Portrait

the debate, or argument, call it what you will, on the privatization of universities has become too long drawn out. Indi thinks i am ‘bowing out after trashing Chanuka roundly for being rich and speaking.’ and you know what? he is spot on.

i AM bowing out after trashing chanuka for being rich and speaking. although my intention wasn’t to trash him because he’s rich and speaking. i wanted to knock (or try knocking) some sense into a guy who it seemed to me was vehemently delusional and snobbish. i won’t trash anyone who’s rich and speaks their mind. i have lots of friends who are rich and speak their minds, but in speaking their minds they never undermine the value of free education like chanuka did.

indi seems a smart guy, and talks a lot of sense sometimes. but none of them seem to know when something becomes old. no one seems to know that at some point in time, you can overstay your invitation. my advice to everyone involved in this debate? retire now, while everyone likes and respects you.

this is a never ending, circular argument. of course, to whatever morquendi says, indi will have the perfect retaliation. this is natural, because of the obvious clash of opinions taking place here. they are too deep into it to surrender, and they will keep clinging to the flimsiest arguments and points to bring one another down. who, at the end of the day, is right and wrong, is also subjective, depending on how you decide to look at it. you can argue about it till the cows come home boys, but it’s never going to stop, and you are never going to come to a conclusions that satisfies everyone. it will go around and around in maddening circles, because none of you will admit defeat, nor will you broaden your minds to the fact that their might be some truth in what the other is saying. such is human nature. which is why i fail to see ANY logic in chanuka’s argument. niether one of you is going to give up, or in.

i believe that everyone is entitled to their opinion. i also believe that no one reserves the right to enforce their opinions on others. i don’t want to enforce my opinion on chanuka, or indi, or anyone. so yes, i’m bowing out. i’m bowing out because to me, my opinion is right, and it doesn’t really affect me whatever anyone else thinks. i’m bowing out because i don’t want to get dragged into this, thank you very much.

for those who are interested though, i highly recommend you check out the questions left for indi by morquendi here, and also the responses that indi has come up with for all ten questions here.

although i admire both indi and morq for their persistence with the relentless arguing, and how well they’ve both held their stands unwavered, yes, i am bowing out. NOT because i agree with chanuka, or indi, but simply because this argument is not worth my time.

indi seems to think that morquendi and i are attacking chanuka on a personal basis.

indi said : “I’m still not clear why you and Morquendi attack him personally without taking him on points”.

i think it’s impossible to attack someone personally, if you dont KNOW them personally. and i dont know chanuka. and i’m pretty sure, niether does morq. sure indi, chanuka maybe a cool guy, but this is not my problem. my problem isn’t with his personality. my problem is with the comment he left on morquendi’s blog . his statement is what bugs me. his opinions are what bug me. and to a certain extent, your opinions mirror your personality.

i dont have a problem with chanuka as a person, but i DO have a problem with the point he tried to make. so indi, i DID attack (if you must call it that) his POINTS, and not his persona. i dont attack peole. but i also dont stand being told that the poor people in this country are worthless scum.

chanuka seems to deny the fact that poverty is one of the biggest issues the country faces. THIS i have a problem with. he seems to think that poor people are poor because of some choice they made to gain the state’s sympathy and life long support, and not because they were inevitably born into poverty. THIS i have a problem with. he seems to think that the poor community of sri lanka are pains in the asses who rip the upper class and upper middle class people like chanuka and his family off. THIS i have a problem with. he doesn’t even the poor people as being worthy of his measly taxes. THIS i have a problem with.

bringing in examples of indonesia, south korea etc are useless. fact is, sri lanka is NOT those countries. they have different social, econonmic and governmental structures, and therefore see different results in implementing certain policies. we are NOT them. and since we are NOT them, and we are US, the point is not to be THEM, but to be OURSELVES to the best that we can. the point would be to do whatever works best for US.

i am not attacking him personally. i am attacking his POINTS.

my intention wasn’t to get involved in this argument, and i think even the initial debators have gotten hugely side tracked along the way.

scourge, dayani, Mahangu, morquendi and Iromi, and whoever else left their opinions and veiws, thanks for the insightful comments.

indi, i see nothing wrong with having called chanuka an asshole, or a brat. we didn’t dub him those things out of personal malice. but thats what society usually calls someone who doesn’t give a damn about anyone other than themselves. remember that people can’t read your thoughts. your actions and your words say it all about who you are, and what kind of mentality you have. you are solely responsible for your actions, and as a consequence will be judged by them. it’s natural. remember, that is what society calls someone who simply refuses to CARE.

ps - i refuse to further participate in this argument! it’s pointless, circular, never ending and pretty basically futile. don’t forget, everyone is entitled to their opinion! cheers!

everyone, i came across this comment left on Morquendi’s blog in retaliation to morquendi’s perspective on age old debate on the privatization of universities that’s been going on between quite a few intelligent and outspoken bloggers in the recent past. the debate has been fun as well as informative to follow, and i’ve mostly been watching it unfurl as a bystander, but this comment provokes me to say SOMETHING. that’s me. can’t keep my big mouth shut. thank goodness for that.

You are sadly mistaken. There is nothing called ‘free lunch’ and there is nothing called ‘free education’ The term ‘free education’ and its Sinhala equivalent ‘Nidasas Adyapanaya’ are highly misleading. Whatever offered free of charge in Sri Lanka should be termed as ‘Pin Adyapanaya’ as in case of ‘Pin Bath’. Why should the tax payers’ hard earned money is spent limitlessly to provide ‘Pin Adyapanaya’ to so-called poor?

