thing ends, another inevitably begins.
Our ayah’s with the help of our butler had tied tall moist stalks of sugarcane to the sides of our gate with other Pongal decorations, leaves folded on a taunt twine line, creating a haveli of sorts. I don’t recall 75 IBC road, ever looking that un-Buddhist. My grandparents, Hindu by birth, had always worn their Buddhist affinities on their sleeves. They embraced it, clinging to a way of life they had adopted when they had bought that piece of land. It was their Tamil, Hindu blood that helped build the Buddhist temple across the street from our house – both financially and physically. But on Pongal day, we were Hindu and damn proud of it.
So this was indeed a special occasion. I recall scurrying around the bricks, careful to tuck in my toes, and the two mischief filled toddlers (my sisters), when they got too close to the edge of the driveway./< Of the round clay pot>/< Of life>.
I busied myself helping light a fire so our pot of blessings can overflow with goodwill and signal the beginning of a new year. I don’t recall much else other than the sound of firecrackers, the milky sweetness of kiri bath, the tingling of lunu miris and the details of the house. Strangely, my surroundings seem to have etched themselves with permanent ink against the building blocks of my childhood. But for the life of me, I can’t recall the details of the people around me.
It’s probably because by the time I was 7, I had already lived too many lifetimes; been on too many journeys. And had much more information to process than my brain was anticipating.
And that’s why I regret the one thing my folks regret the most. The gaping void of having a sparse visual history. All our baby pictures were burned in a fire. I know it wasn’t in the ’83 riots – I don’t think. But to me, it might as well have been. Sri Lanka and our lives finally mirrored each other. We all started anew after that event and our lives began on fresh slates clouded by the memories of too much lost.
Maybe that’s why I’m so camera-happy these days, much to the displeasure of my crew. I carry my lil’ canon around more often than my phone. I have this inherent, fanatical need to document everything. Because to me, pictures paint a thousand words – especially when memory fails and words have a way of recreating themselves.
Which I’m starting to realize more and more, on a first hand basis.
That one photo captured everything- pre.cisely.
My thatha stands by the overflowing pot, wearing a traditional white sarong and a white shirt, he normally reserved for political meetings or his jaunts to the temple across the street. My sisters were in his arms, proudly on display for the singular gaze of an unflinching camera lens. It’s almost like he knew that one day, this would be a defining piece of evidence that we’d re-visit a hundred times, in the hopes of deciphering our past.
And I was there by his side, as I often was. Positioned, slyly. Half-hidden behind him, my features pulled together in an expression of unadulterated defiance. But towards what, I can’t recall. Maybe it was the knowledge that I would soon be placed firmly on an aircraft – sent back to where I rightfully belonged – at boarding school.
Wow. It always astounds me when something tickles a niche of my brain and it throws up memories that it can’t contain any longer. That’s particularly why I have this space – not because I assume that what I have to say is of any interest to anyone – but because, I realize how fast my childhood memories are being replaced by other ones.
It’s almost like being pushed off a conveyor belt – eventually something’s got to give.
--::--
I wish I could say Pongal '09 was as eventful as the ones from my childhood. This year, I spent it freezing my kundi off in -39 type temperatures. Everything seemed to go wrong yesterday – from the traffic to the terrific mushroom & spinach stuffed chicken. I said a silent prayer – not because I have anything to harvest but because at one point in time, this day, was yet another reason for me to return home.
No matter, I will see my fam in less than 48 hours.
w00t w00t.
And that's when i realized that crikey, once again my brown self had misplaced a date. Mind you, here Pongal is nothing like it is back in India. I don't really remember too many Pongal's in Sri Lanka either. There's only one that stands out. But in India, it's a week filled with religious debauchery.
--::-- The only memorable Pongal in Sri Lanka --::--
I must have been about 7 . I say this without the conviction of factual knowledge, because much like most Sri Lankan children brutally severed from their pasts, I don’t have too many childhood tangibles that traveled with us. The one picture I remember seeing had both my grandparents in it - so it must have been '85 or '86.
Because SHE passed away in ’86 leaving a void that never managed to get filled. Despite our best efforts.
The morning air carried with it the scent of sea salt. And the sullen promise of unpredictability. I can still recall the symphony of the torrential downpour from the night before, leaving everything vibrating in dew as dawn squeaked past it and wiped the slate clean. Water, it cleanses everything in it’s path.
A profound insight, I couldn’t wait to share.
I remember climbing on thatha’s brown leather chair to peek out the window. Yup, there they were. Curled into themselves, shielding their fleshy pink faces from the sudden downpour of stinging hot rain. The lotus’ were her favorite. I used to think the pond existed just so that they had a home. She loved us all that wholly.
My Chithi sauntered out, wrapped in a white sari, the colour earmarked for mourning by Hindu’s. Maybe she knew, subconsciously, that the end was in fact, grazing against the bubble that we lived in – slowly and most certainly eating away at the protective membrane they’d taken years to cultivate. White was just that. The signal that as one thing ends, another inevitably begins.
Our ayah’s with the help of our butler had tied tall moist stalks of sugarcane to the sides of our gate with other Pongal decorations, leaves folded on a taunt twine line, creating a haveli of sorts. I don’t recall 75 IBC road, ever looking that un-Buddhist. My grandparents, Hindu by birth, had always worn their Buddhist affinities on their sleeves. They embraced it, clinging to a way of life they had adopted when they had bought that piece of land. It was their Tamil, Hindu blood that helped build the Buddhist temple across the street from our house – both financially and physically. But on Pongal day, we were Hindu and damn proud of it.
So this was indeed a special occasion. I recall scurrying around the bricks, careful to tuck in my toes, and the two mischief filled toddlers (my sisters), when they got too close to the edge of the driveway.
I busied myself helping light a fire so our pot of blessings can overflow with goodwill and signal the beginning of a new year. I don’t recall much else other than the sound of firecrackers, the milky sweetness of kiri bath, the tingling of lunu miris and the details of the house. Strangely, my surroundings seem to have etched themselves with permanent ink against the building blocks of my childhood. But for the life of me, I can’t recall the details of the people around me.
It’s probably because by the time I was 7, I had already lived too many lifetimes; been on too many journeys. And had much more information to process than my brain was anticipating.
And that’s why I regret the one thing my folks regret the most. The gaping void of having a sparse visual history. All our baby pictures were burned in a fire. I know it wasn’t in the ’83 riots – I don’t think. But to me, it might as well have been. Sri Lanka and our lives finally mirrored each other. We all started anew after that event and our lives began on fresh slates clouded by the memories of too much lost.
Maybe that’s why I’m so camera-happy these days, much to the displeasure of my crew. I carry my lil’ canon around more often than my phone. I have this inherent, fanatical need to document everything. Because to me, pictures paint a thousand words – especially when memory fails and words have a way of recreating themselves.
Which I’m starting to realize more and more, on a first hand basis.
That one photo captured everything- pre.cisely.
My thatha stands by the overflowing pot, wearing a traditional white sarong and a white shirt, he normally reserved for political meetings or his jaunts to the temple across the street. My sisters were in his arms, proudly on display for the singular gaze of an unflinching camera lens. It’s almost like he knew that one day, this would be a defining piece of evidence that we’d re-visit a hundred times, in the hopes of deciphering our past.
