There are all types of loss

Sometimes it takes a great tragedy for one to see what reality looks like. Because, in the aftermath of unhappiness and despair and tears, the rubble starts clearing slowly, and truths emerge. Suddenly you realise that people have changed, friendships have matured, and some folks have just moved away. Sometimes you realise that some haven't been around for the longest time but that in our constant need to maintain normalcy, we have been consciously overlooking the fact.

This is a loss of innocence and childhood. It's disturbing and unsettling and it's not the kind of thing that you want to think about. But the truth is, as the cliche goes, we live and we learn. And the less we cling on to willful self-delusion, the better it is for our mental well-being and the truer we are being to ourselves.

For the lies we tell ourselves are often the most involved and are well crafted to protect us, but they won't save us when the crap hits the fan. Instead, they beget expectations, which, as we all know, bring pain. More than that, they beget unhealthy, half-baked relationships based on old truths and private jokes, little vignettes that have now faded away into memory. Some friendships, it seems, die a natural death -- it's sad, but that doesn't mean that what was was not true, nor does it mean that the same friends are now terrible people. It just means that things have changed. And it would be wise and enlightened to remember that without bitterness or regret,

On being shape eke good with yourself

Life sure is a funny thing. It speeds by, you speed with it, and you don't realise how much it changes inside of you with its passing.

Today an old friend Whatsapped me about her wedding -- excitedly, we discussed plans, places, outfits, dance routines. I remembered that it was just a little over 365*3 days ago that we sat on our hostel-room beds in the college hostel, discussing boys, marriage, and life. We were young, literally jobless, and in that beautiful bubble that is university life. The world and we were yet to meet. I meet girls that I went to school with, on the streets of the city. Some are wearing splashy new rings on their fingers, others are sporting kids, like, multiple kids. After the requisite cooing, it always strikes me hard, how they have a life that is completely different to my relatively unencumbered existence. This feeling magnifies when I see their photos of kids' birthdays. Kids' birthdays. A few years ago, those existed only in photo albums of ourselves that our parents had preserved with careful love.

Assessing life is always mildly frightening -- you see your achievements, but you also can't help but see the many, many, many things you still have to struggle through. Higher studies, marriage, other adult-life-related bothersome details that don't bear thinking about on this gloomy Saturday in Colombo. But most of all, if I ever actually sit down and think about my life, I see how I have grown. And it's kind of surprising. I never used to do that before. I never read that particular author before. When did I start caring about Syria? When did I suddenly develop an interest in the Kuiper Belt that holds that icy dwarf planets in our solar system? What the frick.

It's weird. But then, I guess that's just life. Have come to realise that the thing that matters the most is if you like the person you've become/are becoming. Sometimes that takes a little more digging deep into the stuff souls are made of, but if you can actually do that, if you take the time off social media and growing up and being cool to actually do that, and you realise that, yes, I'm cool with this strange but pretty freaking wonderful individual occupying skinny limbs and female balding well-hidden by a fringe, then you're shape eke good.

Parents who have sinned in their past lives

Drinking copious cups of tea on this rainy day, I work on my thesis. A little earlier in the day, our “domestic” (charming colonial leftover) told me a sad story – she asked me to watch news today at 7pm, on ITN. Every year, she said, they cover the bomb blast in Nugegoda that killed her second son, then in his early 20s. He was a shop assistant at the No Limit in Nugegoda -- now refurbished, with hardly a trace of the devastation that was wreaked – when a parcel bomb exploded near the store. Her son suffered only minor injuries from the blast, and rushed out to see what was happening. At this point, the fuselage of a bike nearby blew up, killing him. She’s quite matter-of-fact about it now; she thought a bit and told me that seven years ago, by around 5.45pm he had already died. She wants to give a dane to the temple near her house, but will only do so in January because of some problems at home.