Education is a right, agree but that should be only the basic primary education. If one wants to go higher one has to pay for it instead of
posted by Chanuka : 7:56 AM

ok. question one : WHO IS THIS GUY?

question two : WHAT’S HIS PROBLEM?

really, its as sad as it hard to believe that there are well educated young people out there, who you would expect possess broad minded opinions on equality and justice (being EDUCATED and all), that say things like this.

look at the sheer narrow minded-ness there. education is not a right. it is a privilege. who gave this guy the right to play god? what gives one person the right to judge another? what gives HIM the right to decide whether or not someone deserves a right to education? who gave him the right to make education a privilege for those who can afford it, as opposed to a right that every human individual is born with?

people, people. education is a RIGHT. sri lanka is only where it is due to about 60 years of free education. it took away the caste system, the class system, and created an arena in which all children, be they rich of poor, english speaking or not, from colombo or hambantota, had an equal CHANCE at a good education. and that’s what this is about. its about that chance that free education offers the kids in this country. its about the opportunity. as morquendi told me, if you’re born poor in india, you’re screwed. if you’re born poor in the united states of america, you’re pretty much screwed after 5th standard. if, however, you were to be born poor in sri lanka, thanks to the free education system, you have HOPE. there is a CHANCE that you might go to school, to university, and do well and live a good life. there is a glimmer of HOPE that you might not have to live the same stunted village life in poverty forever and ever. there is a CHANCE that you will contribute to the development of this country. there is a CHANCE that you will grow to be someone of some importance, someone who makes their parents proud.

this guy says ‘Whatever offered free of charge in Sri Lanka should be termed as ‘Pin Adyapanaya’ as in case of ‘Pin Bath’. Why should the tax payers’ hard earned money is spent limitlessly to provide ‘Pin Adyapanaya’ to so-called poor? PIN adyapanaya would basically translate into ‘charity education’. so, the state educates an entire country of young potential leaders out of CHARITY? because they want to appease THEIR guilty conscience? and NOT because the children of this country DESERVE a shot at education? the tax payer’s hard earned money is being wasted on CHARITY. oh the poor tax payers who slave away day and night, and their precious money is being WASTED on these wretched down trodden poor people. they need to wait for the tax payer’s to throw some tid bits their way while they (the tax payer’s) live in luxury, and educate all THEIR children in the best private and international schools in colombo.

what is this guy saying? it almost seems like he is saying free educations is waste of his money. for crying out loud, how can education ever be a WASTE of money? haven’t you noticed that the free education system is what allowes children from pretty much anywhere in the country, and children from various different social backgrounds to mingle and mix together and learn from each other? haven’t you noticed that it’s pretty much the kids from the out station, remote schools that top the local A Level exam? that gain entrance into university? what would happen to these children, who work their butts off to do well in school simply because their life offers them no other chance of living a fruitful life, if not for the free education system? its all very easy for you to say. if you fail you A/Ls, your daddy will pay exhorbitant amounts of money so you can pursue some course or the other in any of the leading private institutions in and around colombo. because your family has enough money, and enough social connections, and probably owns it’s own business as well, your future is determined. no matter what, you WILL have a job. you WILL have a life. but these kids have NO CHOICE. if they want to get out of where they are, and make it big, or somewhat big, they HAVE to study. they HAVE to pass.

primary education is NOT the only aspect of education that should come free. for so long, we’ve produced batch after batch of intelligent, dedicated young people from the best state universities. how can you just be OK with stunting their chances at higher education simply because YOU think YOU pay too much tax money? i know kids who walk 12 miles to school in welikanda. i know kids who study by a kerosene lamp light in batticaloa. i know kids who come from places you haven’t even heard of, who went on to pass their A/L with flying colours, and top their batches at university due to sheer determination. how can you be OK with a whole new generation of uneducated children who learnt upto 5th standard? what are you afraid of? that your servant’s kids will go to university and attain a degree and therefore that they won’t return to be the servants of your kids? that some poor kid from the mountains will do better than you in university?

it is elitist snobs like you that defeat the mere purpose of free education. it is elitist snobs like you that go to local universities and get laughed at. it is elitist snobs like you that give the entire colombo community a bad name. maybe in your fantsay world, the poor are non existent. but there is only ONE world. and that’s the REAL one. the one that we all live in, including the poor. face it, we live in a third world developing country. they are not the ’so-called poor’. they ARE the poor.

free education is one of the things, perhaps the only of it’s kind, that can erradicate poverty. it is the ONE thing that gave the poor their dignity. it the ONE thing that doesn’t judge you on how much money you have, or how much land your parent’s owned. let’s not forget how the feudal system used to work. if you didn’t have money or land, you were worthless. free education took that away, and armed everyone alike with knowledge. it only matters how intelligent you are, and how hard you’re willing to work. it DOESN’T matter who your parents are, and how many houses you have.

enough said. free eductation is not something to slammed and taken to pieces by snobbish, narrow minded people like you.

what’s that they say? ah yes. hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

ps - leave your opinions.

this morning, as i made my way to green path (that destination rules, by the way), my trishaw was probably one of the largest contributing factors to the prevailent sound pollution in the city. i like my music loud. and bandu (our family’s beloved friendly trishaw driver) has come to learn that. when i ask him to turn the radio in the trishaw on when i’m on a hire with him, he turns it on. loud. and he knows exactly which frequency i listen to. pretty cool huh?

anyway, the DJ on the morning show had quite an interesting story to share with his devoted audience. apparently, the backstreet boys had made their appearence as a band following a silence that lasted almost three years, performing together in new york, and had claimed that they were ready to start making some music again. gasp. shriek. shudder. yaaay? help? are they really back? the imperative question was this : do they still have it in them to make it as big as they once were? or are they going to flop in their attempts to make a come back after quite a long time of no action?

you cant deny it. they were really big. they managed to market five pretty faces in decked up clothes with voices like 13 year olds to millions (literally millions) of die hard, crazy girls who were bored to death with their lives and the then current music scene. they were sensational, cute, and sang soppy lyrics to even soppier music. hell, they claim to have been inspired by boyz II men. what more explanation do we need to justify their insipid attempt at creating music? i, thankfully, never underwent a ‘backstreet boys’ phase (confession : i did go through a spice girls one. which girl didnt?!) but i know for a fact loads of people did. they didnt write their own songs, compose their own music, OR play it. ok, so they sucked as music makers. but they were successful. very much so.

the backstreet boys were also one of the few american pop bands to have been equally successful in both europe and the united states of america. they were a huge hit in britain, in fact, even before they hit a jack pot in their homeland. here’s a brief history of their music and their records as pierro scaruffi puts it.

