In the confusion and aftermath

The cast of Oddamaivadi

2011-10-04T08:18:00.000-07:00

It had been a great trip so far. Admittedly the 3am drive down left a bit to be desired but the two dives on the mystery wreck were mind blowing. An eagle ray soared past us as we hovered over the wreck and huge trevalley moved in the shadows as we swam into the ghostly ship lying scatted on the bottom and hordes of snappers swirled above us, a solid mass of fish. I’m still not sure how this was but the air from our tanks tasted of strawberries and the dives were simply world class.

As the sun set on the beach at Kayankerni we exultantly discussed our evidence on what the ship could be, the length indicated a World War II wreck but there was still much to be done the next day to further uncover the mystery. It was then that we made our fatal mistake. We decided that nothing would cap the day better than a couple of beers. Thus fortified with this foolish idea we proceeded to Oddamaivadi to get some beer. Over the Kayankerni bridge as we rattled along the newly built road we heard a thud. Shortly followed by a warning light on dashboard and the death rattle of the engine seizing up.

Rather befuddled we sat in the car for a few minutes before deciding to move it to the side of the road in case a passing combine harvester gave us a gentle tap on the back in the approaching gloom. It was then that we started to meet the inhabitants. As I pushed the Swift to the side of the road (it’s a surprisingly light car) a motorcycle spluttered to a stop and our Guardian Angel turned up to assist, heavily disguised of course as a mustachioed and saronged old man, GB Kahn. While DJ and I stood bewildered he in quick succession organized a truck to tow us to the nearest garage.

The garage, actually a large field with a shack, turned out to be the haunt of Sudu Malli, the black as night mechanic who soulfully advised us to get a new filter and he would try his best the next day. As we had reached the limit of what we could do for the night we arranged a tuk to get back to base and a jovial character by the name of Ali picked us up.

As we proceeded to buy a couple of beer bottles (to console ourselves) Ali with great gusto started talking. And he didn’t stop. His stories were various and colourful. He started off with tales of how he used to run goods for the LTTE and the army, until both were pissed off with him and he had to move to Colombo. There it turned out he was arrested for dealing marijuana and he regaled us with how he used to escape rape on a daily basis, including unwanted specifications of how the victims were chosen as they used rudimentary toilets.

Ali continued to talk and swig beer from a can while we drove on. He took a short but terrifying detour to show us a field where he as involved in a land dispute. For a second we thought we were going to be have a sticky end somewhere in a lost field. Ali continued to talk, now he was telling us about his experiences with ghosts on the road. We later learned that he loved to smoke up..which probably explains the ghosts. He also told us he transports corpses in his tuk, a sort of open air hearse. We were reassured to hear however that he washes his tuk regularly in the lagoon.

Ali was even full of political soundbites, a particularly witty statement was, mamma Thambi, appi nari, ogollong Sinhala, sinhayao…koti thang malla. Which for political correctness left a bit to be desired.

It was with a sinking feeling that we realized Ali had no intention on leaving us when we got to the bungalow. Instead he helped himself to a bottle of beer, regaled us with a story on circumcision and proceeded to show us how his belly dances. I cannot make this shit up. Apparently it was because he was quite diligent with his yoga…yoga I say again. Then just before he left he showed us another one of his life skills, twisting his ear up and keeping it balled up. He then serenaded us with a short tune before bumpily heading off into the night leaving us speechless and not a little traumatized.

The next morning dawned bright and early. The promise of a hot day was kept as instead of diving as we had hoped, we travelled around Oddamavadai, this time with a mercifully silent trishaw driver, in search of a petrol filter. Tracking one down finally in the shop of the town’s other crazy mechanic, Meegamuwa Kolla, whom we later learned had a ‘wire in his head’ (i.e. was batshit crazy) we had Sudu Malli install this and we crossed our fingers.

No luck as the engine was rock solid. Which then brought us to the tricky part of how the fucking hell we were going to get a Suzuki Swift back to Colombo.

Luckily there turned out there was a truck, Anoja was her name that needed to get to Colombo. Of course this being Sri Lanka nothing was quite that simple. The truck needed repairs to its clutch. And the driver had to come from Batticaloa with the parts. Thus we sat in the smallest patch of shade in all of Batticaloa while we waited for Saadi the driver and his unnamed squint eyed assistant to turn up. Once they turned up they and Sudu Malli dug around in the bowels of the truck until finally it seemed it was all fixed.

They then proceeded to take us for a slow tow to a service station so they could load the car. The rather innovative process was to put the car up on a hydraulic jack, back the truck up and then push the car in. Of course the first service station refused to let us do this, so we proceeded back into town, the townspeople regarding us with interest and possibly a sense of déjà vu as we trundled past them again, this time heading to Meegamuwa Kolla's service station. Suffice to say the plan of how to get the car into the truck was not quite as easy as it sounded but much sweating and pushing and jousting, not me of course, I was too busy taking photographs, we finally got the car in.

All that was left was the drive back to Colombo. We squeezed into the back of Anoja’s cabin where there was just enough leg space to give us hope but not enough to allow for a comfortable ride. For one brief, terrifying moment Saadi played some South Indian tunes at full blast, before catching our looks and interpreting them as meaning that we would happily kill him and his assistant and drive the damn truck back to Colombo if he continued with the music.

In blessed silence we proceeded towards Colombo, a 9 hour odyssey where I learned something interesting. Transport trucks do not have anything in terms of suspension so you could feel every single jolt from the road. Needless to say by the end of the trip I had reached a level of pain that I had not thought possible.

So there it is, strawberry flavoured air, giant trevalley, a crazy tuk driver, even crazier mechanics and a temperamental truck called Anoja.

The moral of the story…don’t drink beer? Random I know.

Obsessed

2011-04-19T08:14:00.000-07:00

It’s been awhile I know, but in between the new job and accompanying learning curve and a high intensity season the blogs have fallen by the wayside. The rain thundering down outside is however a harbinger of the end of the season…no more rush of air as the water envelops.

This has been a season of many firsts, the field of giant fans ghosting the sea floor, the adrenaline rush of a tank valve blowing, an inadvertent solo dive to 30m and the cold dread of feat clutching at my belly, overcoming that fear, exploring an enchanted garden on a wreck the equivalent of a 15 storey building underwater. Most of all I’m going to miss the camaraderie of adventure, the early mornings as the boat shards through the water with the excitement of the unknown ahead of us.

It’s going to be a long six months....

Retrospect

2011-01-05T17:45:00.001-08:00

It seems like yesterday that I posted some pensive thoughts about ushering in 2010 away from the maddening crowds and in the wilds of Yala and yet here I am, almost a week into 2011. The one thing I really do miss about 2010 was the way we ended the year, relaxing in hammocks, a cool lagoon breeze, sumptuous food and people who are important to me. Total and utter relaxation instead of the loud music, cramped chairs and tables and drunken moronity of the hotel scene. It was the perfect way to see out what has been an absolutely fabulous year after the initial shock of adjusting to being back in this crazy LSD trip that is Sri Lanka.

Starting the year with leopards in Yala seems to have been a good omen, for 2010 was the year of travel, adventure and new beginnings. Gal Oya and Yala were on the menu again for January with the former providing a hair raising experience of rain, rising rivers and constant mud. Diving season started with some rookie mistakes but progressed into marginal competency and early February was when I was deemed fit enough to dive the Cargo Wreck, deep blue waters, an immense ship at 30m and swimming through shoals of fish. What else could one ask for? My constant gabbing about diving had an unexpected benefit as well.

The next few months was all about diving with a break to Mirissa to see the whales and enjoy an absolutely fabulous BBQ on the beach. The year starts to blur around then but there was a trip to Batticaloa, Trincomalee to snorkel with a shark pack, Kandy for the Bradby, my first trip to Wilpattu ever followed by another one, Kalpitiya to watch dolphins, Sinharaja to get mauled by a diya bariya, a couple of Unawatune trips, a marathon down south road trip to Ussangoda and diving in Hikkaduwa and yet more diving, including notching up my 100^th dive on the last day of the year.

Of course on top of this was watching the sibling get hitched in Utah. Despite the empty bank balance and despite the cheesiness, it would not be a cliché to say that I am a much richer person now than that last day of 2009. I hope everyone else has had a brilliant start to the year and a great year to look forward to!

Band of

2010-09-02T18:32:00.000-07:00

There is one thing that I miss about the US and only one thing. And that is the friends and family here. Last night was a good night, succulent all you can eat meats at the Sampa Grill, stuffed to the gills to such an extent that I thought I felt my heart try and exit my chest. The poor thing was probably tired of the cholesterol overload and wanting to get to a new recipient at the hospital across the road. The talk was of the past two years, climbing walls to avoid cuddling, incomprehensible rowing talks, infected air beds and moisturized feet. The last year also cropped up with a recap of my exploits, laughing at politicians, dodging bears and the other inanities of living in my favourite LSD trip.

All in all one of the best nights I’ve had. I shall miss them when I leave, the two brothers, P and S, all clowns but then that’s why I think we get along so well. The absence of N and D was felt keenly and when everyone from the US crew will be together who knows. But still dinner was great. Just check out the menu below.

Life and Love

2010-08-09T19:03:00.000-07:00

The Valley is quiet as I sit here tapping at my computer. Traffic’s humming in the background as the afternoon heat permeates through the house. One year on from my life changing jump into the great unknown, it feels strangely ironic to be back where I started from.

The endless grid streets, busy freeways and burning sun.

And really the only good thing about being back is the warmth of the friends I haven’t seen in so long.

The last 12 months have been ups, precipitous downs and dark moments of self doubt. Had I done the right thing? Had I thrown everything I had, which was so much away for a foolish dream?

To be honest I know not where I’m going in life, the stability of a corporate way of life is combating a crazy desire to become a divemaster and spend my time in boats and dragging tanks.

But the reality is that I’m trying not to care. I’ve landed on my feet many times all over the world. I have some of the most important elements in life right now. The dry-zone trips that I love.

The dives into the ethereal blue that has captured my heart and mind.

And most importantly, perfection in a pair of brown eyes and ethereal beauty.

I’m only here for three weeks but I already ache to go home, to life and love on that crazy, hazy island.

12 months on and life is as good as it gets.

Rainy Night...