“Mata dane lang weddi hamadaama heeneng penawa puthawa”, she says, with some incredulity. “Mang diha hangila wage baling innawa. Mang hema raema dakinawa.” So, I rationalized it as probably being because she’s thinking about him as the dane draws closer. She agreed immediately, adding that no matter what she does, whether it’s cooking or sweeping at our house, or travelling by bus, or going to sleep, “mohothakata mohothak mata mathak wenawa”, she’s always thinking of him. She’s a good, hard-working woman, who spoils her two remaining sons a little, but has brought them up to be honest men. What did she ever do to deserve that? As they say, “Paw karapu demawapiyo”, but that seems a pretty tame excuse.

How do you validate your existence, and do you really have to?

Everything seems about purpose nowadays. As an essentially lazy person, this irks me just a little because it turns out just doing things is not very cool anymore. Like, just reading a book. Just sitting in the sun. Just doing something for the heck of. Why, they'll say? What were you trying to learn, where were you trying to go, why didn't you post it on Facebook, so all of us could enjoy it too?
Everything must have a course to take and an end to meet. I sometimes feel like social media has entrenched this need for validation so deep in our souls now that there's no going back. We post our whole lives on social media -- it's like we're putting it out there to validate the way we live, our friends, our relationships. Look, see, tell me it's awesome! More 'Like's must mean that what we're doing is right. It must mean that we're leading a good, exciting life. It's a form of seeking adulation that most of us -- including myself -- are guilty of.

Seeking validation anywhere outside the self could be seriously detrimental, I feel. When you look to another for the reason of your existence and a ratifying of the principles by which you live, you know you're in deep. Easier said than done, of course, is finding purpose and satisfaction within yourself, and not needing anyone else to give you thumbs-up signs, virtual or otherwise.

It's hard, as you go on. You want to impress new friends, bosses, colleagues, lovers. You want them to tell you that you're getting it right. Our work culture is mostly based on feedback -- our chain of remuneration is based on how 'good' we are at what we 'do'. I guess that's why we seek evaluation and appraisal systems in our personal lives as well -- Tell me I'm beautiful. Say it again that I'm smart. Explain to me about how awesome my life plan is.

To be honest, the simple life is way beyond us now. We're too bogged down in our connected, social, dependent lifestyles. But still, maybe we can try to at least to stop seeking validation in others' eyes. All those Facebook memes must be right -- being yourself is the best thing.

Late-life-student ramblings

Why? Sitting here with a coffee and a blank Word document in front of me, wondering why we go through this charade that is "educating ourselves".

Groan.

Distance

Stretched. Wide between
The lives
That moved, endlessly
To the beat of the insistent
Drums of ambition and
What was expected.
Soon, the cracks
Became chasms
Into which moments
Fell, unattended
And words tumbled,
Never said, or half said.
It was all calm, like a
Dead sea
On a still, airless day
With no wind or a wave
To ruffle surfaces.

The drums beat on
And the chasm
Widened
Hungrily.

On choices and dealing with them

The way I see it, moping is the pits. While I do recommend the occasional bout of feeling sorry for oneself, extended periods of this are just going to result in a less productive, unhappy, constantly-down individual.

In my eternal optimism, I find that the solution, then, must be to work. Work, work, work until there really isn't time to wander around the house with a hangdog expression and plenty of depression for anyone who has the misfortune to cross your path.

Every single thing I've read online about motivation and maintaining a study-life balance and stuff (maybe I Googled extensively. Sue me :D) says that organization is key, as is time management. As a champion failure in both aspects, I can say that the FEW times I have actually attempted at these with some mild success have been awesome. You feel like you're doing something in life rather than going through the motions like an automaton.

It's surely not easy, but then, what is? Up to a certain point in life, all seems rosy and delightful. Maybe it's high school for some, college for some, first useless job for others. While you do face challenges and problems, I don't seem to remember the bone-deep fatigue with life that I have heard fellow 20-somethings complain about. But there you have it. By choice, we live demanding lives. At least, most of us. We have chosen our gruelling professions for love or money, or both, and we have chosen our ambitions and our insecurities and our means to becoming "better". Now we all need to deal with it.

Back to work!

But first, some 80s, just because it's Throwback Thursday and all that :)

Keeping up with the Kardashians...

