'Cause Pigs can Fly

Voting has always been important to me, even though, admittedly, I haven’t always put a lot of thought into the people and parties I was voting for. I don’t think I can blame this on age, although I also feel like no matter who is voted in, they always manage to screw us over, leading to those who voted for them getting criticised and ridiculed. But this post isn’t about politics or elections or voting (although if you are reading this in Sri Lanka before 4 p.m. on the 14th of November, I do urge you to vote). Okay, I lied. This is about voting. Kind of. My uncle, that’s my mother’s brother, lives next door to us. I don’t think they were extremely close growing up, because my mother spent some of her childhood with their father in Panadura while my uncle lived with their mother in Dehiwala. But it is their relationship as adults that I know about, born when my mother was 30 and my uncle 36 (I think). Anyway, most Sri Lankans aren’t affectionate. Parents don’t tell their childre...

I find myself pleading with the universe to give me one easy week. One week where I don't need to think about work and deadlines or promises and obligations or worries and anxieties. Where to-do lists don't matter. Where my phone doesn't ping or ring. A week of peace and quiet where one good thing is followed by another and I don't have to do anything. An easy week. And it feels so selfish, so self-indulgent, doesn't it? I'm one in 8 billion people. Why should the universe show me extra kindness? But I do think that there should be a limit to what a person has to go through. I've dealt with illness and death, with heartbreak of sorts, with disappointment, with anger and hate, with loss of all shapes and sizes. And I'm tired. And I need a break. And I feel like, yes, we've gotten better at talking more honestly about things like loneliness and unhappiness and being unloved or wanting love. We aren't as embarrassed about these flaws or weaknesses o...

My grandmother and I never had an easy or loving relationship. There was always some kind of tension between us, ever since I was small. And as a result, I don’t have many memories with her. I remember going to her house before heading for an elocution class in the area. I remember a few yellow rice lunches at the house that was later sold and demolished. One of my clearest, earliest memories of her is from a few years ago. I was standing outside their house (the one they moved to later on), waiting for my aunt to come to the gate so I could give her something. My grandmother, returning from someplace, stepped out of a three-wheeler. I gave her whatever it was that I had made for them. She turned to go inside the house, but turned back to me and said: “I thought you hated me.” People will tell you to not talk ill of the dead. My grandmother is now dead so I guess I should talk about more pleasant memories. But I don’t think those who are alive should have to make up pleasant memori...

Something I really miss about life is my ability to be by myself. In my 20s (which sounds ridiculous to say, because I was in my 20s just last year), I would spend hours by myself at cafes and restaurants and pubs, eating, drinking, reading, writing, people watching. It wasn't like I was good company. Not particularly liking yourself makes it a bit uncomfortable to spend long stretches of time all alone, with no one to talk to except for the occasional server. And yet, I really liked these hours I had to myself. I liked the sense of just being. Not having to prepare for a conversation. Not having to wait for someone. Not having to be some version of myself. However, somewhere along the way, things changed, and I stopped spending time with myself. Recently, I was to meet some friends and had some time to kill. And so, I went to the place we were to meet and got some reading time in. I had around two hours to myself, and the server made a comment on how my friends were late. I told h...

You know, it used to really piss me off when people said things like "you should choose happiness." It seems ridiculous that I would wallow in bloody unhappiness when I could just easily choose to be happy. I couldn't wake up in the morning and choose how to feel, now could I? But now I'm realising that maybe it's not about that daily choice, but about choosing happiness in the face of certain situations. You look at whatever has happened in your life and ask yourself how you want to feel in life... not about the situation itself, not about how certain things or people made you feel, but about what you want in life. You can choose to be unhappy, hurt, angry, whatever. And sometimes, those feelings right all those wrongs. People realise that they fucked up. That they made you feel like shit. But sometimes they don't. They think that you are being unreasonable. You are expecting too much. You are imagining shit. And in such situations, it's sometimes easier ...

You know, I've spent the past few days/weeks feeling hurt and angry, but also ashamed that I care so much about these things and about people who don't care about me. It felt rather embarrassing to be asking myself why these people didn't care about me. It felt like I had failed somehow. I hadn't been kind enough. I hadn't been nice. Or good. Or friendly. I had failed. But it's not enough to be any of these things, isn't it? Sometimes, people just don't care. And that's okay. Because there are people who are nice to me but whom I don't really care too much about. So if I can do this to others, why was I so bothered when others did it to me? Anyway, while dealing with this hurt and anger and shame, I also felt a sense of guilt. A voice in my head would say: "But what about the people who do care?" And it's true. My hurt over people who didn't care seemed to do a disservice to those who care and love and make me feel like I'm ...