Backstreet Boys (Jive, 1995) turned them into an overnight sensation in Britain, where We’ve Got It Goin’ On was a massive hit, but was hardly noticed in the United States, where Get Down and Quit Playing Games will become hits only years later. It eventually went on to sell some 13 million copies in five years.

Backstreet’s Back (Jive, 1997) was the album that created the phenomenon in the United States, thanks to As Long As You Love Me , All I Have To Give, Everybody.

The quintet’s Millennium (Jive, 1999) sold 12 million copies in one year (I Want It That Way , Larger Than Life, I’ll Never Break Your Heart). That’s about all there is to say about their music. They share with the Beatles the mass hysteria of their fans and the complete lack of originality in their music.

It would be hard to make a more predictable album than Black & Blue (Jive, 2000) and its first single Shape Of My Heart. The childish celebration of Everyone is the closest they get to producing some music.

we dont need pierro scaruffi to tell us just what a hit they were. we were around to witness them sweeping across the world with their songs, driving everyone ‘bsb’ crazy. this is proven beyond any doubt by the release of their ‘greatest hits’ album, which also sold an absurd amount of copies. so, while not being able to deny that once they were indeed famous, and worthy of that status, what about now? is the world still waiting for the return of the backstreet boys? are we prepared to welcome them with open arms? do these arms have room enough?

i think we’re the children of the hip hop era. while the 60s and some of the 70s were ruled by rock and roll, (give it up for the beatles, the monkees etc) the 70s and the 80s saw the coming of disco music that made itself quite a name, and continues to rock the younger generations (bee gees, abba etc) . the 90s was definitely the pop and rock era. we saw the likes of the spice girls, as well as the likes of metallica and red hot chilli peppers (yum). sadly, or not, all those musicians have either drfited out of being and ceased to exsist, or have just ceased to be as popular as they used to be. now amongst the young, club loving yuppies of the 20s, the popularity of those bands have perished. we love to dance. we love to lose control and our senses, momentarily, and be drowned in pulsing heavy beats of hip hop, and mindless lyrics. hell, i love it.

rock music, although any real rock music barely exsists anymore, is too much. its too deep rooted. to be hooked onto rock music all the time can be stressful for the mind, and tiresome to the brain. this is probably why some good, senseless hip hop does wonders for even the most intelligent of our kind at the end of a hectic week of thinking and dwelling in bottomless pits of thought. essentially, i’m a rock fan. nothing can replace rock. nothing ever will. but hip hop and largely ‘black’ hip hop it seems, has taken the reigns, be it forever, or for the next ten years.

50 cent, chingy, and jay Z are some of the biggest selling hip hop rappers world wide. what sets them apart from good old tupac shakur and notorious BIG, the original ‘gangsta’ rappers? well for one their music contains much more bass and beat, and is more eligible for being ‘dance’ music, and their lyrics are far more meaningless and sexist. so WHY are they the best selling artists in the world? why do we buy this stuff? because its FUN. not for soul enrichment or personality growth purposes, but because it’s pure, unadulterated, uncensored, mindless, animal FUN. we like the release. we like the letting go and dancing till our bodies feel like they’ve been run over by a truck.

we’re also probably living in the beginning of the world music era. we’re seeing it’s birth, day by day. musicians are beginning to use various ethnic and tribal instruments, and are also beginning to see the colourful and vibrant nature of different eastern cultures. while local hip hop and western music artists have begun using traditional musical instruments in perfect harmony with their music, even international artists are starting to like the feel of an ethnic beat here and there. this is why there is such a boom of ‘hindi’ or bhangra remixes, and also of a large flock of indian superstars who make english hip hop music with the merging of cultural indian music, like rishi rich, or raghav. ethnic seems to be ‘in’.

back to the question? will the backstreet boys make it? probably not. not unless they change their music, and the way they market it. they’ve gone too long without a hum, and their fans have looked elsewhere for solace and probably found it too. their pop music is going to get lost in a sea of rock and hip and world music, and will probably drown and die before too long. they had their prime time. the young people of this world looks for and needs something more. they should consider graceful retirement.

note to readers : i would like your opinion on this. its quite an interesting question.

i realize that my posts may seem a little long for some of you to go through, and that it may not be all that relative or enjoyable for some of you either. well if your looking for quick, light reading, i’m pretty sure you’re on the wrong blog. no offense, but obviously, my type of thing doesnt seem to be your type of thing.

people always said i talk too much. my friends (some!) always said i write things that are too long. i’ve always been told i’m too this or too that. too expressive, too blantant, too emotional, too many adjectives. well you know what? like, who cares? i dont. this blog is probably the only space in my life right now that is allowing me to write what i feel, write what i want (school is pissing me off!). that doesnt tell me what to write about, and how to word my endings. (school is still pissing me off!) so some of my posts are bound to be long, some blunt, some totally melodramatic. deal with it. or not.

i’m not here to be judged, or dissed. hell, i’m here to DO the judging and the dissing! *muhahahaha* (evil laugh)

ok ok, i’ll calm down. but everyone think a moment, think, is it my blog you really want to be on? if your answer is yes, thats cool, and if your answer is no, you’re still alright with me!

be GOOD. (or try and fail miserably, like i do)

I’m 16. Besides, I’m a girl, I’m just a girl. And in the wake of the Tsunami tragedy that has swept across Asia recently, killing thousands, displacing millions, and ruining many, I have been wishing, for the first time since I was about 10 running around in shorts with short hair, that I wasn’t a girl. That instead, I was a boy. Many times I’ve argued with my brothers, or my male friends, many times I have felt distressed and useless. Many, many times I’ve defended myself when people have said things like ‘If your going to volunteer in any of the affected areas machang, don’t take the girls. They’ll only become a pain’. Many times have I wondered in frustration what on earth they are talking about. Yet, after long hours of endless arguing and fighting, I am learning to keep quiet. Let them talk. They’ll see.