2010-07-18T10:23:00.000-07:00

The rains coming down hard outside. A thin line of concrete and curtain are all that separate me from the wind and water. Such night showers tend to raise me to despondency or contentment depending on my emotional state, fragile as it is most of the time. But tonight its comfort, something akin to what I feel when I remember a carefree, sun-kissed, mountain-blessed childhood. One that sometimes seems but a dream in the harsh glare of adulthood.

But random nostalgia aside, this weekend I felt comfort in the warmth and soft impress. I’ve had enough of the highs and lows of the last four years. I know its useless asking for a steady course from herein out but I am grateful for the past few months and would hug a whole lot of wood to keep it going. The tune seems a bit redundant given the current state of affairs...but it's still a nice one.

P.S. Thanks to Seesaw for the heads up on the KOL cover.

Life according to Snow Patrol

2010-06-01T23:32:00.000-07:00

I’m a sucker for a meme, even when I’m not tagged, so word out to T for spreading the idea of the post on her life according to those rockers from Calabasas.

Of course since I do have ‘multiple Snow Patrol themed blogs’ it’s only natural for me to pick…well…Snow Patrol.

Using only song names from one artist, cleverly answer these questions. Try not to repeat a song title. Repost as “My Life According to (band name)”

Pick Your Artist: Snow Patrol

Are you a female or male? Last Ever Lone Gunman

Describe yourself: Ways & Means

How do you feel: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

Describe where you currently live: Days Without Paracetamol

If you could go anywhere, where would you go? An Olive Grove Facing the Sea

Your favourite form of transportation: Lifeboats

Your best friend is: The Lightning Strike

Your favourite colour is: Chocolate

What’s the weather like: How to Be Dead

Favourite time of day: Crack the Shutters

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called: When It's All Over We Still Have to Clear Up

What is life to you: Wow

Your current relationship: Firelight

Breaking up: Whatever's Left

Looking for: Signal Fire

Wouldn’t mind: Grazed Knees

Your fear: Same

What is the best advice you have to give: You Could Be Happy

If you could change your name, you would change it to: Starfighter Pilot

Thought for the Day: Make This Go on Forever

How I would like to die: Downhill From Here

My motto: Open your eyes

Lightning crashes

2010-05-16T23:12:00.000-07:00

I woke with the rain, my demon sitting on my chest, cold and inconsolable. I guess I should reconcile myself to it turning up every now and then, paranoia calling it back light a lighthouse beckoning ships. This is certainly better now though, the constant suffocation is but a dim memory. But some days, some gloomy stormy days it returns, whispering words of deceit and lies into my ear. I’ve come to learn that the best thing to do is listen, then open up and trust…in people and the old adage.

It will work out in the end

Out of the Blue

2010-05-03T04:38:00.000-07:00

The first days glimpse had been brief and obscure, a ghostly shape drifting into the brightly lit water as the crowds churned. The second day we swam out and had better luck, as one larger than me, swam slowly past me through the coral channel. Confident and completely at ease in its environment, the grey skin dappled as the sunlight played on it, the incongruous Golden Trevalley pattering desperately to keep up.

Fired up, we decided to go even earlier, waking as the sun gleamed freshly minted across the East Coast. Excited we donned our masks, snorkels and fins and swam over the shallow coral, where the scattered branches dropped off into the range of two to three meters of water. Nothing moved on the seascape apart from the circle of snorkelers, breathing in and out, the gobys flitting discreetly amongst the branching coral and the steady rhythm of the ocean surge.

Then, out of the blue they were there. One minute the waters were empty, the next minute, they were right next to us. Eight shapes, sinuously weaving through the water with effortless grace, the black tips on their dorsal fins contrasting with the gunmetal grey of their bodies. We had obviously come early enough to catch them still on hunting mode and the Black Tip Shark pack moved purposefully over the reef, skimming the coral. They moved with such speed that you never really saw them coming until they were within a few meters. Social conditioning caused a small twinge of fear, especially when one individual circled for a closer look at me, one eye resolutely on me.

Ancient, the world’s oldest and most perfect predator yet only curious about these ungainly forms in its territory. They said I should be mortally scared of them, but all I felt as I swam with the sharks was….Awe.

Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

2010-03-31T20:03:00.001-07:00

It’s hard not to feel a twinge of regret, every now and then when someone or something stirs a memory, deep buried by decades. A way of life lost brought bubbling to the surface by a random conversation with Ajja, hearing a speech from Nava. Tradition, ties lost in a moment of madness. But such is life and no one said it’s fair. I really don’t have much to complain about. It may be humid but the sun is shining brightly, when it doesn’t the monsoon rains are warm and friendly. Living in this island maybe one long acid trip, but the highs are pretty good, mountains, leopards and the Big Blue.

(No) regrets.

Withdrawal

2010-03-08T18:25:00.000-08:00

It’s been four days without the water, the waves preventing us from launching has left me hot and bothered. I need to feel that blue rush, the anticipation as the boat surges through the waves, the spray sharding past the bow with a life of its own.

The reef rustling below as the sun’s rays kaleidoscope down into the deep blue. I need that symphony crescendo as the wreck rises out of the shimmering cloud of fusiliers.

I need Le Grande Bleu.

The Transition

2010-02-23T07:46:00.000-08:00

I know I’m overdoing these posts, but I can’t help it.

There’s nothing more insecure than falling backwards. Weighted down with equipment and awkwardly duck legged. Perch on the edge of the boat, fingers up against the reg and mask and roll over the side, backwards.

There’s a brief fear as the world turns upside down but then the deep blue of the water takes you as it rushes up and the reassuring hiss of the regulator delivers air to your hurried breath. And you know the next 30 minutes to an hour, 13 meters down or 30 are going to bring you sights you have never seen and never will again.

I used to be scared of the backroll, an irrational fear that weighted down I would sink straight to the bottom of the ocean.

But now it’s mostly what I look forward to.

That grand bleu rush...

Neutral Buoyancy Nirvana

2010-02-20T05:09:00.001-08:00

After the personal buoyancy seesaw of the previous dive I did something I had been having an inkling for a while that might work. I took one of the grey leaden weights off the belt.

The result was a breathtaking nirvana. Initially I thought I had fucked up because as J moved down the nylon line disappearing into the big blue, I had issues getting myself to sink. Remembering S’s words, I arched, hugged the BC and pressed the release valve to get all the last vestiges of air out of it. The descent was one of the most controlled that I’ve ever had.

A quick burst into the BC at 23 meters (which incidentally according to Pissu is about 7 stories under water…who knew?....gulp) and I was beautifully buoyant. The feeling was exhilarating and it was all I could do not to whoot! into my regulator as I finally found freedom below the ocean.

Swooping and swirling over the reef, breathing out deep to sink down and check out a moray in a cave apparently being given a shave by a couple of shrimps, smaller breaths out to cautiously lower myself next to a blackspot electric ray under an overhang and controlled breaths in to rise over a dip in the reef.

Pure bliss, this neutral buoyancy nirvana.

The safety stop was beautiful, instead of my usual yo-yoing in the water as I pump air in and out of my BC, which drives my dive computer up the wall. I hovered with minimal adjustments to the BC and my breathing and surfaced oh ever so smoothly after one of the best I’ve ever had.

Today was a significant step forward and I have an uncontrollable itch to keep going down into that deep blue.

Learning to Fly

2010-02-16T03:56:00.000-08:00

R yelled over, ‘it’s a water snake’ as we clambered over to the rocks where he was pocking around with his reptile catching stick (please do check that link for a shot of a ‘pretty girl catching a snake.’ I shit you not).

As a word of explanation, S and I were in Sinharaja along with a bunch of peeps and R was one of the newly met said peeps, who was very into his wildlife. Hence why he toted the reptile catching stick everywhere.

Now I have seen water snakes before, a generally shy, slim brown creature with languid eyes that looked like it couldn’t hurt a fly. Finally getting to where R was near a rock pool into which a waterfall rolled into, R informed us that the snake had retreated into a hole amongst some rocks and he was going to get the guide to roll a rock down so we could get a good look at the critter. S and I eagerly agreed and made sure our cameras were on.

The guide rolled the rock…and then things moved on quite rapidly.

The snake came gliding out.

And it wasn’t brown or slim or exceptionally languid.

Instead it was black and white striped with a virulently red tail. It all but roared as it came out mouth agape straight towards me. I noted all this with some interest of course and came to the rapid conclusion that:
a) R got the ID wrong, I have no idea what this snake is…but it looks poisonous.
b) It’s coming straight for me.
c) Fuck, I was dead.

I could hear R yelling in the background, ‘Don’t panic’

To which I said (mentally), ‘Fuck you. There’s a great big snake snapping at my ankles, seemingly intent on making sure I never reproduce. And fuck you again. I’m not panicking. I’m just looking to get far, far away. Quickly’

It is surprising how many things go through your mind during these life or death moments.

Suffice to say I flew and/or levitated, loaded with kilos of photo equipment, up a sheer rock that was at least five feet high. Unfortunately in my excitement both during the event and post event, I couldn’t get a photograph of the snake. R was also so engrossed in taking a picture he accidentally released his grip on the snake which smoothly slipped into the water never to be seen again. Presumably he’s requesting Canadian refugee status right about now.
I later learned that the snake was in fact the Checkered Keelback, not the regular keelback and quite non-venomous. Of course better to be safer than sorry is what I say when there’s a snake trying to go at you like a demented Pekinese.

Better safer than sorry.

I still know what you did last night

2010-02-12T08:13:00.000-08:00

He tried revenge last night. I stepped on him. Goo on the mat, will wash out with the dawn. He was conniving but still lower down on the food chain (not that I ate him or anything).

I know what you did last night

2010-02-11T05:56:00.000-08:00

It was murder most foul, but I had no choice. As I switched on the lights his feelers twitched in surprise and I noted with distaste that he was precariously close to my toothbrush. Using the only deadly weapon at hand, my Bata health slipper (the bumps give an extra zip to its zap) I cautiously moved the cockroach over to a more accessible location, playing him quite adroitly if I do say so myself. Once he was on the door I leaned over, pulled back and slapped him with the Bata health slipper, the one with the bumps.

As he lay twitching I gave him one more tap on the head…then for good measure folded the mat over him and stepped down. Still he twitched…but thinking it was his death throes I congratulated myself and went in for my shower. Drying myself off I stepped into the bathroom area.

For a moment I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the familiar scene. The blue-green mat looked oddly bereft. Then it struck me.