And I was there by his side, as I often was. Positioned, slyly. Half-hidden behind him, my features pulled together in an expression of unadulterated defiance. But towards what, I can’t recall. Maybe it was the knowledge that I would soon be placed firmly on an aircraft – sent back to where I rightfully belonged – at boarding school.
Wow. It always astounds me when something tickles a niche of my brain and it throws up memories that it can’t contain any longer. That’s particularly why I have this space – not because I assume that what I have to say is of any interest to anyone – but because, I realize how fast my childhood memories are being replaced by other ones.
It’s almost like being pushed off a conveyor belt – eventually something’s got to give.
--::--
I wish I could say Pongal '09 was as eventful as the ones from my childhood. This year, I spent it freezing my kundi off in -39 type temperatures. Everything seemed to go wrong yesterday – from the traffic to the terrific mushroom & spinach stuffed chicken. I said a silent prayer – not because I have anything to harvest but because at one point in time, this day, was yet another reason for me to return home.
No matter, I will see my fam in less than 48 hours.
w00t w00t.
he
loves me so.
boys are always a mystery - no matter, their age, ethnicity or any of the other socio-economic or educational factors that play into it.
but you know, you've got a lot of something special when he willing braves -39 temperatures so you can get dropped off right outside your workplace.
i heart his "actions speak louder than words" kinda love.
for right now.
tomorrow? that's a different story.
--
MINUS THIRTY NINE.
*sigh*
today, is a blue day.
and by that i mean, my fingers are slowly turning a shade of frost bitten blue.
and yes, sadly, i am inside an apparently heated office.
thank god i love my job.
--
boys are always a mystery - no matter, their age, ethnicity or any of the other socio-economic or educational factors that play into it.
but you know, you've got a lot of something special when he willing braves -39 temperatures so you can get dropped off right outside your workplace.
i heart his "actions speak louder than words" kinda love.
for right now.
tomorrow? that's a different story.
--
MINUS THIRTY NINE.
*sigh*
today, is a blue day.
and by that i mean, my fingers are slowly turning a shade of frost bitten blue.
and yes, sadly, i am inside an apparently heated office.
thank god i love my job.
--
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
everyday
i CHOOSE to love him.
which goes beyond simply being in love with someone. it transcends the glittery sheen of romance that often blinds the frail minded. it wafts beyond the boundaries of butterfly wings and clouds parting and aria's engulfing your soul. it spits in the face of acceptance and embraces one verb - completely. it becomes exactly what it is.
A. Choice.
And I choose in a thousand small ways to love him, every day. I'm fairly certain he's oblivious to this - I'm also pretty sure that he'd be appalled if he knew how carefully my mind scrutinizes our relationship. I've had too many friends venture into love affairs that became minefields trapping them in the cobwebs of their self-manufactured fairy tales. Idealistic and blinded by expectations they were unaware of harboring - what do you call your spirit when it reaches around you and stabs you in the back? And in the essence of once bitten, twice shy - I've learned from mistakes that while not my own, still ripped a tendril from my central artery and whisked it away in the name of empathy.
And now, it's second nature to me. The irony in this is that I. am. THAT. commit.ment. phobe. My spirit refuses to believe that there's only one of anything - ever. My heart refuses to buy into the notion of forever and ever. My brain constantly whispers hurried warnings, lest the world hears the words in my head. But somewhere along the way in the last 19 months - something shifted.
In the last 19 months I've grown into a relationship that is more adult-like than i had ever hoped to experience. A relationship that I treasure not as the most prominent one in my life - but as one that is irreplaceable by any other. I unintentionally watch what I say. My usually forceful tongue holds itself back, willfully. I subconsciously accept small concessions because I realize the absolute greatness of what we have. I concede defeat in petty arguments because it's not worth fighting any more when I know that what awaits me on the other side of forgiveness is joy. And all of this happens without my permission. And I forget the small misgivings and disappointments - my mind doesn't cling to those grudges as it once would have. I treat him like I treat my family.
did someone turn a light on?
I recently took off my wedding ring. Not because it was a nuisance, as I once anticipated it would be. But because I felt my finger was suffocating within it's confines. I was growing around it. Think finger spillage - i had finger fat happening people and it was starting to look quite alarming. So without a second thought, i slid it off my finger and put it away.
Now a while ago, someone told me, in passing, that the reason you wear your wedding band on your left hand is because there is a nerve that connects your ring finger to your heart. Not sure how true it is - but in my mind, it must've found a spot and made itself a home.
Because ever since I took it off, whenever I moved my finger - my heart would physically hurt. Ridiculous much? I know! But no joke, every time my finger would bend, I would feel a physical tug somewhere in my arterial region.
So i put it back on for fear that my psychosis was slowly but surely breaking me down - mentally and now, physically. I'm diabetic people, I can't afford to take these types of chances.
It's amazing what your mind does when your heart is ready to let go. He is right - never will he be my own. Never, will I, the holder of bonds, ever let go of those I consider mine - to let, him in. But somewhere, I guess my heart grew up and grew past it's 5-year-old mentality and accepted one thing: I chose him. He is indeed my most favorite stranger. And for him, I would move mountains to make sure he's okay. As long as he isn't aware of that fact, that is.
Love is an easy word to speak. I say it often and much about shoes, a great cup of coffee, a delicious book. But this type of marital love is work. Just like my relationship with my family is. It's only as beautiful and multi-textured as it is because we all pull our weight - we all pitch in- and we all stand steadfastly behind each other. And now, I have that with him. I'm so blessed in so many ways - that sometimes, I wonder... *sigh*
Clarity is a funny thing - because it always escapes you when you need it the most. But this time I got lucky - in case I forget how awesome I have it - all I'll ever have to do is take off my wedding band to know my heart has found yet another corner to call, home.
okay, you can gag now. I think I just did.
A pretty sappy second post of the day. I'd like to blame the lack of oxygen in my office for this vomit-inducing post. And the fact that it's freezing cold means I can't venture out into the world of self-indulgence. Hence the introspection. Now, it's time to get back to work. Goodnight and until tomorrow.
which goes beyond simply being in love with someone. it transcends the glittery sheen of romance that often blinds the frail minded. it wafts beyond the boundaries of butterfly wings and clouds parting and aria's engulfing your soul. it spits in the face of acceptance and embraces one verb - completely. it becomes exactly what it is.
A. Choice.
And I choose in a thousand small ways to love him, every day. I'm fairly certain he's oblivious to this - I'm also pretty sure that he'd be appalled if he knew how carefully my mind scrutinizes our relationship. I've had too many friends venture into love affairs that became minefields trapping them in the cobwebs of their self-manufactured fairy tales. Idealistic and blinded by expectations they were unaware of harboring - what do you call your spirit when it reaches around you and stabs you in the back? And in the essence of once bitten, twice shy - I've learned from mistakes that while not my own, still ripped a tendril from my central artery and whisked it away in the name of empathy.
And now, it's second nature to me. The irony in this is that I. am. THAT. commit.ment. phobe. My spirit refuses to believe that there's only one of anything - ever. My heart refuses to buy into the notion of forever and ever. My brain constantly whispers hurried warnings, lest the world hears the words in my head. But somewhere along the way in the last 19 months - something shifted.
