Archive for the 'life' Category


Do I Write or do I Write?

In an ideal world, that title would have emphasis in the right place. Sadly, I will have to keep eying those words up there warily while willing italics into existence.

So, do I write or do I Write? This was the terrible question tearing away at my mind last Saturday eve. Do I just write in the sense that people write grocery lists and ransom notes, or do I actually “write” write, in the way that people who do it for a living do?

This bout of more thought than I like being put into something inconsequential was brought on by a TNL Radio… dude, asking me if I can’t write, whether I failed my English, and if I suck at writing when I was less than enthusiastic about filling out a form that was being distributed at the lobby at Majestic City on Saturday night. I’m sure that experiment in “Aggressive Marketing” has a bright future in public relations.

In other news, Christmas is coming again. I’m starting to dread it because I will be broke by then and won’t be able to bribe Santa into throwing a few presents this way. I don’t even feel like jotting down my usual Christmastime post or even the whiny post about how it doesn’t feel like Christmas. Troubling times, these are. My parents think I’m crazy because I sit in front of the computer laughing at it. Then I switch it on and come here to write down a post and link to it on twitter. It’s so cold out that I grew a beard to combat it, but shaved it off when I started feeling chain-mail on my chin whenever I rested it on my pillow. To top it off I’m not getting tagged in any Christmas pics on Facebook. If it weren’t for the Penguins of Madagascar life would be quite dull these days.



Recently watched “Who Turned the Lights Off?”, another FT from BeyondBorders in association with the Roteract Club of… Some place. It was pretty great. They might perform it again so keep your eyes open of you missed it. Even better than the play was a certain Mr. Kotalawela dancing to…

wait for itt…

Justin Beiber

when we went out after the play. I apologize for not taking pictures.


A Buffer of Humour!

Someone told me a few days ago, that I had a layer of humour, or lightheartedness between me and the world. It was the first I’d heard of it, and it struck me as something I would expect to be told if I was forty and driving a station wagon. It sounded like something I would be told in a circumstance such as if my forty-year old self’s kid had just kicked him and he just laughed it off as an eight year old’s angst.

As it were, I was told this just last Thursday, if I remember correctly, and I was still only twenty, the last time I checked. It confounded me. So naturally I just went along with it and agreed wholeheartedly. When I got home that night, I got to thinking about this water-bed of fluff that I had between me, my mind, and the real world. I realized it didn’t exist. It was a myth. Like women who can’t cook.

What it is, is just my way of coping with life. I don’t put up a barrier reef between myself and the tides of problems, pain, anger, idiots and sheer complications that wash up on the coasts of my senses. Sometimes you just have to ignore it. I’ve got a story to tell today, if you’ll indulge me.

Imagine you’re an island. If that saying about no man being an island is a thorn in your side, imagine you’re a woman first, then imagine you’re an island. A small island, smaller than the country we live in, located somewhere in the middle of the ocean, replete with sandy beaches and palm trees. Now imagine life as a great big storm brewing out at sea. Swirling, tearing through the air making sea creatures exclaim in surprise for miles and miles. You can imagine their cries of “Goodness me, that could put a dent in our plans for camping out this weekend” if you please. But you’d better not, since that would distract you a bit from the big picture. The big, gray, spinning mass of clouds that make up your big picture.

Now, you’re an island. Most storms wouldn’t matter much to you. You’ll survive. A few trees torn up, and a couple of television serial actors lost, but nothing you can’t grow back or work into the storyline. Eventually the storm subsides and life goes back to being the calm, rolling mass of water in front of you. Little ebbs and flows this way and that along your coasts, leaving your lips all salty and dry. The storm, having raised hell and then having smashed it down on the ground again, has left only scattered bits of debris around for you to pick at and inspect. The strips of seaweed torn up from the ocean bed and thrown at your feet are occasionally interrupted by bits of a ship, or pieces of wood. Sometimes you find a coconut.

Life doesn’t give you lemons, it gives you coconuts. Lots of coconuts. All the little odds and ends you find on the beach are covered in sand, your sand. They’re you flavoured now. All the things life throws at you are changed the moment you perceive them shooting towards you. You coat them in a nice even layer of yourself. Making it oh so easy to just pick it up, look at it, and if it’s not of any interest, throw it away. If you see something shining in the distance, a little piece of ship that washed up on your shores, some little bit of someone else’s life that you find interesting, pick it up. Take a nice long look at it and think about it. Lick it. Gnaw on it for a bit, testing your teeth on it like when you were a kid. Take it in and do something with it. Maybe write a post about it.