He was gone…feelers and all.

Now all I can think of is that he’s out there, plotting sweet revenge, all 5 centimeters of him. And everytime I switch on the bathroom light I do it with caution. After all..he lives where I live.

Does a bear shit in the woods?

2010-02-05T02:40:00.000-08:00

Of course and last week so did I. admittedly it’s been a long, long time since I’ve had to do that, camping in the US generally involving quite posh toilets even in the backwoods. I was extra careful due to lack of practice, digging a hole deep enough that I swore I heard Chinamen echoing up through there requesting for more tenders. A bottle of water, a quiet secluded spot for said hole and an adroit sense of balance were all that were required in the end.

It was only after the deed was done that I realized my secluded spot was indeed secluded, the camp was completely hidden from view.

And I had forgotten to come up with a contingency plan in case a bear actually did decide to shit in the woods.

Hey Jealousy

2010-02-04T05:29:00.000-08:00

No this is not a personal post, it's juts that this popped up on my Genius playlist and it took me down memory lane. Whatever happened to the Gin Blossoms?

Six months on

2010-01-31T09:26:00.000-08:00

Things have been a hard ride, the lows have been dangerously low. But I’ve kicked some habits and fought back. I’m still not entirely sure what I’m doing or where I’m going but I know over the last six months I’ve experienced things I’ve dreamt of my whole life, not just the portion in exile. Five Yala trips, leopards and more leopards, Wasgamuwa where I stared yet another leopard eye to eye and swam in the Mahaweli, Kalpitiya to see dolphins, six dives with barracuda and scorpion fish and this weekend what was an epic, epic camping trip to Gal Oya. Rain, raging rivers, mud and some of the most jaw droppingly beautiful jungles I have ever seen in my life. Dramatic rock drops and savannah jungles, four wheel drive kicking in and ant bites, one of the best times of my life.

Things won’t be a smooth sail from here, life is hard wherever you are but my heart is in the dry zone and at home. Batticoloa, Sinharaja, Mirissa, Yala and hopefully more Wasgamuwa and Gal Oya here I come. Fingers crossed maybe even Horton Plains.

Suba Anagathayak Akon

2010-01-27T05:53:00.000-08:00

Sitting at dive center waiting to head off in the boat. One of the students rolls up ready for his class. As usual these days the conversation drifts off to politics.

Ah Mahinda’s won, I’m so happy.

Oh (me being non-committal)

Now Akon’s going to be here!

…eh? (somewhat confused by the rapid change in subject)

Well since Mahinda won

…EH? (much, much more confused)

Well he’s going to have a concert in Hambantota, if Sarath won he said he was not going to come but will now since Mahinda won!

……(that’s me being speechless)

And I thought I had heard everything this election

Quote for January

2010-01-24T18:04:00.000-08:00

"It looks pretty deep there and there's a lot more water than I thought would be there"
- Pissu Perera's sage observation on being confronted with the Indian Ocean off Patanangala.

Adrift

2010-01-14T08:29:00.001-08:00

It was unnerving, the dark blue underneath and the bright blue up above as I bobbed in the waves alone. The last I had seen of my dive buddies were bubbles receding in the depths as I swore at myself through the regulator. I’m pretty competent most of the time, so pressing the inflator button instead of the deflator button was a ridiculously stupid thing to do and I shot up at a much faster rate than the prescribed 18m/minute. I’m fucking lucky I didn’t get the bends, or blow a lung out, though for the latter I’m still keeping a wary eye out.

For isolation though, there are fewer more unnerving moments I’ve had than then, alone in the vast Indian Ocean, with no boat in sight apart from the big liners on the horizon. Waves slapping up against me as I looked around for the boat and waved at anything that seemed promising. Looking down into the 21 meters below me, I couldn't even see the bubbles from my hidden dive buddies, though with the strong current I had no idea how far away I had drifted in those few moments. Thankfully the boatman managed to see my waving arms and I clambered on, shame faced and feeling extremely stupid. The only solution is to dive more, at least 20 more dives before the season fizzles out in March.

More blue yonder here I come.

(Not) Leaving on a Jet Plane

2010-01-11T07:10:00.000-08:00

My first season as a ‘patriate’ with the ‘ex’ most definitely left behind. It was busy as well, the family emergency necessitating pretty much the whole of the foreign side of the family being down, cousin K and aunt C being two of my favourite people in the family. N was down as the token member of the boys, with the associated nights drinking and Yala trips ensuing.

And now they’ve all left. It’s a strange feeling I tell you. I woke up on Saturday, the day N was leaving and I felt the keening loss of another friend leaving. D, S, N…everybody leaves and that’s the truth. I wonder how the family, the friends had felt every time I left, the UK, Sri Lanka, San Francisco, Los Angeles, over and over again.

I think it’s easier to leave than be left behind. The former act has an active component, a control component that simply doesn’t exist for the latter. You sort of feel like that dog running along the car as your family leaves you behind, not knowing when you will see them again. I’ve had friends who’ve left and never come back, I’ve left family to lose them. It’s a strange feeling not to be leaving, a good, sad feeling.

End of the decade

2010-01-04T03:06:00.000-08:00

I remember ’99 December vividly. The heat after the cold of London, the green after the grey. The new friends, CP and S who are more than family now, and R being there with his terrible hairstyle, akkis were thin and sexy, J was down and DJ’ing at the Blue where a bottle cost a measly four grand. Life was fresh and young then and I was all about the partying. Hand brake turns on Havelock Road and B looking ridiculously cute. I look like I was 12 in those pictures a life time ago as do most of the crew. Most of the crew who now, for better or worse have fallen apart. Some like C and CP having kids, the others like M just disappeared into the wind, unheard from for half a decade. The stories will live on though and we trot them out everytime when the remnants meet up, the clutch slipping at Galle Face roundabout at 2am, the unfortunate toilet incident, etc, etc.

Ten years on and I’ve come to the end of an era. New Years Eve this time was spent with N, a 12 year old bottle of Mendis and some random but interesting acquaintances in the middle of the jungle. Cicidas whirred, while we played chicken with elephants on the way to the room at Yala Village. Rapidly warming ginger beers and arracks in hand, we recounted the incredible leopard sightings of the day, the almost sightings of our childhoods. I was thinking a year has wrought incredible change, but the decade much more so. I never thought I would celebrate 31st night watching elephants wrestle in the moonlight, away from the City, the music, the girls but I did and I have never felt so complete.

As the drunken texts poured in and the clock struck midnight, there were no fireworks. Just the sound of the ocean on the dunes and the rustle of the nighttime jungle.

It was perhaps the best way to end the year. To remind myself why I moved back, what part of my soul was missing all these years. The jungles, the heat, the sandy tracks and the fresh pug prints. For awhile I thought I was trying to capture something I lost over 20 years ago and who knows maybe I am. But I think I’m just writing a new chapter in my life. It’s not the finality I was searching for but I’ve come to realize that doesn’t exist. It’s been an interesting journey across a couple of continents over the last decade and an especially difficult one over the last year but I am looking forward to the present as it slowly transforms into the future.

I hope everyone had a great end to the year and a content year to come.

So this is Christmas

2009-12-25T06:36:00.000-08:00

Damn another year has passed. It seems like yesterday, that sunkissed, stormy holiday.

How change has been wrought by a year.

I finally achieved something I have worked towards for so long. And found it wasn’t the end.

I looked across a table at someone I thought I wanted for years, and realized I didn’t.

I had a moment of utter calm and happiness on a boat in the Pacific Ocean.

I spent a month in despair and will more in my fight to move on from the past.

Became the citizen of two countries (and just remembered that I haven’t finished the whole process).

Did a crash course in patience.

Realized that some friendships, however brief are meant to last. Some however long aren’t.

Broke my previous road trip record of a 1,000 miles in a weekend.

Almost followed my genes a couple of times, but came back every time.

Still didn’t figure out what I want to do in life.

Though the most important thing I realized this year is that there really is no light at the end of the tunnel. But that the tunnel itself is not dark.

Merry Christmas and a safe and happy new year to all!

Baffling

2009-12-17T05:59:00.000-08:00

This is going to be a relatively short post. Primarily because I have a splitting headache thanks to my sinuses and am feeling proportionally lazy. I was watching a short movie on the SL conflict and reading the (remarkably) balanced comments below the movie when I noted mention of the Holocaust. That’s when I kind of wandered, in a meandering, lackadaisical way.

Are we blowing the difficulty of what we are doing out of proportion?

Let’s think about World War II for a moment in terms of total human cost. The first war where civilian casualties outnumbered military casualties. Also the war where the Holocaust took place. Germany not only launched a war on most of Europe but also single handedly tried to eliminate the Jewish race, failed, but managed to kill six million of them. Of course if you count the other ‘minorities’ that they killed including gypsies (Romani), people with disabilities, homosexuals and Jehovah’s Witnesses of all people, then apparently the toll goes up to between 11 or 17 million.

That’s the equivalent of depopulating the majority of this country, give or take a few million.

11 or 17 million people.

Yet barely a generation later, the country was back at normal. If anything more than normal but ridiculously industrious producing BMWs and large jugs of beer. Does anybody else find that odd? That a country as a whole were a bunch of Aryan domineering murders (and lets be frank, you can’t kill 6 to 11 to 17 million people without a whole bunch of willing and able helpers) but a few years after losing a war, apart from 24 people being charged for war crimes and around 11 hung at Nuremberg, the country went back to pretty much normal.

Not to belittle the level of human suffering a 30 year war and 100 thousand casualties has brought to many people, but it is kind of baffling why normalcy escapes us so when you compare the relative amount with WWII.

Right, I’m going back to my headache.

Tall Tales

2009-12-07T07:24:00.000-08:00

It’s been a strange couple of weeks. Disinfectant and fluorescent lights. Green uniforms and visiting times. The family’s been down in droves, people I haven’t seen in years have been in town and it’s been a mixed bag. The cousins and aunts whom I love to bits, the grandaunts and uncles with whom I’m a lot more guarded.

My relationship with the family, on both sides has never been a simple one. Too many secrets in the past and other skeletons in the closet to have ever resulted in what anybody could term a ‘normal’ situation. It was however quite interesting to hear the old stories, stories I’ve either never bothered to hear or have bothered to remember.