In the last 19 months I've grown into a relationship that is more adult-like than i had ever hoped to experience. A relationship that I treasure not as the most prominent one in my life - but as one that is irreplaceable by any other. I unintentionally watch what I say. My usually forceful tongue holds itself back, willfully. I subconsciously accept small concessions because I realize the absolute greatness of what we have. I concede defeat in petty arguments because it's not worth fighting any more when I know that what awaits me on the other side of forgiveness is joy. And all of this happens without my permission. And I forget the small misgivings and disappointments - my mind doesn't cling to those grudges as it once would have. I treat him like I treat my family.
did someone turn a light on?
I recently took off my wedding ring. Not because it was a nuisance, as I once anticipated it would be. But because I felt my finger was suffocating within it's confines. I was growing around it. Think finger spillage - i had finger fat happening people and it was starting to look quite alarming. So without a second thought, i slid it off my finger and put it away.
Now a while ago, someone told me, in passing, that the reason you wear your wedding band on your left hand is because there is a nerve that connects your ring finger to your heart. Not sure how true it is - but in my mind, it must've found a spot and made itself a home.
Because ever since I took it off, whenever I moved my finger - my heart would physically hurt. Ridiculous much? I know! But no joke, every time my finger would bend, I would feel a physical tug somewhere in my arterial region.
So i put it back on for fear that my psychosis was slowly but surely breaking me down - mentally and now, physically. I'm diabetic people, I can't afford to take these types of chances.
It's amazing what your mind does when your heart is ready to let go. He is right - never will he be my own. Never, will I, the holder of bonds, ever let go of those I consider mine - to let, him in. But somewhere, I guess my heart grew up and grew past it's 5-year-old mentality and accepted one thing: I chose him. He is indeed my most favorite stranger. And for him, I would move mountains to make sure he's okay. As long as he isn't aware of that fact, that is.
Love is an easy word to speak. I say it often and much about shoes, a great cup of coffee, a delicious book. But this type of marital love is work. Just like my relationship with my family is. It's only as beautiful and multi-textured as it is because we all pull our weight - we all pitch in- and we all stand steadfastly behind each other. And now, I have that with him. I'm so blessed in so many ways - that sometimes, I wonder... *sigh*
Clarity is a funny thing - because it always escapes you when you need it the most. But this time I got lucky - in case I forget how awesome I have it - all I'll ever have to do is take off my wedding band to know my heart has found yet another corner to call, home.
okay, you can gag now. I think I just did.
A pretty sappy second post of the day. I'd like to blame the lack of oxygen in my office for this vomit-inducing post. And the fact that it's freezing cold means I can't venture out into the world of self-indulgence. Hence the introspection. Now, it's time to get back to work. Goodnight and until tomorrow.
The great white north...
got its name for a reason.
And I am paying the price for a decision my parents made 18 years ago.
I am freezing in my little office.
Tucked away in a weathered brick building nestled in the heart of Toronto's Distillery District, I find myself hating this wintery weather even more so than years past. You see, outside my little green windows is a scene straight out of Dickens - softly falling snow, wrought iron gates, cobble stone pathways, winter-friendly flora strategically placed to brighten up the place and of course, the steady flame of antique street lamps. In fact, I live in a novel. Across the street from my building is an English Bakery with authentic EVERYTHING! Envy-inducing? Please, don't let it be.
Get a couple inches closer to that window and cast your eyes downward and you'll notice people slipping and sliding around, ice firmly lodged in-between those charming cobble stones and of course the slush left behind by throngs of foot-traffic.
Beauty comes with it's own price. In this case, a mighty hefty one. Right now, I would willingly trade in my little piece of Dickens to be in the heart of downtown Toronto, in a massive cube-farm, all toasty and warm.
If anyone is willing to do a trade - please do let me know. My only caveat: I only do advertising. Which i realize could limit my trade options :)
Tonight - it's supposed to hit -21 and will feel more like -35.
Y.A.Y. M.E.
Every winter, I wish the same god darn thing. I wish i was back in Sri Lanka - a land fraught with political uncertainty - yes. But, a land enveloped in tropical heat with everything I hold dear - like sun, sand and clear blue seas.
*sigh* it's Tuesday folks and it's time to get back to work.
And I am paying the price for a decision my parents made 18 years ago.
I am freezing in my little office.
Tucked away in a weathered brick building nestled in the heart of Toronto's Distillery District, I find myself hating this wintery weather even more so than years past. You see, outside my little green windows is a scene straight out of Dickens - softly falling snow, wrought iron gates, cobble stone pathways, winter-friendly flora strategically placed to brighten up the place and of course, the steady flame of antique street lamps. In fact, I live in a novel. Across the street from my building is an English Bakery with authentic EVERYTHING! Envy-inducing? Please, don't let it be.
Get a couple inches closer to that window and cast your eyes downward and you'll notice people slipping and sliding around, ice firmly lodged in-between those charming cobble stones and of course the slush left behind by throngs of foot-traffic.
Beauty comes with it's own price. In this case, a mighty hefty one. Right now, I would willingly trade in my little piece of Dickens to be in the heart of downtown Toronto, in a massive cube-farm, all toasty and warm.
If anyone is willing to do a trade - please do let me know. My only caveat: I only do advertising. Which i realize could limit my trade options :)
Tonight - it's supposed to hit -21 and will feel more like -35.
Y.A.Y. M.E.
Every winter, I wish the same god darn thing. I wish i was back in Sri Lanka - a land fraught with political uncertainty - yes. But, a land enveloped in tropical heat with everything I hold dear - like sun, sand and clear blue seas.
*sigh* it's Tuesday folks and it's time to get back to work.
Friday, January 09, 2009
9 days late
and right on time.
Happy New Year! This year, I decided to defer a few things right off the bat. Mainly for fear of falling off the proverbial wagon. You know the drill - we make resolutions, set well-intentioned goals and then somewhere between day 5 and day 9 - fall flat on our kundi's or even worse, our faces.
So this year, I started things differently. I deferred new years until the 2nd of January. And blissfully, we turned 2009 a day later than our neighbors and friends.
Now, being the borderline superstitious child that I am, i refuse to verbally ring in 2009 without kissing 2008 goodbye. So here's to '08!
'08 - will fondly be remembered as the year I decided to fight the status quo and stand up for myself, regardless of how petty the want may seem to others. I changed jobs with the support of man that I've grown to love even more deeply than I had in years passed. I re-arranged my priorities, was forced to take off my rose coloured glasses at some points. I retired my nic sticks for good or so it feels. I guess I can say that now that it has officially been 3 months of smoke free fresh air! My perspectives on a lot of things underwent a shift of some sort- relationships, friendships, marriage, family...You name it, it shifted. Not drastically but enough to create a ripple in the sea of my peter-pan lifestyle. Last year will fondly be remembered as the year that my relationships took on even more colour, texture and emotion than ever before - and for being able to feel that and witness it, I'm grateful. I lived without regrets and I survived to talk about it.
And now, it's time to welcome '09. This year I hope to really live my 3.1 motto: Be happy in the moment, that's enough. Because really, that is enough. I can only be responsible for myself and while I can attempt to protect the ones I love - I have to learn to let them test their own wings and fly. In the meantime, I hope '09 teaches me the art of balance. And provides me with the courage to keep growing and living, without regrets.
More to follow....