...cannot be as difficult as keeping up with my own life and its menagerie of mad people. If it's not trying to write a thesis while battling chronic lethargy and spurts of holy-shit-why-why-why-did-I-take-this-on, it's family members with attitude problems, dogs that refuse to leave your room, and friends dropping bombshells, accompanied by clients with bad accents and worse personalities, chores, and just general fatigue.

Taking deep breaths would help, I guess. But it's too bloody hot here in sunny Colombo for that, and the lights just went out. Godforsaken CEB. Might as well listen to some good music. Pfft.



Also, loved Kim's wedding dress. So pure and virginal *snigger snigger*

The Philosopher's Stone

There are times in life, when all you want to do is bang your head repeatedly against a hard concrete wall and gouge someone's eyes out just to release your extreme frustration and inability deal with some shit.

In times like this, I assume mature people would listen to awesome, sublime music like this. I am so freaking mature, and hence, here it is.



Sometimes I wish I could just pack up a car and head off into the blissful unknown, seeking the Philosopher's Stone.

A visit to a home on a Saturday in May

The ‘home’ seems a little run-down from the outside. When you walk in, pushing aside a big iron gate, the first things you see are a lawn that leaves the impression of uncut grass and a fat soft toy of a panda that I first thought was a dog on a bench in front of the house. I find out later that the house belonged to a once-famous actress, Ruby De Mel, who started this place with 10 children with special needs. Later research tells me that this is her home, and that she had a role in the Indiana Jones movie that was filmed in Sri Lanka.

We walk in and are greeted with familiarity and warmth by a young girl who ushers us in – one of us is a regular donor and from the area. We walk into the verandah to the curious stares of three girls – women – on the left, in various poses on the terra-cotta floor. Two are sitting, one is on all fours. All three stare unblinkingly and somewhat unsurely at us.

Inside, the house is spacious, built with the corridors and middle courtyard so familiar in old Sri Lankan houses. The feeling of being run-down prevails, but in a clean, hygienic and slightly familiar way. It’s how you would see any old house that hasn't seen renovations in a long time but is full of people who love it and keep it habitable.

We are ushered in to the eating area. I get the impression of children, adults, in-betweens of varying types. I try to zoom in on their disorder with my psychology-student insight; doesn't appear to have Down’s, but yes, I was told that this is a home for people with Autism. I try to spot the characteristics we learned about – the love of order, the dislike for maintaining eye contact. I do not find it, or I am too afraid to look properly.

We are asked to serve, and this is nice. It feels like you’re really a part of the giving process. Rice, a big aluminium dish of dhal, potatoes with chili, chicken, fish, and salad. A young girl who is a helper serves out the rice, but we dish out the curries onto plates that are plastic or aluminium and have numbers and faded letters on them, written in permanent black marker.

Once done, the helpers call the girls and women in, and they stream in, not unruly but now uncaring of the company. We hover by the door and a stout lady in a Kandyan sari asks us to come closer. She asks what the ‘occasion’ is. It is an anniversary – five years of ups and downs together. We hedge a little; the absence of marriage makes this kind of joint donation a little tricky by societal standards. We stick to just our names. The woman nods understandingly and begins.

It’s very similar to many I’ve heard before. Ayubowan! We are here today because these wonderful people have donated our lunch for us. So, to thank them, we wish and hope for them happiness and health always. She pauses to mangle my name a little and looks over at us. We look somber, I think, to suit the situation. She goes on. We wish them success in everything they do. The girls and women stand with their hands folded, possibly unaware of what is being said, mostly likely only registering hunger.

For the first time, I am just impaled by the irony of the situation. Here they stand, some 20 women of varying age, with mental disorders that will never allow them a full societal life. They will be happy in this home, they are well taken care of, but they will not know real health, ever. They will never know ‘success’, personal fulfillment, the whirlwind romance of youth, doing work you love, being a woman and enjoying what that means in this day. There they are wishing us happiness because we donated Rs. 2,000 each for their lunch. The bronze highlights in my hair cost me more than twice that amount. And they are wishing us – happy, healthy, fit, in love and with the world and our life together stretching in front of us with endless, frightening, glorious possibilities.