The old house in Negombo, three hundred years old but sold by an irresponsible grand uncle and now torn down. The great grandfather who was brilliant but an inveterate gambler, he apparently got a medical scholarship to Kings College but spent far too much time gambling and got sent back in disgrace. He then promptly won another scholarship in Ceylon (it was a long time ago) and had the dubious honour of being one of the students who had taken the longest time to finish medical school. There were countless more tales of people whose genes I shared but had never really thought about. It was surreal.

I guess family emergencies do have their plus points.

Cold Blue

2009-11-23T07:43:00.001-08:00

I fucking hate hospitals. The smell of death and sickness, cloying on your nostrils. The shattered left-overs of humankind, especially in the few times I’ve been in the ICU. Tubes and machines keeping stretched husks barely breathing. I fucking hate hospitals. I’m not good with disease, especially of this kind. Her grip was strong but I couldn’t think of anything to say.

She will probably, hopefully come back but I’m sick of the reason why she’s there. I want to whisper. You may pretend to be some holy practitioner of a philosopher, writing religious books before age took your eyesight, vegetarian for decades but you are the scum of the earth. A bringer of death and destruction and the only rebirth you will enjoy will be one of eternal pain. Of course there are ‘norms’ that prevent me from speaking the truth, but I feel that everyone has had enough and the pot will boil over soon.

You there...

2009-11-19T22:30:00.000-08:00

With the shaved head. First off all grow some bloody hair. Trust me, the girls dig it.

Take economics. You’ll need it in the future. Drop physics. Wait don’t drop physics, the fittest girls are in physics, not to mention Mr. L will introduce you to white water rafting, rock climbing and drinking games. He’ll also never give you a test in your life. Now that’s an ace if you ask me. Drop chemistry, everybody in your class sucks ass apart from one person and she’ll always be your friend. Do economics because for some strange reason, you will find it fascinating in the future.

Ask C out for fucks sake. She’s a really nice girl, very into you and is quite the looker. There’s a reason that she hangs out so much and does those million little cute things...COS SHE’S INTO YOU!! Did I mention she was nice? The next class trip would also be the perfect opportunity for this. Of course you won’t as her out; you’ll think too much and set a trend for that and quantity over quality and horrendous judgement in womenfolk which will haunt you for years. Also lets face it, international school or not, IT is going to have to wait until college.

Play way more cricket. After you leave school you won’t pick up a bat and you will miss it terribly. Also stop keeping, it’ll fuck up your knees and besides, you’re much better at opening. Don’t ask for your score in that final from the dressing room. Once you do and that idiot lies to you, you will lose your concentration and get out shortly thereafter, missing out on a 50, best batsman award and winning the final for your team. Kick Z’s ass and tell him to reschedule the B Match, you’re in fine form opening these days and you really, really need to open for that game, play notwithstanding. Even if you don’t, avoid charging down the pitch for that ball. Things won’t end well. If you still do lose the match, splurge a bit more and get the arrack instead of the local vodka, your head (and liver) will thank you...somewhat.

Train properly for that road race. Getting beaten by MA is kind of embarrassing; of course beating him up afterwards will help take the edge off. Keep doing that by the way, as you have since you met the obnoxious bastard, you will meet him a decade and then some afterwards and he’ll still be an asshole and then you can’t hit him. So enjoy while you can.

You know that wow feeling you had after seeing the BG Wildlife Photography exhibition and the inkling of going to college in the US to do a major in environmental science and a minor in photography. DO IT!!! Not that going to one of the best universities in the world won’t be a bad second place but trust me...go with that instinct. By the way, go with all your instincts. Really do pick up a camera though, even that dodgy Minolta will do. It will change your life in the future and again, better sooner than later.

Leave N and S well alone. The former will become a royal pain the ass in your future for a year, take things waaaay to personally and then never talk to you. The latter will cause you a very uncomfortable few moments on New Year’s Eve 2006 when all you were looking for was some nooky. They are both hot but not worth it.

Don’t go to see that dentist, the old codger, see the other one, the sweet lady...the one who identifies your grinding issue instead of giving you that filling that will torment you for a decade. Sort that grinding issue while you’re at it. Take care of your glasses as well, square frames are the way to go, in black. I won’t even mention what you are wearing now.

Oh yeah the attitude. Let it go. Stop hanging out with the wrong crowd. Yes it’s cool to be the big kahunas in school with the swagger and big balls, but in the end it’s not worth it. They are not really your friends, trust me. Also popularity is not such a big deal as you will find out in your last year when you get a bit too straight talking for most people’s liking. But then you’ll find out who your real friends are, few but good. Also the fights and the drama are not worth it, they will rather unaccountably make your second year of college a bit weird (believe it or not) and at the end of the day none of it really matters.

Spend more time with seeya and P mamma. Once you leave for uni in a couple of years it will never be the same and you will never, NEVER, be able to spend as much time as you have had with them and their time on earth is limited. You will miss them when they are gone and realize they were the most influential people in your life. Call your mom and sister more often, think of something to say. Also continue that conversation with Short Stuff in the trishaw, despite her uncertainty on whether it is her responsibility to tell you those things about your past. She will be the one who tells you in the end and it will be much easier to fight those demons then than now. Read that letter.

By the way, those couple of times you try meditation? Stick with it and learn how to do it, it will save your life someday and sooner than later is always better. Also it will help you do a lot better at all the things you are already good at.

Listen to Ms. Hellhouse and write. Write, write and then write some more. Enter some essay competitions instead of smoking weed in your spare time. It will do you some good. DON'T SMOKE!!!!! LEAVE the cigarettes ALONE.

Hmm....Anything else?

Well I’d love to tell you that everything turns out hunky dory.

But it doesn’t, there will be good times, there will be bad...in fact some terrible times but as of November 20th, 2009 you have made it through and there is much, much yet to come.

I'd also like to say that you won't have any regrets. Again not true, if so this would not exist. The future you has plenty of regrets, things I shouldn't have done or said and things I should have done or said. But your past doesn't define you, your present does. Which since you are in the past won't matter much I guess. Existentialist confusion much?

Meander apart, don’t worry about being confused about what to do in life because that will never really stop.

On the bright side you will throw yourself out of a plane (multiple times), learn to scuba dive, fall in love with photography and meet some absolutely amazing friends across many different countries. You will rock across three continents and fall in love with the wrong girl(s).

But trust me if there’s one thing that runs true, life is absolutely insane so just enjoy the ride and be thankful for the amazing scenery.

I tag...hmm.....April Fool’s (who else but me) and good ol’ PP.

On Surviving

2009-10-17T05:13:00.000-07:00

The more I look back the more I see clearly, the scars of the past follow me even now. The more I pursue the knowledge I feel I need, the more confused I get. Dispelling the blackness in the back of my mind is not an easy task if that is even possible. It’s only now that I realize what I’ve been running from most of my life and now I have nowhere left to run, just a back to the wall and a rearguard fight. The salvation I thought I would receive is nowhere to be seen, but I’ve made my choice now and I have o live with it. It’s funny how something I thought had no effect on me apart from material and locality has in fact coloured my whole existence, made me, for better or worse, who I am today. I kept thinking I was the one who was unaffected, who was above it all. Now I see the arrogance, the blinders that have brought me where I am today. I know now the deep depths at which my gut screamed to me, when and where I went wrong. I think I’m ready to listen to it now.

Surviving isn’t easy. It takes reserves of strength and climbing mountains that seem almost insurmountable, especially in the mornings and the stuffy afternoons. Everywhere I look I find walls, those that I’ve put up and those that have been put up. I found myself today falling into that old pattern, another checkpoint in the future where my life will change, begin. But now I’m googling how to start it now instead of further down the road. Fingers crossed and a strong heart.

Consulting Memories

2009-10-11T03:41:00.000-07:00

These two songs bring back some vivid memories. Nervous, sweaty palms sitting in my soon to be beloved RAV in a furniture store parking lot. I hadn’t had a lot of interview experience and I just remember leaning back in my seat, breathing deeply as Rob Thomas and Sufjan Stevens washed over me, wandering what 9am would bring. Agoura Hills was grey and cold as traffic whizzed by on the 101, blurs through the tall wire and I desperately tried to remember everything I had read about the company. Little did I know then that I was a few minutes away from a two and a half year journey. A journey that seemed to last a lifetime at the time but now seems to have only lasted an incandescent moment, one that was one of the most rewarding, most frustrating, challenging and difficult experiences of my life.

Looking back on it now I wonder if I did the right thing, walking away from it all. Of course you tend to remember the good and forget the bad as with anything in the past. I know I wouldn’t give up that experience for anything but it still wasn’t quite for me. The team was mostly great, DD and MC providing their endless encouragements and patient leadership, CD with his erratic brilliance, SM with her mothering, SR providing the musical background, MD with his surfing tales and understated humour, DS being the most demanding boss I have ever had. I still remember sitting in my office and dealing with the unfamiliar sensation that I would miss most of my workmates when I moved on, a feeling I hadn’t had thus far in my working life.

The location was brilliant as well. Climbing the hills of Malibu, the ocean breaking in the background, golden sunshine breaking down the Pacific Coast Highway and Malibu Canyon drives past the houses of the rich and the famous. The chaparral and bush of southern California, the red earth roads and hard rocks of the trails I hiked. The characters were varied and interesting, Bob the contractor, gruff, father Christmasy but hugely knowledgeable, sweet talking the ladies at the City to get what I needed done, trying not to punch out the assholes at the City and County who were holding up my projects.

It was a great trip for those couple of years, being a bright shining star in that team, topping the company in productivity and earning quick promotions, closing out tough projects under pressure. Of course those are the good memories. And it takes some dredging to remember why I left. The 12 hour workdays, the constant requirement to keep running at high speed and keep billing out with no end in sight, the unyielding pressure to meet your minimums, the stress when there were a million things to do and the worse stress when there weren’t, the financial under appreciation and those hours stuck on the 101 in congealed traffic.

Most of all I remember the panic attacks in the morning, the nausea and insomnia, the drugs and pills to take the edge off living the American Dream. I think I made the right decision. Given the uncertainties I face now in making a living, I have my moments of doubts and weakness. But that trip in the end was not sustainable, it was not my niche.

Where that is though, I’m yet to find.