Everything else, the corroded bits of hull, the swollen bodies of sailors staring at you with their legs buried in your sand, the birds picking at them one by one, every single detail that comes across as not something to worry an island over, just let it be. The water will eventually come over and drag it all away again. Feel every rusted slab of metal tear at your shores, every bit of wood getting stuck on the roots of trees at the edges of your sands and hear all the little noises they all make. Then just make a note of it and keep looking along the beach till you find something interesting to gnaw on.

If islands gnaw on things, that is. Selectivity is the key here, and an island that chooses right is an island which gets called out for having a buffer of humour between it and the sea. Choosing what matters is not difficult. Living isn’t difficult. Being an island isn’t difficult. Just be aware that all the places on your shores that were ravaged by the storm will heal, and that everything that turns up should be dealt with. Most importantly, dealing with something doesn’t necessarily mean doing something to it.

Well, at least that’s how my brain works. I just refuse to acknowledge any unsavory vibes happening around me, and just deal with what I have to. It might not seem like the best way to live a life, but somehow, it works for me. Just look at my blog.


Backwards Weekend


Yesterday. I showed up around nine to a roomful of people I didn’t recognize. Then Sinidu showed up and gave me my free ticket. So I found myself an uncomfortable metal chair and sat. Turned out Celestial Dream was sitting n front of me. According to St. Fallen who came in later she was wearing an interesting top. But anyway,

Most of the speakers were interesting, whereas some were dead boring.They also showed some TED videos from the site. Interesting bits were meeting the pavementleaf and some woman I thought was T.

There was some woman there, with sunglasses perched atop her head. Fallen, for some reason, thought that was a clear sign that it was T. Apparently T is a beach person. Apparently beach people wear sunglasses everywhere. Gehan wears sunglasses. He’s in kandy. Didn’t realize Sri Lanka was half submerged in the sea.

So I dramatically turn, point at her and go “AHA!”. She stares, looks away. I look back at Fallen. He laughs. I look back at the woman, mumble something like “You’re not tea are you? I’msorrymistakethisguy…..”, and then elbow Fallen. In the stomach. Cow.

Being stared at as if you were a druggie on the street is not fun. Hitting fallen is.

Met Rannelee there too. She waved at me frantically while I was on the phone, leaving me wondering who the hell it was. She gets a link because she bought us juice after the thing from roots. Everyone is advised to ask her for things when first meeting.

Sabby’s Place

Went over to wreak havoc. Wreaked very little. Just threw a few pillows around, splattered wine on a wall and ambled out in the evening. Also managed to get @hijinx to log into TweetDeck and throw a few tweets around. @sabbyaz deleted all the tweets I made on her account. Hag. On the bright side she’s started a new blog.


Wanted a repeat of last Friday. Didn’t get it. Went to food court, waited, got donuts, off to burger king for dinner. Notably, papareboy pulled on whacko’s collar to see inside. I’m not kidding. He then goes “Oh I’m sorry, was just checking whether your chest was hairy”. Oh, that was all? All’s right then. WTF? That’s like going “Oh I was wondering if it would fit” after sticking your head up an elephant’s ass. After a satisfying dinner we were off home. No beach or anything :/

Went to for the first time. Bad photoshops. The cons of pirated software. Why don’t all those bands just hire me to do all their album covers instead of that dude who’s called a graphic designer because he can take a face and slap in on a Llama?

Single again.


The Times They Are a-Changin’

I was listening to the Watchmen soundtrack on the way to work today. Song in the title started playing. It was Bob Dylan, one of those fashionable to listen to fellas. Listening to him, I almost felt cool enough to use an iPod. Listening to him, I could see the movie playing in my head. Listening to him, I could see the movie merging into real life. Listening to him, I started wondering if I’d missed my bus stop.

Then I forgot all about the song when Technical Difficulties by Julien K started playing.

Times are supposed to be changing over here. What with the war being over and all. I’m not sure what exactly is changing, but all I see are minor differences.

What the war was to me -

  • Roadblocks – Apparently they’re going to be reduced now.
  • Checking all over the place – Still goes on.
  • Soldiers all over the place, making it hard to find dark street corners to go take a leak – Still the same.
  • News of things blowing up interrupting my sitcoms – Don’t watch much TV anymore.

And that is, more or less, what I notice. And apart from the roadblocks, it’s still the same. I mean, I didn’t even write about the war, so even my content doesn’t change. I daresay whacko here in his other blog would know something about all these changes, where he uses strange words like “brouhahas”, “oligopolistic” and “other countries”. He also delivers judgment on how attractive various PR people are.