The woman mentions our names again, and I look down, feeling depressed. People often talk of feeling “so depressed” after coming to ’homes’. I often get angry at these people for their superficial charity and their fleeting emotions towards people who have a million more reasons to be ‘so depressed’. But, I am depressed at all of this – at me, at them, and at the world and how life works in general. The woman finishes, and the children and women give a rousing “thank you!” (I think that was it, I don’t remember) and immediately turn to their food, quite happy with life.

What is twerking?

Why do we look for answers anywhere else but within ourselves? I often think this when I Google something that I really shouldn't be Googling, mostly existential questions. Of course, Google, and the millions of confused cyberstruck souls that we share the planet with, has the answer. Whatever you want to know, they got the answer to, sometimes with long explanations as to WHY you're feeling the way you are, other times with neat and clean little bulleted lists with steps to take to achieve/get rid of/change whatever it is you're trying to.

I'm thinking it might have to do with how little we think these days. It's always easier to click and share now than to sit down and ruminate over the why's and where's or how's of Life. If you put it out there on the public forums, now, THEN you'll get a response, a Like, a Comment from some smart-alec who's been there and done that. You needn't bother with introspection.

So Google will tell you how to get your life in order, how to concentrate for an exam, why your hair is falling, how to be a better man, ways to pleasure your woman in bed, why you can't get over a broken heart, what to listen to when you're upset, why the sky is blue, who you should really be in life, what career you should be following and why you're not doing what you're supposed to be doing in life.

It's easy and manufactured, and ready-to-go answers are what we all seem to looking for these days. Just seems to take away from the whole point of the thinking man/woman, that's all.

'What is twerking?' -- the most Googled question in America in 2013. She came in like a wreeeecking baaalll, indeed :-/

Mental funk and other junk

I had the worst case of Writer's Block over the past few weeks -- I kept wanting to pen some thoughts down, but all I could come up with were melancholy ramblings that are too morbid even for this blog (hah). This has been the result of a slight mental funk, I believe, the kind of thing that we fall into on and off due to small, seeming insignificant incidents that we shrug off and act mature about. These come back to haunt us. Such unfunky times are characterised by thinking, over-thinking, brooding, feeling generally sorry for self, and going on Facebook too much. Facebook is the worst thing that ever happened to us. Even I -- the world's greatest nerd and self-proclaimed bigger-than-Facebook person -- had to deactivate my account for a bit to deal with some snazzy exams. I've already checked the damn thing about 6-7 times TODAY to see if a new picture I've been tagged in has got more likes. The picture is cute, but that is far and away beyond my original point of Facebook being the bane of our damned (and I'm not swearing here) generation. Also, Whatsapp and its darn faulty time-stamps.

Anyway! Before this develops into the kind of full-blown rant that my Inner Goddess is oh-so-very capable of, let me just say that church and cookies got me through that mental funk. Church, because I believe and my faith is something that has always guided me when things go wrong. Cookies, because I baked them alone, dancing alone to some good 70s songs, gesticulating with my wooden spatula at my (very curious, and maybe a little frightened) dog, who was keeping me company. The cute little baby girl.

So, if the mental funk descends upon you, brood a little, as we all have the right to do, and focus on the things you have to get done in life. These things seem to fall by the wayside when we're too busy feeling spaced out and weirded with our own selves. Also, do something you enjoy, alone. Company is nice, but sometimes you need to do stuff for yourself, by yourself.

That's all, folks.

On growing up

Growing up, it seems, is a bit of a painful business, to put it lightly. An inspired person I know says that when he looks back at what he was an year ago, he can't believe how much better a person he has become. That's inspirational.

It seems that when you're young (er), you measure your change by the bulk events that occur in your life -- first relationships, the last few years of school, college, your first real jobs. What were you before, what are you after. As you get old (er) though, you see the more gradual changes; you feel how life has settled its heavy hands on your shoulders and pressed you down to the earth, telling you that some things are that you have to be 'adult about', and that now you are actually 'adult' enough to deal with them.