Happy New Year! This year, I decided to defer a few things right off the bat. Mainly for fear of falling off the proverbial wagon. You know the drill - we make resolutions, set well-intentioned goals and then somewhere between day 5 and day 9 - fall flat on our kundi's or even worse, our faces.
So this year, I started things differently. I deferred new years until the 2nd of January. And blissfully, we turned 2009 a day later than our neighbors and friends.
Now, being the borderline superstitious child that I am, i refuse to verbally ring in 2009 without kissing 2008 goodbye. So here's to '08!
'08 - will fondly be remembered as the year I decided to fight the status quo and stand up for myself, regardless of how petty the want may seem to others. I changed jobs with the support of man that I've grown to love even more deeply than I had in years passed. I re-arranged my priorities, was forced to take off my rose coloured glasses at some points. I retired my nic sticks for good or so it feels. I guess I can say that now that it has officially been 3 months of smoke free fresh air! My perspectives on a lot of things underwent a shift of some sort- relationships, friendships, marriage, family...You name it, it shifted. Not drastically but enough to create a ripple in the sea of my peter-pan lifestyle. Last year will fondly be remembered as the year that my relationships took on even more colour, texture and emotion than ever before - and for being able to feel that and witness it, I'm grateful. I lived without regrets and I survived to talk about it.
And now, it's time to welcome '09. This year I hope to really live my 3.1 motto: Be happy in the moment, that's enough. Because really, that is enough. I can only be responsible for myself and while I can attempt to protect the ones I love - I have to learn to let them test their own wings and fly. In the meantime, I hope '09 teaches me the art of balance. And provides me with the courage to keep growing and living, without regrets.
More to follow....
Monday, December 15, 2008
if your heart breaks
when you are all alone, does anyone ever hear it?
what if it broke as you were leaving your marital bed, one you've shared for decades, or aeons in your life, worn sheet in hand, palm held to chest - wailing.
wails are strange noises. unaccompanied by tears. gutteral. un.ignorable.
and he didn't ignore them or deny the accusations. his silence confirmed her worst fears.decades dismissed by a flitter of fresh-faced fancy. she knew. and he was glad that she knew because he vehemently believed in continuing on the path of his singular joy.
"what now.." she whispered...the question struggling to get out, muffled between dreams dashed and freshly sprung tears..
"i don't believe in divorce". matter of fact, giving nothing away. no apology, no expectation - just the truth.
and in the middle of the night, between tears that mourned her dreams of a happy old age, they made kalkals. Both sets of hands kneading the dough, mixed earlier in the day - the part untouched by this new disease. They rolled it together on their worn granite counter, the clink of a fork the only sound between them. Eyes averted, lips sealed, they grieved for the veneer they lost, silently.
what if it broke as you were leaving your marital bed, one you've shared for decades, or aeons in your life, worn sheet in hand, palm held to chest - wailing.
wails are strange noises. unaccompanied by tears. gutteral. un.ignorable.
and he didn't ignore them or deny the accusations. his silence confirmed her worst fears.decades dismissed by a flitter of fresh-faced fancy. she knew. and he was glad that she knew because he vehemently believed in continuing on the path of his singular joy.
"what now.." she whispered...the question struggling to get out, muffled between dreams dashed and freshly sprung tears..
"i don't believe in divorce". matter of fact, giving nothing away. no apology, no expectation - just the truth.
and in the middle of the night, between tears that mourned her dreams of a happy old age, they made kalkals. Both sets of hands kneading the dough, mixed earlier in the day - the part untouched by this new disease. They rolled it together on their worn granite counter, the clink of a fork the only sound between them. Eyes averted, lips sealed, they grieved for the veneer they lost, silently.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Inspired by
the ever-effervescent Sibil.
What are your nicknames?
Jans, Jana-Gana-Mana, Jenna-girl, J-bird, Radhey (musically, of course), Radhakka (my fave),mahaley (swoonworthy - unless it's my dad after he's found a credit card bill...) and the standard kunju/kutti..
What TV game show or reality show would you like to be on?
Dragon's Den. I have these crazy half-baked ideas that would definitely hike up the entertainment value of that show - the guy with the recyclable pizza containers - he's got NOTHING on me :)
And I could totally rock the Canadian Idol try-out bloopers!
What was the first movie you bought in VHS and DVD?
VHS: Oh gosh, I think it might be Sound of Music when I was like 8
DVD: I can't remember for the life of me. My fave dvd though is the Sex and the City box set fosho!
What is your favorite scent?
Incanto, Shine by Salvatore Ferragamo - reminds me of my honeymoon in italy (pretty and passion-filled)
If you had one million dollars to spend only on yourself, what would you spend it on?
ooooh, dangerous question. I'd buy "around the world" trips for my inner circle or maybe a mini mansion in the city. Actually who am I kidding - I'd buy lots and lots of sour skittles. yum.
Do you trust easily?
Nope, not at all. I used to though - too much, too soon. These days, I expect people to earn my trust as they do my respect.
Do you generally think before you act, or act before you think?
I'm an extremist. So i either overthink things and miss the cue to react in a timely manner - or I jump the gun and then am forced to focus on damage control. Obviously being balanced is not a current character trait - maybe in the future though!
Is there anything that has made you unhappy these days?
Yes. The fact that the world around me is aging. Sadly, in my head, I'm living a peter pan lifestyle. But something's amiss. the rose coloured glasses must be fading because the stark realities of this life are slowly creeping up on me.
Do you have a good body image?
I used to. All the time. And these days, I feel slightly removed from that topic. Not sure why. Another 2009 resolution perhaps - be kind to the body - after all it lets the mind create the world it envisions.
What is your favorite fruit?
Right now - raspberries & pomegranate.
Consistently - papaya's, rambutan, mangoes & pomegranate.
Which Web sites do you visit daily?
thestar.com, time.com, facebook.com, bloglines.
What have you been seriously addicted to lately?
Balzac's organic blend, a never ending search for gray nailpolish (not silver people but gray), books (i'm back to devouring anything my eyes feast on)
What's the last song that got stuck in your head?
Sadly, womanizer. It's because she repeats it 38 gazillion times in 4 minutes and I just heard it on my way into work.
What is your favorite thing to wear?
I'm with Sibil on this one - a sari. I don't get too many occasions to rock 'em but, I take immense pleasure when i do. six yards of homespun goodness - sigh. On the regular, I'm in love with my lululemon pants - its the one staple in my closet.
Do you think Rice Krispies treats are yummy?
Love them once they are made and carefully wrapped in cling wrap. Can't stand watching them being made - *shudders*
What would you do if you saw $100 lying on the ground?
a) not tell my folks (they'd make me turn it in)
b) not tell my husband (he'd expect me to put it towards something responsible)
c) put it towards dinner with the sistrens or something of that nature
d) buy 50 bags of sour skittles....hmmm
What items couldn't you go without during the day?
Tangible: my laptop, my coffee, my midnight pomegranate lotion
Intangible: Integrity. And passion. I make sure that everyday I feel passionate about something in my life. It's the only thing that makes the rat race worthwhile :)
What are your nicknames?
Jans, Jana-Gana-Mana, Jenna-girl, J-bird, Radhey (musically, of course), Radhakka (my fave),mahaley (swoonworthy - unless it's my dad after he's found a credit card bill...) and the standard kunju/kutti..
What TV game show or reality show would you like to be on?