Since the 26th, the day on which the Tsunami occurred in all it’s hideous glory, the tiny country has been wrapped in chaos and utter pandemonium. The death toll rises daily, having started considerably small from about 2000, and is currently tipping the scale of credibility at about 30,000. The enormity of the disaster is simply that : unbelievable. Of course, I haven’t been directly affected. All week long, I’ve been hearing horror stories about those who survived, and those who didn’t survive. About those who survived, and those who didn’t. And in the middle of the gargantuan loss of lives, property, homes and land, millions are displaced, homeless, suffering from diseases, injuries and mental trauma that can’t be treated soon enough. Numbers that only make one’s mouth hang open in shock are mourning the loss of loved ones, the loss of home, a place to live, of everything they own, of a dignified lifestyle. They suffer in camps; women have their periods, children are dying from disease, thousands of corpses decompose in local morgues, and authorities struggle to feed and clothe everyone while trying to provide them with the needed medical facilities. Sri Lanka has changed geographically, the land having caved in from the South and the East. We’re no longer a pearl, or a pear, or a tear drop. We’re a drowning blob in the Indian Ocean, gasping for our share of air, and fighting to rise from the ashes. While all hell has broken lose in the Southern and Eastern coastal areas, I continue to live my pathetic, sheltered life in Colombo, with all my party clothes and my mobile phone. Or so one would think. I however would like to think, things have changed for me.

The only way to fight the depression was to dive into some work. Since I’m on school holidays, it means I’m at home, doing next to nothing, or out with my friends, doing next to nothing important. This happened, and threw me out to sea. Not literally, thankfully, but the feeling was quite the same. My whole life, my entire 16 years of existence started to feel superficial, shallow and insignificant. I wallowed in misery, watching the morbid footage on news, and reading ghastly stories on the papers. It’s all anyone could talk about. It’s all I could think about. The magnitude of the disaster was truly overwhelming. Maybe it’s in my blood, maybe it’s the Interactor in me, whatever it was, was screaming at me to do something. To get in there, get involved, and help. This was when I was told I couldn’t visit Galle with my brother and mother the very next day. That I couldn’t volunteer in Batticaloa, or go down to the South to help those stationed in camps. Although I understood the dire situation, and the barbaric living conditions that one would have to deal with were they to visit any of the areas affected right away, I was stunned that the lamest of all excuses seemed the most used. I am a girl.

Since last Sunday, I have been trying to make myself feel better. I have been on a mission to sacrifice whatever time I spend doing nothing, at the various places and organizations collecting donations in Colombo. I have packed, carried, lifted, sealed, sorted and loaded dry rations, clothes, books, shoes, medicine, soap and linen by the amazing tons. Their collected in ceiling scraping mountains. And that feeling is somewhat relieving. The feeling that there are thousands of people in the city alone that are willing to give so generously, but most of all, that somewhere, somehow, I am being useful. It has been my only source of consolation. I have bumped into, and worked with many people that I’ve never met, but also with many of my friends and other youngsters from in and around the city. Everyone is friendly, efficient, and enthusiastic. They never tire. It’s really refreshing.

Two days ago however, I took a larger step. One might say a small leap, after having hopped around for 5 days. Together with some of my friends, I got involved in a damage assessment project being carried out by the Ministry of Defense. The ministry’s claim was that the main issue was the lack of system and organization. Unknown to us Colombo people, a lot was going on in the wake of the disaster. Women were being gang raped, trucks carrying donations were being hijacked, conmen and thieves were stealing food stuff and clothes from the camps by the truck loads, and the donations were being misdirected heavily. Things would go from bad to worse, if nothing was done. What they need, they said, is a system that works around the entire country. We were to carry out the experiment. If successful, it would be the prototype for a planning system everywhere. The three key words were: order, organization, and control. 10 of us were sent with Special Task Force officials escorting us, making us feel rather important, into the Mattakkuliya and Modera areas in northern Colombo which were ruined by the tsunami. We were to assess the damage.

Five days after the calamity, the situation was slowly calming down. Three large churches, St. Mary’s, St. James and De Mazenod were the main providers of shelter and aid to these people in need. The local schools, community centers and church halls were housing the displaced people who had no homes to return to, providing a temporary refuge to those who needed time and resources to return to their ruined homes and start cleaning up. Because these people live mainly in poor slum communities between the sea and the Kelani river, they were caught by surprise when both bodies of water began rising to surround the pockets of habitation and crash in on their homes. The waters swept away many of the wooden structures and whatever was inside them; those fortunate enough to own cement structures suffered the loss of money and property. Everyone lost everything. Cupboards, beds, mattresses, cooking utensils, electrical appliances, and even livelihoods due to the loss of boats and implements. ‘Nothing is left’, they cried to us. They survived with only their clothes on their backs. Even in this small area, six bodies were found, and one remains missing.