One of the toughest lessons you could learn is that the world doesn't, surprisingly, revolve around you (fancy that!). Younger, even the humblest among us thinks that, hey! This is all pivoting on me! I am the pivot! Everybody's waiting for me. But then you realise that they're not waiting for you, because everybody grew up. And maybe some of them lost their faith in you along the way, while you were busy being fabulous. And maybe you lost your faith in some of them. Maybe we all realised that we're alone in this journey, and that we have to build our survival skills alone.

This is a hard lesson, especially for us silly few who believe in rainbows and happy endings and good things for good people :) Our philosophy is broadly idealistic and highly impractical -- a beautiful world where everyone muddles through together and makes the most and best of every situation together. *Cue the violins*. It doesn't matter that we're practical young professionals with keen intellects and years of solid education backing us, we still believe in this crock. Perhaps we need to maintain some of this possibly destructive idealism, but it bites us, often right in the butt, when the rest of the world plows over it with its practical cynicism and its hard realities.

But that's ageing for you; when you can't escape it, you're old (er) enough to accept it for what it is -- the way of the world, and its people. 

The happiness space

"You need to be happy with yourself to be happy with other people", a smart and wonderful person said today. This was amid a relatively philosophical discussion, and it stopped me in my ruminative tracks, as it were. Happy with yourself. I have always been happy with myself, at least, for as long as I remember -- those days, when I was asked if I was content, I would immediately say yes, much to everyone else's surprise. Not many people seemed happy with their lot in Life.

To say that has changed seems to signal a shift in the planes of my existence. Perhaps this discontent signifies that we have started challenging ourselves unnecessarily, creating discontent. Or that we have become older, with more responsibilities and more reasons to realise how much life sucks, and how unfair this whole damn thing is to all but a lucky few.

But mostly I think it's because we rob ourselves of our simplicity -- we pack on other things. We strap on expectations of others, societal norms, "personal improvement", work "goals", career "aspirations", and we lose sight of important things, like our inner peace. And the ability to have a quiet moment.

And worse, we make lacklustre decisions that we are verree likely to regret later. They are not bad or foolish decisions, just awfully boring, seemingly "necessary" ones. These often leave us muddling through to "finish up", even if we just want to say screw it, I'm not doing this crap.

But to give our sad selves some credit, it seems that as we grow older, the world around us, the way our attachments change in their own spheres, the awareness of aging and the terrible bloody banality of have-to-do-no social engagements (peppered with inane questions and ridiculous small-talk) slowly attack our IP. Or perhaps it is our lack of IP that causes us to be that affected by this agglomerated melancholy.

I suppose the bottom line is that we have to build our own happiness. I feel lists might help, and organization. Smiling at yourself and telling yourself that no, you are prettier than them, and that no, you started this, now you'll finish it. It means beating down the negative sentiments that dog us about our incompetence, unacceptability, unloveability, undesirability, etc. And I really think it entails a whole lot of not taking yourself too seriously, and not taking all but a very few very seriously.

 It's a bit of an effort, but if we can achieve (or re-achieve) that happiness with who we are, mad flaws and all, we might find that our reactions to those nasty little curve balls Life seems to throw at us are better, more positive, and definitely simpler. We might find that we no longer walk around with bright smile and a slightly cloudy heart (note the clever weather analogy).

If you still can't find that happinness, though, looks like the helpful folk at freaking wikipedia are willing to lend a happy hand:

http://www.wikihow.com/Be-Happy-Being-Yourself

Move over, all existential philosophers who ever wrote tomes on how to be happy with oneself. Wikhow will put all you fellows to shame.

Just a thought.

The world will be strewn with people you could not save.

Bits and bobs

You know those times when you realise that you were wrong about fundamental things? It's a strange sensation. I think the mind takes time to adjust to it. Instead of acclimatizing and evolving ways by which it can deal with the situation, the brain goes in to overdrive. I don't know if it's always the case, but mine starts sprouting bits and bob of popular culture and oft-heard adages. 

"The best laid plans of mice and men..."..."I tried my best, but I guess my best wasn't good enough.."... "What doesn't kill you makes you stoooongerrr...", etc. 