Dragon's Den. I have these crazy half-baked ideas that would definitely hike up the entertainment value of that show - the guy with the recyclable pizza containers - he's got NOTHING on me :)
And I could totally rock the Canadian Idol try-out bloopers!
What was the first movie you bought in VHS and DVD?
VHS: Oh gosh, I think it might be Sound of Music when I was like 8
DVD: I can't remember for the life of me. My fave dvd though is the Sex and the City box set fosho!
What is your favorite scent?
Incanto, Shine by Salvatore Ferragamo - reminds me of my honeymoon in italy (pretty and passion-filled)
If you had one million dollars to spend only on yourself, what would you spend it on?
ooooh, dangerous question. I'd buy "around the world" trips for my inner circle or maybe a mini mansion in the city. Actually who am I kidding - I'd buy lots and lots of sour skittles. yum.
Do you trust easily?
Nope, not at all. I used to though - too much, too soon. These days, I expect people to earn my trust as they do my respect.
Do you generally think before you act, or act before you think?
I'm an extremist. So i either overthink things and miss the cue to react in a timely manner - or I jump the gun and then am forced to focus on damage control. Obviously being balanced is not a current character trait - maybe in the future though!
Is there anything that has made you unhappy these days?
Yes. The fact that the world around me is aging. Sadly, in my head, I'm living a peter pan lifestyle. But something's amiss. the rose coloured glasses must be fading because the stark realities of this life are slowly creeping up on me.
Do you have a good body image?
I used to. All the time. And these days, I feel slightly removed from that topic. Not sure why. Another 2009 resolution perhaps - be kind to the body - after all it lets the mind create the world it envisions.
What is your favorite fruit?
Right now - raspberries & pomegranate.
Consistently - papaya's, rambutan, mangoes & pomegranate.
Which Web sites do you visit daily?
thestar.com, time.com, facebook.com, bloglines.
What have you been seriously addicted to lately?
Balzac's organic blend, a never ending search for gray nailpolish (not silver people but gray), books (i'm back to devouring anything my eyes feast on)
What's the last song that got stuck in your head?
Sadly, womanizer. It's because she repeats it 38 gazillion times in 4 minutes and I just heard it on my way into work.
What is your favorite thing to wear?
I'm with Sibil on this one - a sari. I don't get too many occasions to rock 'em but, I take immense pleasure when i do. six yards of homespun goodness - sigh. On the regular, I'm in love with my lululemon pants - its the one staple in my closet.
Do you think Rice Krispies treats are yummy?
Love them once they are made and carefully wrapped in cling wrap. Can't stand watching them being made - *shudders*
What would you do if you saw $100 lying on the ground?
a) not tell my folks (they'd make me turn it in)
b) not tell my husband (he'd expect me to put it towards something responsible)
c) put it towards dinner with the sistrens or something of that nature
d) buy 50 bags of sour skittles....hmmm
What items couldn't you go without during the day?
Tangible: my laptop, my coffee, my midnight pomegranate lotion
Intangible: Integrity. And passion. I make sure that everyday I feel passionate about something in my life. It's the only thing that makes the rat race worthwhile :)
like messages
on steamed mirrors, everything's starting to fray a little. I'm not sure if it's old age knocking against the walls of my cerebrum or if it's something else. Something much more serious. A willful desire maybe ? A conscious effort to erase things and pretend like they never existed ? But, why? The reason escapes me. I've never wanted to forget...in fact, I've tried hard to hold on to every nuance of those spell binding years. Trying to reach back into the crevices of my mind and pull out scents, sounds, textures - but like moss-slick pebbles nestled in a bed of rocks, they've been hard to extract and harder to hold on to.
i guess that's what happens as you grow up and grow out of that fated phase of always looking inward. introspection, another vice.
it worries me. this slow and painful leak. silent yet filled with sound. i can't bear the thought of forgetting all those moments. the good, the bad and the fat, bulbous ones brimming with one hundred and one ill-fated characteristics. i cherish the times, when i find myself re-examining an old memory. those sepia-toned ones that coerce my feelers to caress every nook and cranny, re-learning the way my past has glued the pieces of my present together.
but yesterday, something fell. and while i dropped to my knees to frantically search for that lil' moment, something struck me.
I need to start writing those moments down.because the flip side is acting on them. I must write things down - so as to preserve them in all their nostalgic glory. and more importantly, to prevent them from birthing new realities.
in my mind, they were captured in glass jars like exotic butterflies with wings clipped - to be examined but never fully enjoyed. the sheer fear of losing them, breaking a jar or upsetting the precariously held beings of my past - is terrifying.
and that's why i reached out. i did the unthinkable last week. i did what i said i would never do. i found a long forgotten piece of our puzzle. and then i hit send. damn the internet. damn the ease with which you can reach out - vulnerable yet removed. the last time i saw her was on my terms. She was a vivacious little thing - sparkling brown pools questioning everything, creamy skin and the cheeks we share. she's on facebook and in university. doing law. we talked about that in hushed whispers when she was little. between games, sandwiched between dreams. sisters of the heart. and out of sheer whim, i broke a jar unintentionally. and one little forgotten butterfly enjoyed it's moment in the wind. i messaged her - no ties, arms stiff, mind dry, eyes - blinded by a foolish heart.
secretly.
in response, another part of her puzzle called my house and in no uncertain terms informed us that - there was nothing there.
the ties that once bound our families - no longer existed. i knew that there was no love lost - over time we'd all learned how to move on. but at that moment, i re-learned something again - blood isn't thicker than water. i will always love my mom in a special way because i know what it feels like to have siblings i adore. she gave me what she never had. and that's something i'm incredibly grateful for.
in hindsight, i know it's not that simple. one message can't undo years of unspoken hurt - flittering across oceans, ebbing and flowing in the silences that we've mutually shared. where did the words go all those years ago....and maybe that's why they need to be written before they're acted upon. because atleast that way, i can always go back and check to see the back story on something before i take a leap of faith and end up on my kundi.
--
wow, two things. both scary experiences. this verbal vomit that's cleared my cerebrum - a present for facing both fears. it was starting to cloud things. getting me weepy. but i feel like i haven't written in forever. and the fear of a blank page - electronic or not - was a hurdle unto itself.
i can only hope the language returns. like riding a bike one would say. except, i never understood that. because well, i never did learn how to ride a bike.
i guess that's what happens as you grow up and grow out of that fated phase of always looking inward. introspection, another vice.
it worries me. this slow and painful leak. silent yet filled with sound. i can't bear the thought of forgetting all those moments. the good, the bad and the fat, bulbous ones brimming with one hundred and one ill-fated characteristics. i cherish the times, when i find myself re-examining an old memory. those sepia-toned ones that coerce my feelers to caress every nook and cranny, re-learning the way my past has glued the pieces of my present together.
but yesterday, something fell. and while i dropped to my knees to frantically search for that lil' moment, something struck me.