We visited over seven camps, and saw over 3000 displaced people. The small St. Mary’s Community Center was the worst off. It had 76 people living in it. Many had rashes on their feet due to standing in contaminated water; conjunctivitis had spread like wild fire amongst everyone, both young and old alike. There had been no doctor to visit them since they were brought there, last Sunday. A small 4 year old boy, who had slipped and fallen during one of his 4 year old antics, had very neatly split his forehead open. The mother, young Dilani Priyangika is the randomly appointed ‘in–charge’ of the refugees there. Unable to give the wound the stitches it needed, she had dressed it with whatever medical aid they were given on the first day. When we visited, the wound had obviously been infected, and forced his left eye almost completely shut with swelling. Dilani, however, has bigger worries. As the person in charge, she sees it as her duty to make sure everyone is fed and kept alive. She says no aid comes their way, and whenever it does, conmen and robbers come and steal it for themselves, sometimes donning the guise of a refugee, when really, they are not. Although they have clean water for drinking, and have toilet facilities in the building, she says they are not attended to, due to there being much larger damage in other areas. Most importantly, they have no access to a doctor, nor do they have organized, educated personnel to run this place the way it should be run.

On the contrary, the church run camps are equipped and efficient. They have credible records of all their residents, and are fully prepared to feed and clothe anyone who does not have a home.

What was heartbreaking though, were the affected areas itself. Small patches of slums have been entirely damaged if not washed away. RFK Watta had witnessed the only deaths in the area. Kadirana, Pichchamal Watta, Summitpura, and Gemunupura had been underwater till as recently as Friday. I looked around at the angry yet sad people who returned to the sites of their homes during the daytime, and at what remained of their homes. Occasionally one could see a plank or two, or a ceiling sheet, all that was left toshow us that a home had once stood there. I thought to myself ‘how unbelievable the damage must be on the coast… in Galle, in Batticaloa. How simply colossal.’

The people complained of their loss, but also of neglect. They told us that we were the first people to visit their destroyed homes. There had been no government officials, not even from the Grama Sevaka’s office, or from the Municipality, looking into the damage and the disaster caused last Sunday. They felt they had been left to fend for themselves. Although the churches have been making sure that the communities get the required food and clothing, the municipality has broached only one of the above mentioned areas to help clean up the dense mud and filth that lay in places that were once homes to families. The unhygienic situation caused by the mud that has come in with the water from the river, as well as all the garbage that came in with the river water has made it impossible for most to bring their children back to their homes. One father says all he wants is for his family to be under the same roof again. One mother says all she wants is someone to help rebuild her humble home. Many children said all they want is a clean home to go back to. These areas have gotten no media coverage, nor have they gotten the attention of the local government authorities in whose hands their fates lie.

And now, right now, I feel I have helped. Those people needed someone to listen patiently to their lamenting, someone to yell at and take their anger out on, someone to visit their homes and tell them that they had every right to feel the way they did, to carry those children, and play their first game with them since the water engulfed their homes and dragged away their school books, someone to gather the information and hand it over to the Ministry with the promise that action will be taken soon, someone to instill some hope, hope that was thought lost a long time ago. At our briefing at the Ministry, when a STF officer handed out some gruesome and graphic photos of the bodies and the damage in Galle, he took them away the moment they touched my hands. He thought me too sensitive and unfit to see those pictures. ‘You’re a girl’ he told me, like I didn’t already know that all too well. Well this girl is helping. She is doing what she can.

note to readers : once again, this was written a long time ago. my friend, mahangu, thought i should post this, since this was on morquendi’s blog when i first wrote it, earlier in january. since he thought it wise to put it up here, it made me think ‘why not?’. and once again, it IS a little long, but hey, thats just the way i write!

Standing in a pile of rubble can change your life quite unlike anything else. As I stood there, miles of devastation surrounding me for as far as the eye can see, I saw it. Life is so fickle. Life is fragile, delicate, like a beautiful glass statuette that is so breakable yet so invincible in its glory. Life is one constant tragedy, one never ending drama, a soap opera on non stop, something unhealthy yet irresistible. I felt so insignificant, so small and useless. A speck of dust in the sands of the universe, a tiny particle in the tumbling, larger-than-life atmosphere. The sky was so vast above me, the ocean so boundless before me. I felt I could’ve broken down crying on the very beach right there, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. It wouldn’t stop time, or halt evolution. It wouldn’t do anything really, it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t sketch a dot on this enormous sheet of life on which we so carefully tread day after day. I was powerless. A nothing. It could be a tsunami, an earthquake, something by which millions were senselessly massacred. Whichever, however, it was just life. Occurring everyday. Every moment, every instance was life. Happening, continuing. In a cycle of crazed chaos, shamelessness, and raw emotion, it was life. Occurring in its usual overwhelming fashion. The magnitude of the tsunami calamity only goes to remind me how tiny we are. Despite the common belief amongst us humans that we’re unbeatable, this colossal loss will remind us that there does exist greater, bigger things. That our deep intellect and intelligence will fail to find reason and science in everything. That our machines are still no match for mother nature, or in fact destiny itself. And the restlessness, the frustration was born from the most humane quality in me: the need to pin the tail on the donkey. There was no one to blame.