It's like a constant cacophony inside your head, with things you always knew coming back to haunt you and tell you that you've gone and put your foot in it this time. The corny song verses are the worst, yurgh. They even come with the accompanying bars of music. After a point, you realise you need to tune out, or slowly go mad. 

Things that make you question.

You can be in the middle of the most mundane, routine, regular day when an existential crisis hits you. Often, it's the strange, small things that make you question the validity of the life you live, or the work you do, the routine you have chosen to control you. This is all despite having made a conscious decision to adhere to that routine and disregard all the rhetoric on how you should give up your city job and chase your dreams all the way to Tuscany, on the back of a handsome, leather-jacket-clad stranger's bike :)

Small things, indeed, like a routine survey that questions if you feel content in the workplace and if it aligns with your long-term plans for life. Or like an in-the-middle-of-the-rush moment when you find yourself staring out of the windows of the city's tallest buildings, looking down at Colombo's twinkling lights and wondering how you ended up becoming something you had one day vowed you would never become.

Maybe "crisis" is too strong a word -- I think I'll stick to "wonderings," although, of course, that is not a word, per se :)

Thoughts over tea

Have been meeting some different types recently, due to some new developments in life. Quite a few of them work in NGOs and research organizations -- the horrors that well-heeled corporates shudder at. Low pay! Humanitarian aid! Run! :)

One of these is a tiny young woman who's currently involved in community rehabilitation in Jaffna. She sat across us at the table in that ragged canteen as we, a motley group of 20-somethings from weird and wonderful walks of life, discussed life, love and, well, boys, over hot tea and helapa. I freaking love helapa. She told us about her work in the North and about how words can barely express how beautiful the land is, and how interesting and open the people are. She's wiry and energetic and as she spoke with her hands flying and her eyes glittering (seriously), you could see how excited she was about it, how enthralled by the sheer awesomeness of the life she's living.

While a part of me was truly envious that you could be so in love with what you do, a part of me was fascinated -- what is it like to be so passionate about something? 

Fresh-faced

Still hope there
Still dreams allowed,
Seems a while since
That was a thing
To be.

I am cuckoo alone.

These few days...I have been feeling mildly psychotic. Psychotic not in terms of actual psychosis but in the sense that I feel my being is being slowly pulled in two dozen different directions at the same time, each requiring a specific, measured, and urgent amount of energy and success to be achieved. This feels like some noxious by-product of growing up and turning adult, and doing all the things "you're supposed to do."

Through it all, however, I have come to the happy conclusion that not only can you please everybody, including, very much, yourself, you also cannot count on everyone being as understanding about your not meeting expectations as YOU would be, were they in the same circumstances. All that 'be kind because everyone is fighting a harder plan' biz seems to be a bunkum in real life. I suppose it's more difficult to acclimatize to the fact when you generally make an effort to be "the understanding friend."

Also, success has suddenly become an internally-measured factor. Yes, let's just all open up about it -- for the greater part of our lives, success is as how the world sees you --parents, teachers, peers. If they are successful enough in inculcating their well-meaning ideas of how successful you should be, soon you absorb it in to your world view..and voila! Le stress!

Sometimes I wonder how some people balance. Especially those super mom types with irritating husbands and crying children and nagging in-laws and let's-meet-up-for-high-tea-at-Galle-Face-Hotel lady friends. I suppose they have learned the lesson of how to achieve enough inner peace and calm to manage life and all its madness. To think I used to laugh at folk who used that cliched phrase, "24 hours in not enough." Now I don't know if I wish there were more than 24 hours or if I'm glad because the requisite hours of rest allow everyone to shut their traps, including my inner psycho goddess. Who I'm sure is gorgeous and well-educated, but can turn in to a raving lunatic in constant PMS mood sometimes.

"My friend, thou art good and cautious and wise; nay, thou art perfect, and I, too, speak with with thee wisely and cautiously. And yet I am mad. But I mask my madness. I would be mad alone."

The Madman, Khalil Gibran.

Ispot on, old chap.