I need to start writing those moments down.because the flip side is acting on them. I must write things down - so as to preserve them in all their nostalgic glory. and more importantly, to prevent them from birthing new realities.
in my mind, they were captured in glass jars like exotic butterflies with wings clipped - to be examined but never fully enjoyed. the sheer fear of losing them, breaking a jar or upsetting the precariously held beings of my past - is terrifying.
and that's why i reached out. i did the unthinkable last week. i did what i said i would never do. i found a long forgotten piece of our puzzle. and then i hit send. damn the internet. damn the ease with which you can reach out - vulnerable yet removed. the last time i saw her was on my terms. She was a vivacious little thing - sparkling brown pools questioning everything, creamy skin and the cheeks we share. she's on facebook and in university. doing law. we talked about that in hushed whispers when she was little. between games, sandwiched between dreams. sisters of the heart. and out of sheer whim, i broke a jar unintentionally. and one little forgotten butterfly enjoyed it's moment in the wind. i messaged her - no ties, arms stiff, mind dry, eyes - blinded by a foolish heart.
secretly.
in response, another part of her puzzle called my house and in no uncertain terms informed us that - there was nothing there.
the ties that once bound our families - no longer existed. i knew that there was no love lost - over time we'd all learned how to move on. but at that moment, i re-learned something again - blood isn't thicker than water. i will always love my mom in a special way because i know what it feels like to have siblings i adore. she gave me what she never had. and that's something i'm incredibly grateful for.
in hindsight, i know it's not that simple. one message can't undo years of unspoken hurt - flittering across oceans, ebbing and flowing in the silences that we've mutually shared. where did the words go all those years ago....and maybe that's why they need to be written before they're acted upon. because atleast that way, i can always go back and check to see the back story on something before i take a leap of faith and end up on my kundi.
--
wow, two things. both scary experiences. this verbal vomit that's cleared my cerebrum - a present for facing both fears. it was starting to cloud things. getting me weepy. but i feel like i haven't written in forever. and the fear of a blank page - electronic or not - was a hurdle unto itself.
i can only hope the language returns. like riding a bike one would say. except, i never understood that. because well, i never did learn how to ride a bike.
Friday, November 21, 2008
shakin' off...
and sweepin' off them cobwebs.
I can't believe how terribly neglectful I've been in regards to my little online haven. I think it's time to dust this baby up and give 'er a good ole' shining. There's absolutely nothing a little windex can't cure.
I'm going to make a real, concerted effort to be back more often - and post more frequently. I miss the emotional relief this friend brought into my life and I'm going to recreate the "woo" in our relationship.
stay tuned.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
mildly bruised
but still edible.
That's how i feel about this adjustment period. I feel akin to a barely ripe mango in a box with several others on a wobbly old truck - travelling on the mangled back roads of Negombo.
It's amazing how much I've learned about myself in the last few weeks. The things that i'm willing to put up with, compromise on, stand steadfast on, fight for have all evolved over such a short period of time. It's like jana v.2007 just got an update and I'm still trying to integrate this new program into the standardized environment. By no means do i know it all - heck, on most days, i feel like i've barely crossed over into this new world. One foot nervously sits on the new side of this gateway while the other wiggles its toes and buries itself in the familiar.
I guess that's human nature - you tend to become attached to the markers of your life.
That's how i feel about this adjustment period. I feel akin to a barely ripe mango in a box with several others on a wobbly old truck - travelling on the mangled back roads of Negombo.
It's amazing how much I've learned about myself in the last few weeks. The things that i'm willing to put up with, compromise on, stand steadfast on, fight for have all evolved over such a short period of time. It's like jana v.2007 just got an update and I'm still trying to integrate this new program into the standardized environment. By no means do i know it all - heck, on most days, i feel like i've barely crossed over into this new world. One foot nervously sits on the new side of this gateway while the other wiggles its toes and buries itself in the familiar.
I guess that's human nature - you tend to become attached to the markers of your life.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
The soundtrack
placed in the parameters of my context - this still makes more sense than much else.
I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has nothing to do with you
It's personal, myself and I
We've got some straightenin' out to do
And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket
But I've got to get a move on with my life
It's time to be a big girl now
And big girls don't cry
Don't cry
-- Big Girls Don't Cry by Fergie
Fergie!?!? I know! Who would've thunk that something she penned would ever make sense in my life. But it does - for now atleast.
Big, fat drops of rain left me drenched this morning and yet - there's serenity. Mostly because tonight is my night to go home - where the gap closes for a brief moment and I feel exactly as I should - wholesome yet me.
I wonder what I'll miss about Mikey this week. Last week I woke up on friday with a slight inkling that I might've missed his arm cushioning my head. It's one of the discoveries of marriage - I keep finding new ways that communicate this love.
It's thursday :)
I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has nothing to do with you
It's personal, myself and I
We've got some straightenin' out to do
And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket
But I've got to get a move on with my life
It's time to be a big girl now
And big girls don't cry
Don't cry
-- Big Girls Don't Cry by Fergie
Fergie!?!? I know! Who would've thunk that something she penned would ever make sense in my life. But it does - for now atleast.
Big, fat drops of rain left me drenched this morning and yet - there's serenity. Mostly because tonight is my night to go home - where the gap closes for a brief moment and I feel exactly as I should - wholesome yet me.
I wonder what I'll miss about Mikey this week. Last week I woke up on friday with a slight inkling that I might've missed his arm cushioning my head. It's one of the discoveries of marriage - I keep finding new ways that communicate this love.
It's thursday :)
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Attached.
and adjusting.
This too will evolve. And that my dear friends is the only certainty as of 5:34pm on a wednesday evening.
This too will evolve. And that my dear friends is the only certainty as of 5:34pm on a wednesday evening.
Monday, May 28, 2007
May 28 2007
17 days to go.
Woah.
Right now, the only feelings I can accurately identify are those of fear. Everything's got me emotional - it's like i'm all tied up on the inside and everything opens those flood gates. My tear ducts are worn out - overused like coochies on Queen street hoes - willing to spread eagle and let their essence flow at the drop of a dime. Sad, but it's true. In the last few months, I've become that which i despise the most: an overly emotional suck.
The knowledge that a new chapter waits to be written is terrifying. My innards feel frozen - held firmly in a steadfast grip. And sensing my hesitation, my fingers convulse. The pen waiting to be guided with no guidance at all. Ink splatters bring the inside to the outside - a public announcement of this benumbed state.
Me? Married? In 17 Days?
Heart, don't fail me now.
A thousand half baked thoughts rush through my head:
* What will the 17th of June look like once the euphoria of the wedding(s) wear off?
* Me, someone's wife? Are they being for real?
* Leaving home, where my heart is, to move to another person's home?
* My dad...the sweetness of waking to know that he is merely 2 doors and 6 steps to the right of me. Now what?
* My mom's foaming morning coffee and her special dose of motherly jocularity - on a scale of 1 to 10 - how much will this ache, ache?
* Rashmi's reverberating music - my 5am dj - will i miss it or recreate it with an insomniac ipod?
* Kissing Rama's forehead in the morning, every morning before rushing out - a new ritual? or a picture that i lamely stare at?
* Lighting a lamp in my own sami room - who will i pray with? where will i pray?
* My routine will change..it will have to considering the location change
* Nothing will change at my home - my room will stay the same - except for one little technicality - I won't be in my bed everynight
* am i ready not just to love him but to love his family as wholly?
* Where will i put my stuff? not just the physical crap i've accumulated but the emotional bags i let slide in the comfort of my home.
And these are just thoughts for today. Every day this changes. Every moment feels charged by a thousand watts of un-suppressable energy.