The sea and I were always on good terms. She and I shared my most intimate, secret, wonderful memories and moments. From a very young age, I remember traveling time and time again to Unawatuna. I went there with people I loved greatly, those who were the mere symbol of why I lived. Many of my most favourite memories from my childhood, and of my family and my friends are directly connected to the Unawatuna beach. The sea was always so effortlessly romantic, so easily charming. It could soothe a bad mood, mend a broken heart, and stop the flow of angry childish tears. From our trek to the ‘Jungle Beach’, to endlessly snorkeling near the reef, to openly staring at rather liberal tourists on the beach, to moon lit baths in a sea of our very own, it was my refuge. Many things have been said under the hypnotic influence of the sea and the warm sand, many things have been vowed and many hugs shared. As we grew, the beach came to be a different attraction altogether. My cousin and I have ogled endless ‘cute’ foreigners, on a dark night, with the sea all to ourselves, the girls have dared to take the top of their swimming suits off, boyfriends and girlfriends have started getting added on to the usual list of family that went down to the Unawatuna beach. Still, out childishness is preserved in the memories that the place holds. My cousin and I do water ballet to music that we hum horribly off tune. I look ok, he looks hideous! (N, wish you were here!) We have begun staying up till the sun rises, singing (I swear) every song we know between us, and occasionally finding a beach disco and dancing till one of us collapses. One of my oldest memories of my father, to whom sadly I am no longer as close as I’d like to be, is in the sea. He found this tire, and pulled me with him to the deeper sea, where I dared not venture. I clung to the tire, laughing hysterically. I got my first period by the beach, on a cast trip with some of my favourite people in the world. One of my ‘older sisters’ (V, I love you, and miss you) was present, and later gifted me a gorgeous little golden pendent: a dolphin. The note said ‘to remind you always of the place near which it happened’. Quite recently, just a week before that fateful December last year, two people closest to my heart were married on the beach in Unawatuna. That evening was one of the happiest evenings in my life. The grace and beauty in a union so perfect was emotionally overwhelming. I cried, so completely happy that they were in my life, and that the bride, a new addition to my life, was so marvelously well fitted in my little world. And there couldn’t have been a more perfect venue.

The first day of my O Level exams was a stressful yet exciting one. My mother and I reached the vicinity of my school an hour early. All my mother needed to do was suggest a trip to Galle Face to kill some time before she bought me back to school. The two of us walked to the Galle Face Green. The early morning ambiance on the green was irresistible, and inevitably calming. I was so glad my mother was so flawless, and that the sea was so close by. I faced my first paper with the salt in my hair and sand in my shoes. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Too many times to be counted have we visited the green, in search of solace, after dinners, after parties, after coffee at Barista. It has become our late night hang out, our instant remedy for hang overs, the easiest way to access the sea.

After the tsunami, I haven’t been able to place myself well with the ocean. It seems imposing now, and angered. It’s hard to hate it. But it’s been difficult to love it again. Two days ago, on the way to a camp in Polhena, we stopped by the sea. I told my friend Ryan how beautiful she looked. He agreed, after which he said ‘what a temper though’. It was my turn to agree. But I still loved it. I still wanted to jump in it, I still wanted to touch in with my feet, to capture the turquoise, to bask in it’s shallow waters.

That day at the camp in Polhena, we spent a day with the kids. While it was exhausting and taxing, it was like a glass of iced water after long hot day. A hundred percent satisfying. I heard no horror stories about the tsunami, I heard no complaints. They threw themselves into the various workshops we had prepared for them, and enjoyed themselves thoroughly. What was astonishing was the courage, the immense bravery. They were so energetic and enthusiastic, that it was contagious. It was immaterial how tired I was, their willingness to participate was motivating. I found so much solace in those hours, so much inspiration, so much unadulterated contentment. They were so brave. Not once did I hear a ‘tsunami story’, only tsunami jokes. Not once did I see a pout, or hear a complaint, only them making new friends, and helping each other with most active aspects of the workshops. It is we, who sit in our comfortable chairs in our luxury homes and gasp at the news, and swap hero’s tales over our walls. It is we who sing songs for the tsunami. It is we who refuse to move on, and dwell in someone else’s misery, because that’s the most catastrophic thing we’ve seen in our time.

I have no hero’s tale. I’m one of the lucky ones, who indulged in social work in the aftermath because it was the only thing I could do. Mortality was questioned, I imagined night after night what it would have been to lose those I loved. One of my oldest friends was in Unawatuna, my best friend, my pillar was at the Triton hotel, and when I saw them after their return to Colombo, I couldn’t remember having been more thankful. I escaped the tsunami, I escaped the chaos, I escaped the destruction. But I didn’t escape the depression, or the guilt.

See, one would expect their lives to be thrown into perspective after a disaster like this. One would expect to always be reminded how trivial their problems were in comparison to those of the innocent masses affected by the tsunami. One would expect to have learned to know what’s important, and what’s not. But true to our human nature, its not so. A few days after my return from doing needs assessment on the east coast, I was back to worrying about if we would win a debate. What is important is to never forget is, though, that problems are problems. Our problems are ours alone, and will be problematic to us in a way that it’s not to anyone else. And that’s OK. Life is prone to change, hope is not. Life is prone to danger, faith is not. Even though life itself is breakable, hope is the thin line from which we cling in times of need, in times when death, loss and misery surrounds us all. Hope is true, always honest, always sincere, always the same in everyone. Believe. Be fuelled. Be driven.

Let’s not judge nature, or grade disaster. Because the moment we think it can’t get any worse, we know it always can. Let’s just be prepared to face whatever catastrophe is hurtling towards us right now. Let’s stay true to our reputation of being the ‘predominant’ species. Let’s never forget why we are called that.

note to readers : i wrote this sometime ago… i realize it maybe a little long, and maybe even uninteresting for those of who you cannot relate to the mentioned experiences, but if you read it up to here, thanks for bearing with me. at the time, i was feeling a lot of strange things, and needed very badly to express myself, and hence this piece came into being. maybe thats why its long. because i didnt write it for anyone to read, or to put it up in my blog, i wrote it, well, for me. anyways, thanks to the Tsunami Relief Foundation, for the wonderful opportunities to work with the kids in the tsunami affected areas. it has been a wholely satisfying and enriching experience. the TRF is a fabulous NGO, full of enthusiastic, creative, compassionate young people. well done everyone!

