'Cause Pigs can Fly

I'm definitely too young to talk about marriage. And I'm also too skeptical to talk about marriage. But here goes! Marriage, just stay away from it as long as possible. Women, do not get married until you are in your late twenties. Men, just. Thirty is the best age. Or after that. Just don't tie the knot before twenty six because you are still too young to be tied down, to be weighed down by marriage. A neighbor. He has a son, who married at maybe twenty four, to a girl who was nineteen or so. His sister's best friend. His first daughter got married at nineteen or twenty. And his second daughter is nineteen now and I can't help hear the distant sound of wedding bells whenever I see her. The sad part is that I never get invited for all these weddings, so ya, let's see how many people get invited when I get married! So these men and women, or rather girls and boys are way too young to be getting married. And not only do you have to get used to your spouse, r

We all have these labels or tags that in some way define us. While we say we can’t be defined by a single word, a mixture of many things makes us who we are. If someone asks me who I am, my answer would depend on who asks the question and where I am. I’m a Sri Lankan, A Buddhist, A Sinhalese, A writer, LCite, Nerdfighter And so many more things. And while none of these can fully define me, I am a combination of several labels or tags. What are we when all these labels are taken away? When we take away each one of those tags? Nothing. What makes us who we are is what we are. My beliefs, various organizations and groups I am part of, the things I like to do will say bits about me and they will make me who I am. If you take Shailee the Female, she doesn’t show much interest in things termed ‘girly.’ Make up and jewelry does not interest her. She does like to dress up once in a while but prefers the familiar comfort of her faded blue jeans and ts

Since multitasking is much encouraged, our kitchen, pantry, dining and TV room are one and the same. This means that we can prepare our food, cook it, eat and watch TV all at once (I do not recommend this.) Anyway, last night was a typical Sunday night. Until... So my brother was not at home. My grandmother was watching a TV program while my mother and I watched it and had dinner. And then I said, "OMG huge cockroach" and all hell broke loose. We tried to ignore the fellow until we realized it could fly. It was then that we left the kitchen. The TV program was important to my grandmother, so instead of locking our selves in our rooms, we all stood near our bedrooms, trying to follow the program. Since I left my food on the kitchen table, I went back for it. Then I saw a gecko was trying to eat the roach, and shooed away the gecko with a broom. This excited the roach, and thus my mother and grandmother. Then I realized this guy was harmless, and sat in the kitchen

A dash of yellow paint on an otherwise blank paper. Add some water, and spread the paint a little. Add more water and spread it more. Repeat until the paint is a mere whisper on the paper. This is what happens with the impression we have of people. The dash of yellow paint is that first impression. The water we keep adding is what we get to know about them. The whisper of yellow is the final image we have of that person. Sometimes we chuck that paper in a wastepaper basket as soon as we see that washed out yellow. Sometimes we feel that the faint yellow paper is still worth something, and we store it with all other papers; some darker than the others. However, later on in life, we will either forget about this paper, or throw it away. We see this illusion, something that is not real. First impressions are often not-real impressions of a person. You can’t tell how honest or reliable someone is by that first impression. One glance their way, or a brief conversation will not o

The Past Most of my childhood memories involve cricket. We played cricket while in school, we played cricket once we got home from school, we played cricket on birthdays and other special occasions, we played cricket during the weekend and we played cricket during school holidays. Having played so much cricket, we also watched cricket matches, stayed up till late to see who wins and cursed the winning team if we didn't like them ("May you all rot in hell you bloody Australians and also Indians even though half our families live in those countries!"). So we played cricket, we watched it, we read about it. We basically lived it. We were scolded for the cracked glasses, all the lovely roses the hits seemed to be always directed at and all the tennis balls that went missing. We were scolded for tiring our selves, playing cricket instead of finishing our homework and for being out till late when the mosquitoes kept feasting on our blood. We ignored the rain or the hot sun.

So today a guy sat next to me on the bus and I felt that he was inching closer to me. I went away from him as much as I could and looked out of the window. Then he began to say things like "why are you looking away?" etc. Ugh! I frowned, stood up and walked away.... I know it's a small incident but it's annoying and we feel so helpless at those times, don’t we?... Later, I got to know that 112 could be called to complain about such incidents. Or even talking with the bus conductor about it is a good idea it seems… -Recent experience of a female friend I work in Maradana, and even though my office is walking distance from Town Hall, and Odel, for you posh ones, walking down those roads is a hundred times different to say, walking down Flower Road. I have to be careful about my clothes and in general, the people are more, well, human. Having gone for short walks to buy lunch, never have I not been met with at least one comment from a man. They don't even ca

 The Nation We all have our share of fears. Sometimes they extend to phobias. Whether it’s a fear of spiders or a fear of flying, there will always be things that limit us. One of my greatest fears is related to needles. I don’t mind the sight of them, and even touching them. Yet, a needle through my skin, whether it’s to draw blood or inject medicine, is something I fear. This is beyond an acceptable fear of pain. I feel faint and need to hold on tightly to someone’s arm or hand when there’s a needle piercing my skin. Two years ago, I was down with the flu during a time when the dengue mosquitoes were at work. After three days of fever, the doctor insisted on a blood test. The night before the test, I prayed, even though I usually did not.  I didn’t pray for a painless blood test or the strength to go through with it. I prayed for death because at that point, death seemed better than the torture of drawing blood. Of course, my prayers weren’t answered and the blood test p