I don't doubt my feelings for him - he is loved just as he is. What i do doubt is my ability to face a blank page - my ability to turn a page that i absolutely adore re-reading, re-digesting, re-affirming on a daily basis. I fear this clean slate. Another new beginning. Joy? Sure, somewhere admist the fear - it's what keeps this ball rolling.
But the sad thing is....Every new beginning is the end of something else.
And this time, it's the end of a very ritualistic existence that has inadvertantly defined me.
I know they won't love me less or vice versa - if anything, absence makes the heart grow fonder. And in our case, that could mean the beginning of a deeper love amongst all five of us- but I'll miss them. I'll miss this feeling of being completely at ease, completely at home, completely me - 24x7.
18 more sleeps. I can only hope that tonight it wraps me tight and keeps me warm in the comfort of knowing that every friday night at least for the first 6 months while we wait for the condo - that i will return. to this sweet, sweet familiarity.
Woah.
Right now, the only feelings I can accurately identify are those of fear. Everything's got me emotional - it's like i'm all tied up on the inside and everything opens those flood gates. My tear ducts are worn out - overused like coochies on Queen street hoes - willing to spread eagle and let their essence flow at the drop of a dime. Sad, but it's true. In the last few months, I've become that which i despise the most: an overly emotional suck.
The knowledge that a new chapter waits to be written is terrifying. My innards feel frozen - held firmly in a steadfast grip. And sensing my hesitation, my fingers convulse. The pen waiting to be guided with no guidance at all. Ink splatters bring the inside to the outside - a public announcement of this benumbed state.
Me? Married? In 17 Days?
Heart, don't fail me now.
A thousand half baked thoughts rush through my head:
* What will the 17th of June look like once the euphoria of the wedding(s) wear off?
* Me, someone's wife? Are they being for real?
* Leaving home, where my heart is, to move to another person's home?
* My dad...the sweetness of waking to know that he is merely 2 doors and 6 steps to the right of me. Now what?
* My mom's foaming morning coffee and her special dose of motherly jocularity - on a scale of 1 to 10 - how much will this ache, ache?
* Rashmi's reverberating music - my 5am dj - will i miss it or recreate it with an insomniac ipod?
* Kissing Rama's forehead in the morning, every morning before rushing out - a new ritual? or a picture that i lamely stare at?
* Lighting a lamp in my own sami room - who will i pray with? where will i pray?
* My routine will change..it will have to considering the location change
* Nothing will change at my home - my room will stay the same - except for one little technicality - I won't be in my bed everynight
* am i ready not just to love him but to love his family as wholly?
* Where will i put my stuff? not just the physical crap i've accumulated but the emotional bags i let slide in the comfort of my home.
And these are just thoughts for today. Every day this changes. Every moment feels charged by a thousand watts of un-suppressable energy.
I don't doubt my feelings for him - he is loved just as he is. What i do doubt is my ability to face a blank page - my ability to turn a page that i absolutely adore re-reading, re-digesting, re-affirming on a daily basis. I fear this clean slate. Another new beginning. Joy? Sure, somewhere admist the fear - it's what keeps this ball rolling.
But the sad thing is....Every new beginning is the end of something else.
And this time, it's the end of a very ritualistic existence that has inadvertantly defined me.
I know they won't love me less or vice versa - if anything, absence makes the heart grow fonder. And in our case, that could mean the beginning of a deeper love amongst all five of us- but I'll miss them. I'll miss this feeling of being completely at ease, completely at home, completely me - 24x7.
18 more sleeps. I can only hope that tonight it wraps me tight and keeps me warm in the comfort of knowing that every friday night at least for the first 6 months while we wait for the condo - that i will return. to this sweet, sweet familiarity.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
This year in review....
January 2006
engaged : slightly broke : incredibly confused : scared out of my mind : countless job interviews : extended family drama : hurt feelings : broken relationships : Gopi leaves on her Australian expedition : Rashmi’s sassy plum tank : Rammy’s return from SL/India : presents (like my painting) : the feeling of approaching adulthood : being the only adult clambering on the bunny hill : snow angels with mikey’s angels : a 2nd interview : followed by a 3rd at SCC : 25th started said job : ecstatic : surprised at being so lucky.
February 2006
Rama & Rammy turn 3 : Growing pains at above mentioned job : Rammy’s birthday: chill sessions with my most gorgeous daughter from another womb, Rakshaa : feelings of uncertainty slowly replaced by feelings of comfortable contentment : a Japanese inspired v-day celebration : my fave eternity necklace : the art of war : Rammy got 203 immortalized on his skin : Rammy’s birthday do at Jack’s : Danier for Aunty’s birthday : work, work and more work : Shivaratri : glad to be alive.
March 2006
Girly hair cuts : mother’s day celebration : gift cards made in haste for all three mommies : lunch with les and tera – pre-baby : more Rakshaa : a weekend at Kingston : culture show time : uni town/uni bar – it was apposite : shopping in Kingston : a funky fresh fantastic necklace : I would do me, certainly.
April 2006
Started the month out with a big leap & some big wedding decisions : booked a hall : bought my wedding dress (impulsively) : ‘Where’s your mom?’ – no worries lady, my daddy is just fine : Got a view from her fire escape and a peek into her life (there will be tee’s made that read: I heart suse) : The Sultan’s tent for our 3rd anniversary : 3 years, 1 man, 1 ring – really? : Easter : not so many eggs, but a solid pair of nine west shoes : Dad’s birthday feast at Bombay Palace : Bombay Bling with new found friends : three months at one gig – phew, who would’ve thunk it?!?
May 2006
Rama got the job she so badly hoped for : Gift certs for all three mommies were made in haste: Some lifelong friendships ended and others began : Rashmi (the roomie) & Nilay got engaged : Tia was super preggers : Sibil handed in her single status for a much more joyful ‘attached’ one : A family trip to Montreal : Seeing a temple initiated with rites and rituals : old montreal with susan : good times : may went out with a bang
June 2006
Engagement cards were chosen : Financial recovery from our trip to montreal : pink eye (ew) : work started to suck : photographer woes : prepping for our mid-year sales conference : wishing and hoping that I could travel to someplace absolutely diving : Rama graduated with ‘high’ honors : The realization that next year this time – I’d be married : oy vey.
July 2006
Atlanta : hot, sticky and murky : the Atlanta acquarium – breathtaking : My bestest celebrated her birthday : Indie celebrated hers : a photographer was chosen : I also realized I couldn’t eat out – ever, in order to afford her : Rakshaa gets a baby sister – Anicca : Another one to love and terrorize : life was good.
August 2006
Caribana : Ribsfest : Dee’s Birthday at some hick pub that turned out to be more fun than anticipated : Frantic planning : one smashing engagement party : Meeting Aunty Rehana: Dancing the night away : Frankie’s : A family luncheon with Myura and Priya : reconnecting and forming new bonds : Bombay Dreams : Dinner at Rich Tree with the mommies : busy, busy, busy.
September 2006 – Rewiring broken links
Myura and Priya : A weekend of craziness : Toronto Star interview at the picnic : water fights: blazing pink bangs : tears when it had to end : promises exchanged : Roger and Tanya’s engagement party (yup, they’re getting married two weeks before us) : Craig and Raina get engaged : Meeting J.C began around here : Michele’s birthday : Rashmi’s birthday : Michie and Chet’s engagement : A family split : felt like a limb being torn apart :: twas crazy indeed.