today, as i sat with my friends, although i was engrossed in some other work, i was inclined to listen to their very animated conversation. they were talking about Paris Hilton, and what an overall loser she is. what is she famous for? she doesn’t sing, (but then neither does ashlee simpson) she doesnt act, (but then neither does keanu reeves) and she mostly certainly has not proven herself to be a follower of mother teresa or florence nightingale. all she is famous for, is her last name, and the video footage of her having sex with someone or the other, that, once a month or so, gets routinely released on the internet. so why do we bother tracing her footsteps so carefully? why do we bother making it a point to snap photos of her whenever possible? why do we bother dropping everything we’re doing, and everything we COULD be doing, and talk about her?

we care so much about ‘celebrities’, and what they do with their lives. we listen to every word of eminem’s song ‘mockingbird’, and cluck our tongues, saying ‘he must have such a hard life’. well yeah, so did half the Sri Lankan population. we see michael jackson in his fall from grace, stumbling around the supreme courts in his pyjama trousers and a dinner jacket, and whisper, saying ‘it must be hard’. well yeah, it’s probably harder for the kids in ethiopia. we listen to the late aailyah’s song, ‘i miss you’, with all the entertainment industry’s most famous black faces contributing a second of their time on the video, and sigh, shaking our heads, saying, ‘poor her. she died so young’. well yeah, so did all those kids who got swept away by the tsunami. why do we care so much? why do we mourn the death of lisa left eye lopez from TLC? why do we mourn the disbanding of westlife? why do we mourn the separation of brad pitt and jeniffer aniston? hello reality. our concern is no longer a concern. it’s an obsession.

we stalk them. we admire them. we LIVE through them.

sometimes i think but WHY? why them? is it the natural human inclination to be jealous of what you cannot have? some deep rooted psychological desire we have in us, to sub consciously want that kind of life? what is it that we lust after so eagerly? the money, the fame? i dont think so. i somehow believe it’s a lot simpler than that.

they are our escape.

bill clinton had an extra marital affair with monica lewinsky. so? men cheat on their wives everyday. even worse than that, men treat their wives like shit, beat them up, rape them, abandone them, neglect them AND cheat on them. but when bill clinton did it, they put it in all the papers, talked about it on all the news channels, people bill clinton didn’n even know existed had heated debates about it on larry king live and tonight’s show with jay leno, they wrote books about it. all the other millions of women who suffered domestic violence instead of marital bliss, continued to suffer in silence. britney spears got roaringly drunk and behaved like a ’slut’. so? teengers get drunk everyday. even worse than that, they beat each other up, slash eash other’s tires, harrass each other’s significant other’s, ‘misbehave’ freely in public, have meaningless sex too early in their lives, AND come back tomorrow to do it all over again. but when britney spears did it, they talked about it, rick dees gave out hot new details, they got it on tape and put it all over the world wide web. no one ever told those millions of other teenagers to take life a little slow, and they woke up the next morning to live in tainted shoes, in regret and shame of their drunkan mistakes. michael jackson has been accused of child molestation. so? children get sexually abused everyday, and even worse than that, they get used for labour and slavery, are kept from an education which is the fundamental right of any child, have seen their parents been slain right in front of their very eyes, have been forced to walk the streets of colombo, or the beaches of galle trading their young, tender bodies for money. but when michael jackson did it, they transmitted the scenes from outside the court room live on every international new channel, made it their hot new headline for the month to come, made sure to tsk tsk and ridicule him, asked the opinions of many important people and put it up in every magazine. no one penalized the paedophiles not willing to sleep with anyone older than 13, the nightmare of all the little girls in brothels in indonesia, or the brothers, fathers and grandfathers who landed the girls in their families in the teenage mother’s home right here at home in moratuwa.

we are in denial about the state that the real world is in. they are our escape. our justification of all that is impure in our communities. they are our way of saying ’see? that only happens to people like that. we’re good’. they are also our way of saying, ‘what? rape? murder? child abuse? what’s that? look, rob thomas is getting married!’. they are our escape from the real thing, the real tragedies.

admit it. we killed princess di, we inspired spears to release ‘my prerogative’, and we’re all great big hypocrites.

maybe if we spent less time focussing on them, and more time focussing on us, we’d actually get around to making that difference that everyone talks about.

my friends. i love them.
i want to tell the world how much i really love them…

so i sat down here, at my computer, to write about my friends, and found myself (drumroll)…at loss for words. now this is a curious and oh so rare occurrence. if you know me, you’d know what i mean. ask those fabulous individuals themselves, if your ever privileged enough to cross their paths. my friends themselves will tell you i never run out of things to say.

where does one begin? but the more pressing question maybe, where does one end?

this blog, like most things in my life, simply would not have come into being without the combined efforts of many of my friends. (thanks mahangu, for having poisoned by mind with the thought a long time ago, it grew like a nutured plant. thanks iroms, for having put up with all my misgivings and the pessimism and the ‘i can’t show the whole world what i write!’, and actually taking me out for lunch and then sitting down and starting this up for me, thanks anukshi, for the wonderful name ideas, your creativity with words is boundless, although you tell me I’M the writer. thanks ammi, my oldest, greatest friend for the encouragement shown to me that night that changed my mind. sanjay, my bro, my worst nightmare, thanks for being so brave and inspiring. thanks trace for pledging to read and comment on my silly ole’ blog. i miss you)

they enrich my life. everyday. every moment.

their so amazing, each one so different, with different traits, together combining to bring together all the best human qualitities. they are soothing, yet sensible. kind, yet honest. they have left this mark on my being, that i find it impossible to imagine where i would be, or indeed WHO i would be, without their presence in my life. they are all, in their own way, the best. it would be idiotic to try to mention each one, and why they mean so much to me. but let me try to make a general sketch…

lets just start with saying their fabulous. their the most fun, daring, impestous, crazy people i know. but i see in me, the little things i’ve been taught by them. they are, truly, the essence of what it’s like to be perfect, what it’s like to be balanced, what it’s like to be human. i’m not saying they are without faults. sure, no one is perfect, and as much as its difficult to see MOST of the time (!), their not without their very own quirks. but you know what? i love them all the more for that. because in many ways, they are also the essence of what it’s like to be REAL.