Head Honcho Outlook

2009-10-01T07:03:00.000-07:00

The safari shirt and khakis threw me off. The tie was a mistake I thought as we entered his office and started chatting. Half way through I was even more disconcerted to note that he wore sandals, a most relaxed set of attire for a head of an IDO. Sometimes it’s nice to meet a kindred spirit, someone who has spent eons in the US (well in this case 16 years) and came back because he loves elephants. My heart sank a bit when he mentioned that he didn’t have any openings at the moment, if for anything I quite liked the US style phones they had. A Lankan location with a bit of the first world thrown in.

I know of late I’ve been moaning a bit, missing the high hourly pay, ants that are more discreet and less venomous and a room that doesn’t suffocate me at 2.00pm in the afternoon. I would apologize to those who have put up with me without complaint but of course there have been complaints. I apologize anyways because even I’m finding myself a bit of a pain in the ass. And that’s something for someone as self obsessed as me.

I quite liked the head honcho’s outlook though. “Those 16 years in the US, they were good, but that chapter is closed now. You CANNOT compare here and there, otherwise you go mad.” Truer words have never been spoken. So here’s to prickly heat, rathu kumbi, underpaid work, broken Sinhala, nagging grandmothers, squirrels chewing on my t-shirts and fucked up internet connections. Here’s to sunsets, impromptu trips to Yala and Short Stuff. Here’s to home, warts and all.

I promise I’ll stop complaining soon.

The best part of my day

2009-09-30T11:24:00.000-07:00

It really is. Watching the sun’s last dying rays explode out of an ever changing bank of clouds. Mauve, red, unimaginable shades of crimson streaking across the sky while the waves themselves reflect the colours in sympathy, before swiftly descending into black. I love the rhythm of the ocean, so constant yet so different. My alone time, my time to bring peace to my mind, sitting on a rock on Marine Drive at dusk, simply watching, breathing and blanking my mind. The crabs play out their little dramas in front of me while the ocean beckons endlessly. A train thunders past, the carriage lights reflecting inside my glasses, kaleidoscoping against the ocean and the sunset panorama. A vision that not the most potent MDMA could replicate. The aching darkness left after the train flurries past. There is no need for a soundtrack, thoughts, loves lost or any base needs. There is only the Indian Ocean, the horizon and my insignificant self. A humbling and liberating experience.

On piecing it together

2009-09-26T02:51:00.000-07:00

For some reason I’ve been obsessed with Kings of Leon recently. Use Somebody has been on repeat. I’m slowly picking up the pieces of my old lives and examining the shards, cutting my fingers on some of the more jagged edges.

This house is like a museum, I guess old people really don’t like to throw things away. Today I disposed off all my report cards from school. A nondescript bundle I came across while clearing my bookshelves to try and accommodate the library I shipped over from the US. Who knew the school I lost my Sinhalese was called Reseda Baptist Elementary? I never knew I was so good at history either, I guess writing all those analytical essays and topping my class at o-levels has had some beneficial effects. My cyclical aptitude at mathematics and chemistry was also interesting to see. I think it was all down to teachers. Mrs. S, Mr. L and Miss D always brought out the best in me with their belief and free wheeling attitudes. Mr. J and Mrs. C always brought me down with their rigid inflexibility.

I’m trying to figure out how much of that kid remains, a decade and more on. I know I’m wiser and yet more bitter. I’ve tried a fair number of things on my journey, the drugs, meaningless sex, workaholic, partying, love, voodoo chemistry, yet nothings gelled. I know I feel the most alive with a camera in my hand and recently slipping under the waves. Yet I wish I knew what I want in life, some sort of goal which still seems so elusively blurred.

I am piecing the jigsaw together. A million pieces tackled one day at a time. One day at a time. I think that’s the mantra for happiness, but so much more difficult when I haven’t had a proper nights sleep in three years. I miss the constant companions of the last one and a half years. I know the work may have eventually killed me but those were the worst and the best of times with the friends I had, I have, but 10,000 miles away. I’m still navigating the social webs here, trying to figure out where I need to put up walls and where I need to tear them down. The old threads are most definitely fraying and even some of the new ones.

Here’s to six months from now and the jigsaw being somewhat in place. Fulfilling work, the opportunity to practice my passions and some like minded peeps. It’s not much I ask to piece the shards together. Of course nothing comes easy. Also here’s to this.

Fizzle

2009-09-24T08:33:00.000-07:00

It was as good as could have got, that Monday, in another lifetime. The Indian Ocean murmuring in the background, candlelight, eyes shining with laughter and footsie under the table. She was expecting the question, finally after over three years of geography, commitment issues and general drama, there were no barriers. Or at least it seemed so.

My heart screamed yes, but my gut whispered no. And I went with my gut. The light in her eyes died as I stayed silent, her hand slipped away. The crab grew cold in front of us and the phone came out, cabs were called. I had just changed too much and she didn’t know it. She had changed too little and I could see it. I’m not who I was in 2006 when I fell deep into those brown eyes. The physicalness of her has no hold on me anymore, the soft lips and hot skin.

I guess irony really has no bounds. When the place is right, the time is wrong. The sad part is I don’t think she understood as much as I tried to make her understand. The hurt shows in her eyes even now when she’s with someone else. For my part I understand that there really was no other way. I don’t know if I’ve grown up, but I for me the confines of a club will never have that allure. No more crazy Friday nights and early Saturday morning. I get my thrills from the wilds, meters under the ocean and she cannot comprehend that lifestyle.

I’d like to think that the last few years weren’t just about my ego, having the It girl want me, playing those games, cold one night, twisting in the sheets the next. There was some sort of deep voodoo connection and I guess there always will be some part of me that craves for her, in the dark depths of the night. But right now I’m trying to stay in the sunshine and keep life good. Too good for complications.

I think my gut was right.

Shotgun Safari

2009-09-21T09:03:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure how many moons I had spent in Yala before, but I know it was a significant amount of time. In all those years I had seen a grand total of six leopards and two bear (one I can’t really remember but let’s just assume I did see it). I still remember those days, the wise old tracker quartering the park, looking for pug marks and listening for alarm calls from deer or langurs. Drawing on years of experience they would lead us around the park to the animal’s favourite haunts in a usually fruitless but always thrilling search. A cup of tea at the bungalow and talk of near misses and the pug marks always followed. The memories are quiet and golden, of hushed whispers and muted clothing to show your respect for the wilderness.

This time around in Yala was certainly an eye-opener. The digital age is certainly upon us as it seemed the time of the rally racers. The tracker has been shunted into a corner by the new breed of young, fast safari tour drivers. Admittedly since Sumudu had been doing this for eight years the revolution must have happened some time ago, but due to my extended sojourn out of the county it had slipped past me unnoticed.

This is not to say there are no advantages.

Two nights, six leopards and a bear sighting will attest to the fact that the safari drivers’ approach works.

Three (give or take) members of the same company will traverse the park in different jeeps.

The cellphone rings courtesy of a magical Dialog network that only the safari tour drivers seem to have access to.

Kiyanne

And then a drive that Colin McRae would be proud of would ensue. I believe our jeep may have started off with side view mirrors, but they were long gone and are probably still festooning some poor spotted deer whose standing by a jungle road going ‘what the fuck was that?’ Trees, rocks swerve by in a flash as you desperately hold on to anything tied down to the truck to avoid getting thrown out into a thorn bush. The jeep then screeches to a halt in front of a slightly taken aback leopard/bear/elephant while the people inside try to figure which way is up and try to remove camera equipment embedded in friends body parts.

Add a few hundred (well maybe just a dozen) cars to the spot in about an hour and you have your sighting.

I’m not sure how I feel about the changes in Yala. Sure it would seem foolishly nostalgic to wax on about some pseudo-golden age where the animals were less hassled and the onlookers more noble, but those are probably selective memories. I am a bit saddened by the demise of the tracker though, at least in the company of the safari tours. The grand old men of the jungle are no more or at least have no voice.

Out with the old and in with the new I guess. At least you're guaranteed the goods.

This...

2009-09-20T10:36:00.000-07:00

Is weird. Too much humanism in too short a time and it’s been a long time. A wise person once told me I think too much. And I think I do. Hopefully enough to figure it out.

Scour

2009-09-19T08:48:00.000-07:00

The trays blurred in front of my face, cheap plastic containers made holy with the most beautiful flower designs being passed hand to hand. The smell of incense curling through me while the drum beat its tattoo. I don’t believe in customs, but I do believe in culture. And I understood the paradoxical need for the two as I partook in the ata visi Buddha pooja. Though I personally prefer a more quiet experience, the pooja did resonate with me. Spending the time with SS, the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever had probably had a calming effect on me as well.

The alienation from my culture and traditions and the life of an pseudo-elitist has made me feel like a foreigner in my own country. Though I am still not and never will be a ‘religious’ person in the strict traditionalist sense, nor for that matter I guess a ‘true’ Sri Lankan I feel less foreign, more with my country now. If even for a bit, I found myself.

Times going by and I’m still wrestling. It’s strange the things that bring me up, a conversation with a friend (who incidentally now knows more about me than most people) brought things I have never talked about to the surface. 21 years is a long time to carry something within myself, getting it out felt good despite the constant fear of the possibility of alienation.

Today brought me closer to my blood, where my roots are and the shell is scouring off, one painful layer by layer.

I just hope the world holds up for me while I return to normality.

Danne’s and other dangalang

2009-09-16T10:36:00.000-07:00

It was hot and the priest was rude. The obsequious required of us was not really to my taste either especially for someone who can’t remember a name, when that’s all they really have to do.

The most I could muster was a half bend at the waist, the task of remembering something that I really don’t want to, for the sake of absolving a non-forgivable guilt. I’m never sure what they expect of me…do they expect me to garner ping by feeding some people who have nothing better to do than sit on their asses all day and get fed once a day by fools?

Am I supposed to remember something I cannot, a voice that I can’t remember hearing, a betrayal that’s left me with multitudes of demons to fight without guidance?

To me it’s just bullshit. I’d rather forget, it might as well be any other day as far as I fucking care.

But then I don’t share in their guilt.

Discombobulation

2009-09-11T10:57:00.000-07:00

Transitions are never easy. Especially when one has the genetic payload that I’m ‘blessed’ with, the overwhelming perfection streak and the proneness to manicness that my ancestors have passed onto me. The orderliness of the first world is missed, not to mention the routine of the work world. Despite it bringing me close to the brink of insanity, it was easy to bury the needs and wants in 10 hour days, workouts and drugged sleep. Actually dealing with my demons with time off on my hands is a totally different ballgame, and one that is much, much harder.