There’s a converter app in most Nokia phones. But them being stupid as they are, they only included temperature conversions. You have to manually add conversion rates for the rest. So, looking through the list of empty categories, I came across Length, Area, Temperature etc. etc. At the bottom of the list was “Lifestyle”. What kind of category is that? Is the place you put conversions like “Women Slept With – Men Slept With”? I would be grateful if anyone can shine a spotlight on it.


Jerry’s View On Relationships

…Is unavailable at the moment, due to severe mental instability caused by the subject matter of the title.Relationships, not Jerry.

Reeled you in with THAT one eh? Expected ol’ me to talk about confusion, surprise, death, destruction and many, many ribbons? That’s not what relationships are about? I didn’t notice. -_-
Yes rf, I stole your smiley. Bite me.


Since I’ve established that you lot are a bunch of cricket hating traitors to the motherland, with only a few of you even having a soul, I have nothing left to write here. :s I’ve tried to pin it on someone sucking my life out, but I’m not so sure now. I’m eating breakfast at the moment, crumpets. I used to love this stuff, and now I’m just barely getting them down my throat. Come on, loss of appetite? Much time spent in a confused daze mulling over what to do? Yes people, I’m dying.

I see that I’ve made it to some list s. Go read my opinion on ranking at the respective posts. Although I love these sorts of things, since I am ‘at the core’ a vain, attention starved kid, I am quite disappointed by where I stand in all this. Well what do you expect? I still claim to have an ego that can by itself be classified as a planet. Anything less than a score of 141089 out of 5 is a disgrace. But still, I seem to be slowly withering away. Not in real life, that is, just me as in what you see here. Which is about 80% of real life.

I will join the ranks of the undead with grace.
Wish me luck in plodding through life at a slow trudge,
and munching at your skull if I can’t find a fudge.

Don’t ask.

And to whom it may concern, and by that I mean Dee, I AM NOT SKINNY :P . I am the proud owner of a BMI that is on the right end of the ‘average’ marker. An upper middle class BMI, if I may say so myself.



Whack’s recent post got me thinking again. He’s been hitting a lot of nails on lots of heads recently. As unbelievable as that may seem.

Cool things change fast. For example, if software piracy was called something like “Illegal data reproduction”, do you think so many people would be into it? How can they hope to stop it with a name like that? Leaving that question hanging, let’s see what people are like.

There’s cool, there’s uncool, and then there’s you and me. “Cool people” I say, are a myth. Many people might think you cool for something or another, but many more will regard you as just another sheep. Uncool people are abound. You all know them. But then again these “uncool” people are cool to some others. Even this judging of whether someone is cool or not would make me uncool, right? But some people do act certain ways to have an effect on others. And none of you can deny it. Be it either impressing the hot girl in class or trying to get a job. Is pop culture cool? I think most of us would slap an “As seen on MTV” sticker on the face of anyone trying to imitate Soulja Boy. Even the people who go all out to distance themselves from pop culture are called retards. Mommy and Daddy work till five so they wander around looking for trends to rant about. Then there are people who feign semi-insanity in the hopes of getting noticed. And then there’s people who keep spewing stuff to entertain others, and try to ‘Peddle sarcasm as a higher form of wit’. Like me. Not too sure on the ‘entertaining’ bit though.

There is no cool or uncool. Just people… who do… stuff.


The Ex-Political Post

So I wrote up a ‘political’-ish post. It wasn’t very interesting. So off it went to the great heavenly “Drafts” bin. It had all that stuf about independence day and associated hazards like gigantic alien spaceships, stuff happening in the north and if we’ll eventually have a reenactment of Tiananmen Square in Fort. Hypnotize springs to mind. And those awe inspiring images of the student standing in the way of the tank. We’ll never have that. The students will be _driving_ the tanks here. With all the minorities and dissenters being crushed in their tracks. Dammit. This one’s turning politikal too.

Anyway, Music is weird. I go from

“I don’t need this s**t
You stupid sadistic abusive f***ing w***e
would you like to see how it feels mommy
Here it comes, get ready to die!”


“I’m walking on sunshine wooah
I’m walking on sunshine wooah
I’m walking on sunshine wooah”

In just a flick of a switch. Mood changing, from wishing to break everything in sight to beaming joy. Don’t judge me. If you don’t like ‘Walking on Sunshine’ you have no soul, and the devil will gnaw at the toes of your poor, lifeless existence till finally you trip on a protruding root, fall off the rooftop garden of a 100 story building and find yourself in hell. With your mother posing for pictures at the entrance like a sadistic playboy bunny.

Hmm… Hot girl walked in. I’m off…


Good Evening Ladies & Gentlemen,

I’ll be reading your terror forecast this week.