in a time when it seems to me almost everyone is heavily misled, and horribly insincere, where many find the need to be a complete fake, where people concentrate so much on how to be perfect and how to be who the world wants you to be, i have let my friends teach me a valuable lesson. the importance of being brave and unashamed about who you are. the importance of being an individual in a world where everyone rushes to move in time with the masses, to go with the flow.

i love the way they so unexpectedly make me feel great about myself. i’m usually not too hot with compliments, but these guys (and girls, for those of you who might take that literally…ahem ahem) really know how to brighten my day with a simple, unusual compliment, placed totally out of the blue. it’s the smallest things that make my insides tingle. it’s the tiniest comments that make my day.

one day, sri lanka was having one of it’s million public holidays. i still had a drama and theatre class in the evening, and told my friend who goes with me to this class, to come over a little early so we can hang out before heading for class. when she came to my place, and i went out to open the gate for her, the first thing she said was ‘Oh woman, can i borrow your figure for one day?’ and i was SO flattered! silly? i think not. it sounded so much nicer, and meant so much more coming from her, rather than from some pervert on the road. at the famous Roy Tho, i was standing with a friend near the keells stall, drooling, in typical me style, in whispers, about this girl who standing a few feet away from us. (get used to it, i do that alot. don’t tell me its strange, deal with it.) and you know what he did? he just looked at me and said, ‘your not so bad yourself, girl’. and i was soaring. wow. just today, my friend wrote me this beautiful poem of very few lines. in it she said something to the effect of ‘you eat like a fortunate ethiopian, but i like you that way’ (ok, so i have a huge appetite, but its not the end of the world is it?) and then she stated ‘you are wonderfully creative, and i love you that way’. i laughed so hard, but the sobs rose fast up my chest and into my throat. how truly blessed i am, to be so loved, by such great people. my cousin left me a note on my desk in my absence, a few days after my birthday, in which she said ‘i like this girl, who looks up to me, who looks out for me, who looks WITH me, and some even say. to our secret delight, looks like me!’ and i was blown away. i cried so hard, never wanting to wake up to day in which she wasn’t going to be around, a moment in which i might have to learn to love her enough to let her go. someone recently told me that my name means beautiful, and that i am the epitome of it. another someone just told me that he likes the way my face lights up. the list goes on. i’m not trying to say i’m an insanely popular bimbo who thrives on flattery, i’m trying to say what gorgeous people i have for friends, and how wonderfully protected and secure i feel being in such a cocoon of love and care.

sometimes i sit in my room, looking at the photographs on my walls, and the cards and notes given to me by various friends at various ocassions (or not) and i think to myself, how blissfully content i am. how complete my life is. it scares me to imagine having to say my farewells to some of them, (tracy, i miss you everyday, and iroms…i cant believe how i’m gonna get by without our mad antics everyday) because eventually, it will happen. but someone once told me that that’s what life is about. a very smart someone. she is also said that life was about loving, and letting go, and in this case, coming back for the happy ending. i know it. i’m so insanely attached to them, so absoloutely nuts about them. i dont ever want to have to get by without them, i dont ever want to have to live on without them, i dont ever want to have children that wouldn’t know them.

i realize life is tough. i realize its difficult to depend so solely on one source of companioship and support. but they are my soul mates. my blood siblings. they may not have been mentioned, or referred to in this post, but they know i love them. no one will ever take that away. girls, guys, all shapes, sizes and indeed colours. they mean the world to me. and if anyone ever tells me i’m nice, or cool, i’ll unhesitantly tell them that beyond a shadow of doubt, i am who i am mostly, because of these fantastic people i call friends.

~* are they Gods disguised as humans, or humans pretending to be Gods? *~

cant remember where thats from, but it seemed perfectly relevent.

my friends. i love them.
have i told you how much i really love them?

hello everyone.

…and thus, i’m a blogger. so simple, it seems. seemed so horribly complicated at the time when my friend (a rather popular blogger, quite to my delight) tried invain to convince me to start blogging right away. see, i’ve always been…private….about my writing. let’s just say i’ve always been VERY specific about who gets to read what i write. and besides that, ‘blogging’ always sounded suspiciously like something one does in secret, say in a bathroom. but lately, i’ve been thinking…i mean, whats the harm? what if i CAN write? what if i actually have something worthwhile to tell the world? so, here i am…hopefully, i’ve gotten here before blogging becomes the coolest new activity in town, and EVERYONE is doing it…and it becomes another trend that bit the dust.

what do you need to know about me? besides the fact that i’ve driven one of my bestest (bestest?) friends nuts trying to set this thing up, i’m basically your average, everyday kinda girl. i spend my free time in school exchanging love poems with my girlfriends, i associate all the corniest love song lyrics with this certain individual in my head all day long, i love junk food in humongous quantities, live off coke, dance everytime i hear ‘angel eyes’, and think rob thomas (with a dash of justin timberkale, and since of recent times chad michael murray) is the epitome of hot. what else do you need to know about me? whatever else there is to know about me, it may not be so average or everyday. i speak my mind. really, so brace yourself. i try hard to be the most sincere person i know. sometimes the truth is a little harsh, but hey, i’m a blatant person, so don’t tell me i didn’t warn you. i’m, of sorts, amplified. for better, or indeed worse, i go the extra mile sometimes. i do things that other girls may only think of wanting to do…etc etc. i think you get the basic gist.

i have to go now, because a certain B (!) is having a certain fit that B’s usually have (but i still love her to death)…

its time. let life begin.