So what’s keeping me going when getting out of bed seems as hard as bench pressing 200 pounds? It truly is the connections, the friendships and the relationships I have around. SR emailing me all the details from sunny SoCal so I don’t miss anything with the old crew, SO to have random late night conversations about the best in 80’s music, sweaters and see through shirts, the sibling wishing that I find what I’m looking for (perhaps in a few years), the thought that maybe, just maybe I’m somewhat employable, T providing entertainment in that special way she can, A and S being the usual jokers and R akki pointing out that this transition is something that everybody goes through and that everyone who has gone through it, is unanimous that they don’t want to go back.

At the end of the day I guess I should have been more aware that this would be hard. The relentless pursuit of a goal and its actual attainment has left me a bit bereft. Perhaps I shouldn’t worry as much about where I’m going anymore and start enjoying where I am. For one thing the sunsets from Marine Drive, something that’s starting to become a habit for me are truly one of a kind.

I’m looking to each step now instead of the long road since I have in the past been too focused on the destination. To end on a somewhat random (if typical) note, here’s my favourite song of all time (and surprisingly it’s not a Snow Patrol tune(.

Semi-Luxury to Nuwara Eliya

2009-08-24T09:06:00.000-07:00

The windows opened, that’s what I believe they meant by ‘semi-luxury.’

Finding the bus for my impromptu trip to Nuwara Eliya was a task in itself on a not so bright and breezy Saturday morning. For one thing due to a night out before and a consistent lack of sleep over the last few days, my head felt like it had been rammed full off cotton wool.

I tottered around the Pettah bus stand trying rather unsuccessfully to blend into the greater Sri Lankan public whilst looking for the bus. My inquiries of Ayie, Nuwara Eliya bus eka koheda thienna (Brother, where is the bus to Nuwara Eliya) elicited rather sympathetic smiles from the various brisk looking individuals at the Kotuwa bus stand as they directed me to all four corners of the bus stand . I actually think they were being sincere in their own individual opinions of where the requisite bus was parked.

Here’s a tip to any similarly culturally misplaced, clueless individual who tries to grab an inter-city bus to one of the more remote destinations from the Pettah stand: Keep a sharp ear for your destination being called out in the staccato cries of the conductors entreating passengers to use their particular bus. It was only by hearing the sharp shout of Nuwara Eliya, as I stumbled in the direction pointed out by yet another well intentioned, possible employee of the Pettah Bus Stand, that I found my bus.

It had of course been carefully concealed as the Welimada bus which apparently was both past Nuwara Eliya and better known to the general populace than my chosen destination.

After paying the pittance of the Rs. 247 to ride to Nuwara Eliya I settled in next to rather severe looking lady in a mostly full bus. As I smiled unsurely at her and something about Nuwara Eliya mumbled (I’m not sure why I did this, it must be something to do with the current inability to handle the easiest of social situations), she looked me rather witheringly and said Welimada ta yanne and that was that. Gingerly I placed my bag on my lap and looked around at my bus compatriots. There seemed an inordinate number of children around me who looked like they would get motion sickness at the slightest vibration. Steeling myself to the thought of little children hurling over me in the near distant future I closed my eyes and leaned back against the seat to try and catch up on some sleep.

Any thoughts however of getting any rest were rapidly extinguished as what seemed like all the street peddlers in Fort poured into the bus selling everything from education booklets to mangoes to cadala by the time honoured tradition of thrusting the said materials into your face and yelling in your ear about their dubious qualities. Many people seemed to buy items simply to try and preserve their hearing. One enterprising individual even got so carried away with trying to sell his sheets of old bank notes from Sri Lanka that he seemed intent on coming half way out of Colombo with us as the bus started out on its six hour journey.

There are many adjectives that spring to mind when trying to describe my journey wending it’s way up the Kandy road and up to the hills, redolent, noisy, exciting, chaotic and indescribably screechy being some of them. I did in fact manage to fall asleep until around noon so missed a lot of the early part of the drive. The few glimpses I caught were courtesy of the lady next to me who rather stoically pushed my head to the side as I lolled in my sleep onto her personal space.

I was also woken up intermittently as being a ‘semi-luxury’ bus; various people were loaded on at what seemed like every stop possible so they could spend the better part of the trip pressing their bodily extremities onto those of us who were seated. Stoically ignoring the seemingly distracted advances of the gentleman pressing his crotch into my shoulder, I absorbed the views visible from the open window as the bus trundled on with a disconcerting screech.

It must be said that the rather distorted views available from a single bus window are anything but boring. You catch brief, tantalizing, enigmatic glimpses of the towns, people and landscapes as they whiz by and often only disembodied parts of whatever is outside. The gigantic wrinkled backside of an elephant taking a ride in a truck resolved into a side-on of him contentedly chewing on some stringy bright green leaves, hands bearing cobs of corn and other interminable edible items flashed beguilingly past the window and at one stage, two white upright PVC poles intriguingly flew by as the bus swerved around something in its path.

I won’t lie; despite the many distractions, a semi-luxury bus is probably not the most comfortable way to get to Nuwara Eliya. After a while the screech of the engine, the radio blaring and the press of humanity can get a bit overwhelming, but such a journey is certainly the most organic way to remember what Sri Lanka is and who makes up the vast majority of the country.

The school teacher manner of my seatmate was but a front as she offered to share her lunch of bread with me and placed my uneaten snacks of Maliban chocolate biscuits in what she deemed was a more respectable siri siri bag than what I already had. The children declined to throw up on me and instead rather endearingly maintained a delighted commentary of what passed outside the bus, often shedding some much needed light on the more obscure items I saw from my limited perspective of the minute window. More spectacular scenery, terraced fields, lush misty mountains and bright green tea fields fled past as the bus miraculously, despite the determined efforts of the driver both remained on the windy road and to the six hour timeframe for the journey.

s the bus rattled into Nuwara Eliya central, exactly six bone crunching hours after departing from Colombo, and I peeled myself off the chair in weary anticipation, the mind did still boggle, what exactly did a non-luxury bus ride to Nuwara Eliya entail?

Rooftop

2009-08-05T10:23:00.000-07:00

It has to be my favourite part of the old house. Up the narrow stairs into the stifling room on the third floor and out the door. The contrast between the inside of the house and the rooftop is always drastic. An inevitable breeze kicks up as you climb up the water tank cover to the absolute top of the house for a 360 panoramic view of Colombo. I’ve always loved coming up here, to see Haley’s comet as an eager kid back in the 80’s, to viewing a pink outline of Sri Pada at 5am, furtive smokes with the neighborhood gang back in the day to lighting up a good one today.

Tonight was perfect. The moon was up, scudding through the clouds. The local kottu joint echoed across Havelock Road. The chef at this noble saivar kade was quite the creative cat. To liven up the tedium of the clacking he interspersed a few baila tunes here and there to bring some rhythm to his cooking. The traffic hummed as I inhaled. And thought about the past two weeks.

The move back hasn’t gone exactly as I envisioned. In fact I’m not even sure what I envisioned back in that hazy Californian sun, now so recessed in my mind that it’s more a mirage than my reality a month ago. I think Pissu was the one who sagely advised me that things aren’t really greener on this side. Not that I expected it to be, but reality is always sobering. The issues at home are more real than ever. I’m trying to find the patience to deal with the slight manic ness, the somewhat overwhelming obsessive ness. Coping mechanisms I’m sure but it just all feels a bit mature to me to be dealing with these issues.

Issues in the crowd notwithstanding, my own personal crowd issue in as expected somewhat ambiguous. I think the lack of the usual 3 week window, impending departures and the boiler cooker atmosphere has left us both a little underwhelmed. The reality that there is time this time has left us both a bit unsure of the next step. I personally am not too fussed, the essentialness of being with her has faded. There are far too many interesting members of the female sex that I know and are out there to be known to be too tied up in this one. If it works, it works, if not…so be it. I am a bit worried though about her issues in the crowd. The potential for hurt is kind of overwhelming and I’m a bit disappointed that some people won’t compromise. I’m trusting, but my gut tells me it’s the truth.

So yes the first two weeks have been less than the complications I expected. Too many let downs to be honest, half filled balloons unceremoniously popped prematurely. But this is reality and it’s a whole better than sweating under another killer deadline, doing other people’s work and pulling their weight in the corporate drivel of the USA. Time is ticking and I’m slowly starting to get my act together. I’m quite looking forward to knuckling down, if anything for some routine and framework.

Before that though, I really hope this week jaunt to Wasgomuwa works out. And to end another muddled post, the rooftop is the best but one must take care. Today I sat tripping out in the middle of the nightly perambulation path of a couple of polecats. Reverie is fun, but nothing will snap one out of more than what appeared to be two small leopards prancing towards you. Thankfully they both absconded when I hurriedly got up before a new pair of pants was warranted. Yeah…watch out for those polecats.

Crap

2009-08-03T09:24:00.000-07:00

I just remembered. I said I’d call. Crap. Crap. Crap. Damn these things I say at 4.30am. I should have just kept my mouth shut when I dropped her at her door. I really don’t want to call. I like my girls edgy, damaged with enough of a dark side to add some spice. She’s sweet, cute and totally wholesome. It would be like dating my aunt. I would have nothing to say. Crap.

Hikka Life Lessons

2009-08-02T09:19:00.000-07:00

Leave drama at the door, bounce when the smallest amount rears its head. Here’s the thing, I’m tired of drama. Too many people seem to revel in it, girls chasing unsuitable boys, boys chasing insecure girls and all wanting the pleasure/pain of a bad relationship. It truly baffles me that some people are so scared of singleness. I hadn’t even started with any personal baggage but somehow ended up carting everyone else’s carry ons. Trust me. There is nothing worse than borrowed angst and I ditched members of the crowd left right and center in order to avoid this.

It’s nice that A and SH haven’t changed much to this day. It may sound a bit like a broken record sometimes but then it always leads to the best of times. Some of the rest of the crew however really need to move down the evolutionary level…or is that up it? Seriously the foolishness and almost super model type (though certain lack of the looks and the right sex department) need for attention is nauseating. These guys need a harsh dose of reality soon.

Good nights are still possible, even with the idiots and the soap opera antics, just some of the boys, some drinks and good jokes.