October 2006 – Reconnecting with birthrights and clarity
Job switch – accomplished : vacation days granted : Rama immortalizes her roots : Copyright Sri Lanka : Appapatti’s birthday dinner : reconnecting with my cousins : Daddy and daughter time : planning for a last min 3 week vacation : mikey’s overly generous birthday gift : packing my bags : engagement shoot (so much fun) : London – family, family and more family (oh yes, and shoes) : Sri Lanka - *sigh* my dream come true with just the right person : Land, found : Birthright – reinstated : hoppers – to die for : a lifestyle I miss inherently : India – busy : monsoon rains : humidity cushions memories : turning 29 : *double sigh* : dubai – glamorous : great architecture : meeting family for the first time : so much laughter : so much joy : so much introspective time : October was indeed clarity.
November 2006 – Introspection on the unknown error of our lives
Unfamiliarity : a new cube : a new floor : fighting the fear : a feeling of being ready : losing the immaturity of childhood: reliving every memory from oct 14 – nov 4th : missing the way my soles felt on birth soil : Daddy buys a new condo (2 blocks away from Mikey’s – yay for 2010) : Rashmi dresses up without being forced to : nina and tobes tie the knot : we get our engagement pics back : love love love all around : epiphany: I work to live not live to work : feeling more prepared : ready
December 2006
Mom and Dad turn 30 : Niraj and Risha’s reception : Christmas parties galore : My last Christmas morning waking up at home : fear sets in : the burner is on and my bum is getting warm : Christmas shopping : Rama and her 4 sizzling A’s : Mommy’s birthday : *sigh* I miss SL : The year in review : Work getting better : Life far more clear : frequent convo’s with suse : preparation.
*phew* sweet indeed. 2007 will be just as hectic, im certain.
engaged : slightly broke : incredibly confused : scared out of my mind : countless job interviews : extended family drama : hurt feelings : broken relationships : Gopi leaves on her Australian expedition : Rashmi’s sassy plum tank : Rammy’s return from SL/India : presents (like my painting) : the feeling of approaching adulthood : being the only adult clambering on the bunny hill : snow angels with mikey’s angels : a 2nd interview : followed by a 3rd at SCC : 25th started said job : ecstatic : surprised at being so lucky.
February 2006
Rama & Rammy turn 3 : Growing pains at above mentioned job : Rammy’s birthday: chill sessions with my most gorgeous daughter from another womb, Rakshaa : feelings of uncertainty slowly replaced by feelings of comfortable contentment : a Japanese inspired v-day celebration : my fave eternity necklace : the art of war : Rammy got 203 immortalized on his skin : Rammy’s birthday do at Jack’s : Danier for Aunty’s birthday : work, work and more work : Shivaratri : glad to be alive.
March 2006
Girly hair cuts : mother’s day celebration : gift cards made in haste for all three mommies : lunch with les and tera – pre-baby : more Rakshaa : a weekend at Kingston : culture show time : uni town/uni bar – it was apposite : shopping in Kingston : a funky fresh fantastic necklace : I would do me, certainly.
April 2006
Started the month out with a big leap & some big wedding decisions : booked a hall : bought my wedding dress (impulsively) : ‘Where’s your mom?’ – no worries lady, my daddy is just fine : Got a view from her fire escape and a peek into her life (there will be tee’s made that read: I heart suse) : The Sultan’s tent for our 3rd anniversary : 3 years, 1 man, 1 ring – really? : Easter : not so many eggs, but a solid pair of nine west shoes : Dad’s birthday feast at Bombay Palace : Bombay Bling with new found friends : three months at one gig – phew, who would’ve thunk it?!?
May 2006
Rama got the job she so badly hoped for : Gift certs for all three mommies were made in haste: Some lifelong friendships ended and others began : Rashmi (the roomie) & Nilay got engaged : Tia was super preggers : Sibil handed in her single status for a much more joyful ‘attached’ one : A family trip to Montreal : Seeing a temple initiated with rites and rituals : old montreal with susan : good times : may went out with a bang
June 2006
Engagement cards were chosen : Financial recovery from our trip to montreal : pink eye (ew) : work started to suck : photographer woes : prepping for our mid-year sales conference : wishing and hoping that I could travel to someplace absolutely diving : Rama graduated with ‘high’ honors : The realization that next year this time – I’d be married : oy vey.
July 2006
Atlanta : hot, sticky and murky : the Atlanta acquarium – breathtaking : My bestest celebrated her birthday : Indie celebrated hers : a photographer was chosen : I also realized I couldn’t eat out – ever, in order to afford her : Rakshaa gets a baby sister – Anicca : Another one to love and terrorize : life was good.
August 2006
Caribana : Ribsfest : Dee’s Birthday at some hick pub that turned out to be more fun than anticipated : Frantic planning : one smashing engagement party : Meeting Aunty Rehana: Dancing the night away : Frankie’s : A family luncheon with Myura and Priya : reconnecting and forming new bonds : Bombay Dreams : Dinner at Rich Tree with the mommies : busy, busy, busy.
September 2006 – Rewiring broken links
Myura and Priya : A weekend of craziness : Toronto Star interview at the picnic : water fights: blazing pink bangs : tears when it had to end : promises exchanged : Roger and Tanya’s engagement party (yup, they’re getting married two weeks before us) : Craig and Raina get engaged : Meeting J.C began around here : Michele’s birthday : Rashmi’s birthday : Michie and Chet’s engagement : A family split : felt like a limb being torn apart :: twas crazy indeed.
October 2006 – Reconnecting with birthrights and clarity
Job switch – accomplished : vacation days granted : Rama immortalizes her roots : Copyright Sri Lanka : Appapatti’s birthday dinner : reconnecting with my cousins : Daddy and daughter time : planning for a last min 3 week vacation : mikey’s overly generous birthday gift : packing my bags : engagement shoot (so much fun) : London – family, family and more family (oh yes, and shoes) : Sri Lanka - *sigh* my dream come true with just the right person : Land, found : Birthright – reinstated : hoppers – to die for : a lifestyle I miss inherently : India – busy : monsoon rains : humidity cushions memories : turning 29 : *double sigh* : dubai – glamorous : great architecture : meeting family for the first time : so much laughter : so much joy : so much introspective time : October was indeed clarity.
November 2006 – Introspection on the unknown error of our lives
Unfamiliarity : a new cube : a new floor : fighting the fear : a feeling of being ready : losing the immaturity of childhood: reliving every memory from oct 14 – nov 4th : missing the way my soles felt on birth soil : Daddy buys a new condo (2 blocks away from Mikey’s – yay for 2010) : Rashmi dresses up without being forced to : nina and tobes tie the knot : we get our engagement pics back : love love love all around : epiphany: I work to live not live to work : feeling more prepared : ready
December 2006
Mom and Dad turn 30 : Niraj and Risha’s reception : Christmas parties galore : My last Christmas morning waking up at home : fear sets in : the burner is on and my bum is getting warm : Christmas shopping : Rama and her 4 sizzling A’s : Mommy’s birthday : *sigh* I miss SL : The year in review : Work getting better : Life far more clear : frequent convo’s with suse : preparation.
*phew* sweet indeed. 2007 will be just as hectic, im certain.
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