'Cause Pigs can Fly

“It's a metaphor, see: You put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don't give it the power to do its killing." John Green wrote that in his book, The Fault in Our Stars. He was talking about smoking. In the story Augustus Waters always carried a pack with him, and has a cigarette between his teeth. He never lights it though. Looking beyond a mere cigarette, words, weapons, love, hate, they all kill. Yet, its up to us to either give it the power to kill us. 

I've always loved playing sudoku. A least since I took up playing it on the daily paper. I never went beyond the puzzle printed on paper, somehow solving a puzzle on my phone, computer or iPad seemed impossible. Then sudoku found a cozy spot with my other apps, mostly games I don't even play. And now I'm hooked on the game and love filling box after tiny box with numbers. Sudoku is more than just a game though. It has taught me many things. Patience. Don't lose your cool. The minutes may pass, but a puzzle deserves all of our time. Don't try to rush through a puzzle and make many mistakes. Patience will make you complete it. Think ahead, but not too ahead. Sudoku makes you think ahead, "if three comes here, then nine goes there, two may go here and if so six can't get there," and so on me little voice in your head will go. Yet, with all the planning, you'll forget that first step and have to go through it all over again. So think ahead, but not too...

Sometimes... like now... I just need a break from everything. From people, from life. People ask me why I go to work five days a week, Amma always tells me to take Monday off. But I go. Sometimes all I do is what I can do from home. Sometimes I spend the day playing Sudoku, or Wordament or Spider Solitaire! But I travel for 1 ½ hours to get there, and I spent the same time getting back, because it’s an escape. From all the drama that is too overwhelming sometimes. Following a conversation about life, I gave it all some thought. And realized that I have so many memories that I have hidden away. That I have bottled up and never told anyone. I don’t know if I ever will tell them to anyone, listening ears are hard to find these days. And sometimes silence says much more than words could. Sometimes a smile can actually make everything better. Then there are all those things that you only know if you read between the lines. But I don’t do that. I take what is told or done just a...

The world may lack many things, but it doesn't lack religions. Or beliefs. Now a question I have been asked too often is, "why do you not believe in God?" I usually choose some reason and shut them up. But today, well, here's a list. 1. Since you can pick and choose between religions and beliefs, there has to be some selfish reason behind your choice. Now, I have asked for stuff from that faceless, nameless God! I've said over and over again, "Look! If you do in fact exist, now's the time to show your self. Also I would really appreciate it if you kill me in my sleep so that I wont have to wake up tomorrow for a blood test!" (Yes, I actually did ask for that and was so disappointed to wake up the next day!) So since you are reading this, or rather since I'm writing this, you know that I didn't die that night, and the blood test was utterly painful too! But I've asked for other things, things too personal to talk about, and too far awa...

A teacher's first words to you will make you determine if you like that particular teacher or not, and if that teacher likes or dislikes you. My Ordinary Level Math teacher’s first words to me were, “Your handwriting is worse than a boy’s!” To add insult to injury, she was talking about my first page of a book neat and perfect handwriting. During a class, my science teacher was reading through my notes. He frowned at one point, and pointing to a word, asked me what I had written. Having spent several seconds trying in vain, to figure the word out, I told him that even I didn’t understand what I had written. I admit that my letters are mere shapes or strokes of a pen sometimes. They rarely resemble proper letters. My neatest letters were in Tamil, and this was mainly because I was learning the language and our Tamil teacher didn’t appreciate untidy books. My Sinhalese letters are more awkward and most of my school books were covered in incomplete letters that look...

http://www.nation.lk/edition/lifestyle/item/17560-the-good-die-young.html HE WAS A HUSBAND TO A very patient and kindhearted lady. He was a father to a six month old boy. He was also a soldier. He carried a gun right to the battlefields and he survived the war. He may have watched people he loved as friends or brothers, drop like flies as bullets pierced their hearts. He survived it all. Yet, he couldn’t escape death. A blood clot took him to a grave no one had even planned of digging for him, before he even turned forty. He was a man his family depended on, a man his wife’s family had begun to love as their own. He worked hard to build a home for his wife and child, and even before it could be given the final touches, he died. He is a man that adds truth to the phrase, “only the good die young.” When talking about the dead, those who died of some illness, at the battlefield, having drunk themselves to death or just being in the wrong place, people would say, “Oh he was in his for...

to you (of the past) "We can only be completely honest and innocent and real with each other because we both know perfectly well that nothing can and nothing should happen between us. For instance by some miracle we have feelings for each other, we know we have to erase or forget or at least control those feelings. However it is this forbidden love/liking that keeps us going, plunging deeper and deeper into life's mysteries. It is this that helps with the mild flirting, the honesty and self revelations. This also breaks us, making us emotionally broken human beings" love, me (of the past)

Nails! I hate them. Not the rust covered ones that fill glass bottles that once contained jams of various sorts. Not those that are battered into wood with a hammer, holding things together. Not those that held Jesus Christ on to that cross, the nails that were covered in his blood. Nails! The ones that grow on your fingers and toes. Those ghastly things that are grown to the most disturbing lengths. I keep my nails short; cut them constantly, even though at times it makes my skin bleed. The feel of some one's sharp edged nails on my skin makes me shudder, and more than once I’ve been tempted to slice them off. When I went to Jaffna for four days, I realized on the second night, that my nails needed cutting. There was no way to find a nail clipper or pair of scissors and they weren’t astonishingly long to make it seem like an emergency. So I did something I hadn’t done for years. I bit my nails off. And it was only then that I felt free and in a way cleaner. To ...