Chemistry is a difficult thing to find. I spent the better part of a night talking to a perfectly sweet girl, walked her back to her hotel room, had a slightly nervous run in with her cousin on the way and didn’t have the slightest bit of a tingly feeling or an urge to do anything that involved a grope in the dark. Not sure if the usual suspect stalking up and down like a wounded, albeit beautiful panther the whole night, helped much either…though in retrospect it was a lost cause to begin with. Also problematic was the rather tender gastroentinal situation that was going on.

Now comes the difficult task of reigning back the interest levels without compromising feelings. My social life in the US was truly a lot simpler with four mostly male minds to deal with. My current situation is like a tense standoff somewhere in the inner regions of Mogadishu….where was I? Oh yes, chemistry is impossibly rare to find.

Last but not least is the poor judge of character I seem to provide sometimes on a special exclusive contract basis. I suppose I could provide some sort of back serving, convoluted excuse for the rather unexpected cold shoulder on Thursday night after the multitude of phone calls. At least try and make a reasonable assessment of the reason for the tardiness, instead of taking it personally and so personally enough to block out communication for the rest of the weekend. Surprisingly emo after the early morning smoke session, man the girl has issues and no desire to provide full explanations. The mind did boggle as to how much of a goldmine she would be for any aspiring psychologist. As to where this goes from here I know not. I just don’t want to be the straw that broke the camels back, hence not take things too personal myself.

By the way, the government knows not how to throw a party. The stage girls had on more clothes than I did, the public PA system was blaring fuckingkennyG and the old dudes with jittery trigger fingers on their civil defence AK47s were not the most conducive to a beach fest atmosphere. Next time try some subtle security and less puttering morality. If they could regulate the moon reflecting on the waves, some of these fuckwits would do it.

All in all the weekend was good, but it has in the objective light of the rear view mirror, too much of the sameness of the last years. I’ve moved on and in search of a different vibe now. Less destructive, more fun. Less morning, noon and night drinking, more unwinding. I will be back many times to the same old ways for the near future as that is mostly only what I know.

But things are a changing for sure.

Why? O’ why?

2009-07-29T19:38:00.000-07:00

I am absolutely fucking tired of the questions.

“Why did you leave? Isn’t it amazing there? You can have anything you want!”

“What are your plans now? What are you going to do?”

“You didn’t want to stay there and make some more money?”

It’s astonishing to me that somehow people think that they have some kind of right to question my decisions and motives because I did something they cannot comprehend doing. The questions from family members irk me the most. I know where they have fucked up and made mistakes and taken silly decisions but I’ve never pointed those out or questioned them. My take on it is if I wish to make a mistake, that should be my right to do. Maybe this was a mistake, maybe it’s the best decision I ever made in my life. Only time will tell.

‘Til then expect a roundhouse slap (at least metaphorically) if you ask me what I’m going to do now or any more of the inane questions described above. Make that a thundering roundhouse slap…

On Familiarity

2009-07-27T10:12:00.000-07:00

*Honk, honk*

Cab’s outside to take me to the Rowing Club to hang out with D. The rattley door closes as I sink into the seat.

“Evening Sir”

“Evening”

“Mona dawasada awey?” “When did you get in?”

Blank….silence….

“Ermm….Wednesday”

“Acchiee kohomada” “How’s your grandmother”

It took me a few minutes of surprised silence to put a face to…well…if not a name then a familiar face and a few more than a few excursions. There’s something ironic about a cab driver who both knows about your grandmother’s health as well as what you did with that girl in the back of his cab on the way back from Sugar.

The possibilities for blackmail…they make the mind boggle.

Sleepless in Changi

2009-07-21T16:06:00.000-07:00

Changi’s eerily quiet at 4am, my fellow transit passengers are variously sleeping in contortionist positions or surfing mindlessly at the stand up kiosks for free internet while I sit here trying to figure out what I’m feeling. I always find the welter of my emotions difficult to decipher. It might have something to do with the trails that my life has led so far, the unending goodbyes to family and friends whom I consider family that prompted me since I was eight to start putting up walls around myself. Now I find myself not at a cross-road, but at the start of a whole new journey. And I cannot figure out what I’m feeling.

Will I miss California? Undoubtedly. For all the crap, the rat race, the heat there were moments of unspeakable beauty, loving family, comfort with friends and spine tingling excitement. The bygone weekend was a microcosm of what I gained from my six year sojourn in the US, Tori Amos at the Greek, alcoholic nights, skydiving and friends and family around.

The boys and I have seen some amazing groups in the last couple of years and to top it off, SR and I went to see Tori Amos on Friday. Admittedly I may not be her biggest fan unlike my obsessive interest in groups like Death Cab for Cutie or Snow Patrol, but boy can that girl sing and play various keyboards. High on Tori Amos we then proceeded to meet up with P and S and enjoy my dubious Mojito mixing skills. As was proved last July, the summer heat and the refreshment of a sparkling Mojito makes a bad combination, as we dragged ourselves out of bed with mighty headaches at the ungodly hour of 5.30am to make the drive to Lake Elsinore, so D and I could throw ourselves out of a plane.

The thrill of the skydive wiped all the alcohol residues from my system quick time. This being my second jump meant I wasn’t hamming it up for the camera and was bucket loads more confident. Instead I watched in open mouthed wonderment as the Pacific glistened from 12,000 feet up, the slipstream tearing at my goggles as we hit terminal velocity. Pulling on the parachute straps as instructed by Lelloo, my tandem instructor, we spiraled into a 360 degree turn, the parachute disconcertedly at right angles to us. I felt a twinge of regret as we dropped quickly and come in for a rapid landing at the drop zone. I would have loved to have taken the para course and jumped solo while I was in the US though with the constraints of time and money, this was always a bit of an impossibility (especially considering my other hugely expensive hobbies).

The sibling’s engagement party in the evening brought together some of the most important people in my life. Being able to give a toast at the party and say ‘I love you’ to my sister was when the final wall between us, built up during the decade apart and then warily explored when we met as adults was finally torn down. I will miss her most of all though the maternal unit comes in a close second. The last six years will probably be the last time the both of us will spend significant amounts of time in the same country much less with each other. I should be bitter that geography and family considerations have led to us leading such separate lives, but then what would be the point? I am grateful for what I’ve had so far.

All in all as S put it was one of the best nights ever, friends and family coalesced into one wonderful night of merriment with the Old Reserve flowing and the chocolate biscuit pudding being inhaled down. I am going to miss California, CP & RD up north, my boys (& one token girl) to blur the weekends away, the sibling and the maternal unit all made California worthwhile, made the rat race bearable and I am grateful beyond words. I’ll even miss the work team, as crazy as it was they were for the most part an excellent bunch of peeps.

As D would put it, One Love to the past six years and the memories. And I look forward to a new beginning and new aspirations to achieve.

Finding my religion

2009-05-11T21:19:00.000-07:00

No I didn’t see the light or get smote by lightning, though some might say that’s a bit overdue. I was however for some period in a dark, dark place. I’m not even sure why, the papers had come through but the practical obstacles to the final move seemed insurmountable. Sure there were some bright sparks in my day, random chats, unexpected fb messages making me grin, the boys somehow turning a single email about the weekend hike into a 75 email long, odyssey of a thread which would invariably involve a plethora of sexual innuendo all were the little things that helped me get through the days.

These were nice, but on the dark side the trips to the dealer became a ritual. Every Thursday, Friday roll into the valley. Quick call on the phone, fist bump, sly exchange of baggies and cash and empty platitudes. The cost mounted quickly, both financially and mentally. Every day was fuzzy and I started to get stupid. Things would fizz past me as my mind slowed down to the speed of molasses. Weekends were spent in bed, in a haze, trying to dull the pain. To be honest I can’t figure out why it stopped but the memory of a random trip with the grandmother to listen to some Buddhist dude helped out. The memory that Ajahn Brahm had a podcast with P’s rather brilliant idea of ripping CDs and listening to them in the car brought me light.

Note I’m no middle path Buddhist now, no pansal going, pirith nool wearing chap. I still like to drink, smoke up occasionally, eat meat and fornicate with the best of them. I have however managed to get a handle on the addictive personality that my genes have blessed me with. As opposed to going off the rails like so many of my male brethren, I have regained some control and the obstacles seem more handleable. And the words of Ajan Brahm, with his wry sense of humour and simple but powerful stories have definitely helped me gain perspective. I wholeheartedly recommend checking his podcast out. If a cynical, hardbitten, atheist like me can find comfort in his words…well…let’s just say he must be good.

To paraphrase Jimmy Cliff, I can see clearly now…there maybe some rain ahead…but I can see clearly.

The road to Nyala

2009-04-29T20:32:00.000-07:00

Usually an antelope that is apparently uncomfortable in open spaces but in this case a rather charming, finger licking good (and not in the bullshit KFC way) Ethiopian restaurant that P, IW and I headed off to last night to partake in some communal Injera bread and other assorted wonders. The road to that restaurant though is a tale that needs to be told, a geographical mishmash of ethnicities and random encounters.

Three Sri Lankans met up, one came from Scotland to Los Angeles, where the other two lived (much to their dismay, the living there, not the friend visiting). From LA it was a road trip to Las Vegas which was followed shortly by one very sexpensive venture. Following which was a cab ride. Said cab being driven by someone who was wearing a cap with what I thought was an Ethiopian flag, which in fact turned out to be an upside down Ethiopian flag (so I wasn’t far off). The cap was in fact being worn by an Eritrean who despite living in the City of Sin knew of the best places to eat Ethiopian food (a personal favourite of mine), one of the best which was Nyala, in Little Ethiopia in Los Angeles.

In short we found ourselves, three Lankans, one from Scotland, two from LA, going for an Ethiopian meal at a restaurant recommended by an Eritrean who we met in Las Vegas. Gotta love continent hopping.

A walk in the woods

2009-04-18T15:21:00.001-07:00

Unfortunately this tale is not going to be as epic as Bill Bryson’s jaunt on the Appalachian Trail. Instead it was a rather gentle 4.2 hike to Escondido Falls in the early am. Most of the path, after passing some truly gargantuan McMansions, was pleasantly through a patch of riparian forest, rock hopping over some streams and a rather strenuous ‘rock climb’ to the top of the falls.