Down south white van density has reduced greatly, due to which we should be seeing less of the plain vanilla abductions. But reports suggest that more outrageous acts of patriotism will be occurring more often. People working in the media in particular will face much difficulty in day to day duties. They are advised to immediately become taxi drivers to keep from hindering the great progress we are making. Most other areas seem clear for now, but we cannot accurately say whether the rest of the populace will not be affected anytime soon.

As you can see, up north we have some fierce action all converging at one point over Here. People have been advised to evacuate as soon as possible, but there will be no governmental support as the troops are otherwise occupied at the moment. This is a bid to improve the survival skills of the local peoples.

In more good news, we receive reports that the turbulence up here will clear out soon. We trust in our able leaders to guide us through this difficult patch of fate and finally achieve equilibrium, to defeat the godless savages who lay siege to our great nation.

Good night ladies and gentlemen,
and as always,
Ceylon Prevails!


Evey Hammond: My father was a writer. You would’ve liked him. He used to say that artists use lies to tell the truth, while politicians use them to cover the truth up.
V: A man after my own heart.

Yes, been watching too much V for Vendetta.


The Books

There are hundreds, maybe more than a thousand, books in my house. They are strewn all about, on bookshelves, display cases, on the TV, around the computer, even in the kitchen. Then there are the magazines. Thousands upon thousands of issues, from Television to Reader’s Digest, and CHIP to Digit to Newsweek. Even the odd Nat Geo is seen lying around, mixed in with all the programming tomes and old school notebooks.

We’ve grown used to living with them. They seem content with just lying there gathering dust, waiting for one of us to rifle through them looking for something we missed before. Or a particularly good few pages that we’d like to read again. For our part, we provide them with a roof to exist under and occasionally pick one of them up, shake the dust off and carry it away somewhere to read and keep it back in another place, for someone else to pick up and read.

We, meaning my siblings and I, have grown up with them all around us. One of the first books I remember reading is the Reader’s Digest Family Medical Handbook. A thick volume full of illustrations and notes on treating various ailments. Among other things, it had a section for parents on teaching adolescents about reproduction. I didn’t know what I was reading at first, but suffice to say that a few years later, I was the first in my class to have found out some very surprising facts.

The books were our personal library. They got us reading and kept us hooked, from hiding under the covers with a light and reading through that Ira Levin novel that had that naked lady on the cover to reading through issue upon issue of thirty years of Television Magazine. Those magazines forged the tech-head circuitry into my mind better than any other form of motivation could.

Those books taught us about far away worlds, of protagonists fighting everything from terrorists to economic depressions. They described in minute detail what the world around us was made from. Regaled us with tales of bravery, adventures we would never have begun to imagine possible and stories that had us laughing out loud at every turn of a page. Created worlds in our heads we still escape to, people of outstanding moral fiber who we tried to emulate and a plethora of theories on everything from the creation of the earth to it’s destruction, leaving us to pick and choose at whatever piqued our curiosity.

What I mean to say is, I am what I am because of books. Everything I write, everything you see, and if you’ve ever met me, things I say and do, are 80% those books living through me. Although, the contents of this blog might lead you to question the contents of those books. And I think my brother hoarded all the funny ones, the sneaky bastard.

Yesterday was the President of the world’s inauguration. It was apparently a biggie. I was happily tapping away at my phone on eBuddy in the comfort of my bed. These moments, I wish to God I’d read more of them.


Anyway, speaking of Obama, a lot of people have him pinned as the reincarnation of Jesus. Why would he be any different just because he’s black? He’s not even really black, more brownish. I don’t recall such a fuss when Clinton was around(Granted I was around five when he was inaugurated :P ). But whatever, I’m far from knowing what I’m talking about in politics. But I am pretty sure you people put too much faith in your politicians, and stop trying to pin that cynic badge on me.


Decisions, Decisions

I always hate making big decisions. Where to go, what to buy, or not to buy. Actually, the not to buy bit doesn’t really cross my mind much. The money for that uber-yummy cake might well feed some African family for weeks, but can you eat them afterwards?
Anyway, this making big decisions thing is further hindered by my unshakeable feeling of being a cut above the rest. I know my head can’t get much bigger and all that, but it’s still there. I have no idea where it came from. One day, suddenly, whoa, I’m king of the earth. Or should be. Though it does help at job interviews and assignments and stuff. I’m practically certain I’ve come out in front. That is, if it’s one of those things I like doing. Though the fact that I’ve only been to one interview might have shored up that feeling quite a bit…
But what it does in making these huge fate of the universe changing decisions is create large-ish questions along the lines of “what if”. What if I did B instead of A? What if C is really the evil twin of A?

Just realised this post makes no sense. Tis about higher education.

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