It was during the latter part of the climb up that I realized I had become a big pussy, there was a nervousness in sighting the next rock, sweaty grasping of branches and a definite lack of certainty in jumping from rock to rock. A couple of years of mostly sitting behind a desk has had its toll. Even just five years ago I happily trekked miles a day in the heat, well if not happily quite effectively, up and down the mountains of Maragalakanda counting birds and dodging vipers. Now a brief jaunt in the woods was a challenge. It’s not even a question of fitness, it’s more that the hand eye coordination is lacking, I guess bushwacking is not like a bicyle but needs some practice.

Of course as gentle as the hike was, with us, nothing is quite as simple. On the way down from the head of the falls, P somehow managed to lead us off the trail and down a much rather entertaining rock fall down to the base of the hill. Carrying a couple of thousand dollars in camera equipment on my back didn’t exactly increase my levels of comfort either. To add insult to injury on getting to the base of the climb and finding out that we still had plenty of time on our hands we headed enthusiastically up another upwards running trail in pursuit of the gal short girls that P had seen going up. It was when all three of us took a second look at a tree on the path that it was indeed the original path we had climbed up earlier and the way we came back was most decidedly non-convential.

Apparently navigation skills take some practice as well.

It’s an epidemic

2009-04-17T20:54:00.000-07:00

I tell you. Everywhere I look, maturity is taking hold, like an insidious plague. CP is having a baby boy, people are buying houses, and the sibling is tying the knot. It’s like open season on nesting. The pressure’s been turned on as well; I’ve been asked the settling down question a few times, putting down roots, and advice to buy a condo in a mindlessly boring subdivision. I hope I wasn’t too obvious when I shot that one down.

I must be crazy though, while everyone else is buckling down, I’m going to go free in the middle of the worst recession in a lifetime, leave comfort, a good salary, promotions, career path (that one makes me gag every time) to chase the whisper of a dream. An uncertain path I’ve known all my life I will have to take, but I’ve avoided until now. I’m done with the easy route, the one that fulfills the baser needs but leaves one’s spirit charred. Time to try and get real.

What a surreal weekend it was

2009-04-12T21:23:00.000-07:00

As D put it so eloquently in his first twitter post. And indeed it has been. Of course my trip was more sedate than the rest of the boys considering my taste in chemicals is decidedly more sedate. The weekend had started before hitting up the usual jaunt with some more trips and a marathon of Audrey Hepburn. Heebejesus, the girl is hot, something else. I did however feel that she played a pretty weak character in Sabrina and Roman Holiday, and what was up with falling for old, old dudes. Geez.

The night later progressed in its usual, trips taken, arrack drunk and the most bizarre conversations had. Somewhere in there was drivebys, bestiality, crossfit, strange attempts at pushups, bitching about Portishead, loving Portishead, animalknappings at the local petting zoo and finally in a common consensus, a trip to the local strip club.

I swear she looked like J…it was such a brilliant coincidence that I had to text R know that a J lookalike was currently wrapping her legs around my neck and giving me the kind of anatomical lesson that one always wanted in high school. Of course with my iron clad will I spent exactly twice my budget, but lets just say it was well worth it. I of course will not be able to look J in the face again…well maybe with a slight leer.

Sunday morning dawned bright and early, blindingly some might say after the two hours of sleep that was had. As expected with the randomness that befits us, the morning saw P and I role blearily to a volunteer gig feeding the homeless. Absolving for some of our sins of the past night, we engaged in a whirlwind of stuffing bags for a brief 20 minutes. Eventually heading back after the world’s shortest yet somewhat efficient volunteer efforts it was to a Brazilian barbeque for a belated b’day lunch for S. He had also come of Lent so anything bovine within a hundred miles was in mortal danger. The food was brilliant at the Sampa Grill with the green shaker up most of the time. Succulent sections of cows, garlic chicken, some polish sausage, beans, cheesecake, brownies and bread pudding passed before us.

We left lunch bloated and with a possible house visitor to Sri Lanka next year in the shape of a friendly Brazilian waiter (male unfortunately). It was to one more of those afternoon naps and then a somewhat nervous drive in the new wheels, courtesy of N. I’m pretty sure all of us are resting our tired bones this evening, on our respective trips. One more Monday to come and what’s keeping me going is that there are only to be around 8 more of these to go.

My two cents

2009-04-07T22:51:00.000-07:00

Blogging is about self expression, but none of us blog in isolation. We are also very much part of a community. When I started out I knew no real people in the blogosphere, yet within weeks I had met a fellow blogger. Since then I’ve corresponded with, chatted with, twittered, exchanged texts and even got silly drunk with a few. All people that I would have never met in my usual life and some people that strangely, I feel that I know more than some of my closest friends. You see the thing is with blogging is that we see how each other think and how they react as they interact with fellow bloggers and comments. Such an explicit insight into how people think is to me quite intimate.

I read NB’s post with some discomfit, firstly I didn’t see what the big deal was. To me the post was just a general poke. To burst the bubble on a bloggers anonymity, especially over something so trivial (I can understand if its slander or copyright issues) seems to me to break some kind of code, a betrayal of our community. I mean a lot of us know who each other are, but we tend to keep that knowledge out of the public eye. Outing information like that is mostly quite tasteless.

I’m all for freedom of speech and forthright talk but there is a difference between being outspoken…and being an asshole.

Simple Pleasures

2009-04-03T20:04:00.000-07:00

My blogs being crying of neglect lately and since my sense of originality is currently taking a break at the bottom of the Indian ocean, I’m going to shamelessly do a meme, I’m not even tagged…blah….originality….

Hanging out with the two jokers, R a friend for almost 20 years, S for 10. The three of us could not be more disparate, but somehow it works as the best of friendships. Fingers crossed for that lasting.
Chilling with the boys, the surrogate family in the US. P, always breaking something, D spaced out, N always trying to impress and S coming up with the most priceless comments; ‘ai oi jangia kanne?’ being my particular favourite on seeing the Kim Kardhashian tape.
Anywhere in the dry zone, where I feel the most at home. There’s something about that dry scrub, the waves of burning heat and the shimmering tanks that makes me feel complete, human and happy.
Sex in the afternoon. I mean everybody (I sense a sarcastic comment here from a couple of my readers) does it in the night, but what about the afternoon? The suns blazing mutedly through the curtains, the fans whirring. Absolutely perfect for an afternoon session and siesta. Especially enjoyable when done when you should be in lectures or at work.
Taking photographs. The pulse racing as you look at an ever-changing tableau in a fast moving city like San Francisco. Colours pulsing as you try to figure out what will work in the lens, the camera whirring smoothly as it autofocuses. The thud of the shutter. Bliss.
Dinner with Arcch, as I’ve affectionately called her since I could talk. At the round table in the pantry. Not much conversation but reassuring, never changing phrases here and there. I don’t know if I can ever go back to that.
The few tropical water dives I’ve done and the prospect of repeating them soon. Fish swirling everywhere, the meters of visibility through the dreamy green water. Bubbles rising reassuringly from our regulators as we explore the rock and reef in Lanka.
Enjoying R akki’s company. Seriously the most fun person over 30 (and even under 30 when we knew her back then) and an automatic booster to the day. Somewhat difficult to take snorkeling but a blast to keep you company while you roll one. The only person I know who would while you were rolling in a dazed state sit by you with a towel on her head, drunk of her skunk, giggling to herself for an hour just to keep you company. Priceless.
Getting to know the sibling. A difficult task after nine years and a culture apart. But we have made progress and the last weekend was much fun and it sounds like she’s going to be taking an important step forward in her life. I’m very proud.
Editing photographs, I forgot about this one. Almost more fun than taking the shots, running actions, blurring, history brush here and there. Channel mixers and curves to play with. I just wish I could make up my mind which iteration I like.
Talking to short stuff. The closest thing to a mother I had growing up considering the age gap between me and my grandparents. It’s a bit scary that she thinks I’m a responsible person now, the potential for disappointment is discomfiting.
CP, another one of the old crowd. Now all grown up and expecting but still the same old, sweet concerned golden hearted girl. She said I think too much. And I think she’s right.
Superblende Kandos.
Cold Old Reserve and coke.
Hot butter cuttlefish.
Mornings on the beach, that fang toothed, dorky half smile.

The list seems to have gotten a bit long and unwieldy. I’m not even sure what I’m writing about anymore but I do have a lot to be thankful for, which is reassuring. In fact writing this has been a thereaputic way to spend a Friday evening after the hellhole of the week. Apologies for any randomness….must be the trip I’m on.

Le Grande Bleu

2009-03-21T15:13:00.000-07:00

Has to be the best movie ever. Yes I know that’s about as banal as a statement you can get but I cannot think of anything more grandiose. I’m not even sure what the story is about, whether it has some deep existential meaning to do with swimming off into the big blue yonder with a dolphin. I know not any truth in this. But the movie frigging rocks. The music by Eric Serra is divine, Mayal is realistic and the locations and cinematography breathtaking beyond belief.

It also reaffirms one off my more morbid musings, if I were to be reborn as anything, please let it be a dolphin. To be that at home in your environment must truly be a liberating experience. Though the odd crazy Jappo beating you about the head every now and then in the name of tradition might be a bit of a bummer.

And besides, if the world were to become part of a big transportational construction site, at least I would be saved.

Wanted

2009-03-20T23:19:00.000-07:00

One companion for U2 concert

Qualifications:

5’ 3.25”
Dark mocha skin
Broody, shuttered brown eyes
32b
Endearing affection for general knowledge
Ability to wield a handbag with unerring accuracy
Legs that go on forever
Closet Gorillaz fan
Seafood enthusiast, especially the Japanese variety
Disconcerting ability to waiver between unbearable cuteness to complete looniness
Smooth, lilac scented hair (maybe with the random brown streak for old times sake)
Annoying habit of ignoring texts and endearing habit of blabbing for hours on the phone
Always there when needed

Yes I’m a sucker, but hey one can always hope…if even a bit foolishly.

Willingness to negotiate on the above…open to suggestions?

Idiots Die

2009-03-07T23:23:00.000-08:00

They do, it's only natural Darwinism (if that is a word). Stupid genes get taken out of the gene pool and on Wednesday, I came within a whisker of consigning my genetic material to the wastebin of history. I do really get annoyed with myself when I do something really silly, like being dog tired and talking on the phone while at the wheel. There’s something about the same seven mile stretch of road that I take to work five days a week twice daily that lulls me into a sense of complacency.

Luckily I noticed halfway through my lane change, a third through my conversation that the traffic had gone from 60 to zero in a nanosecond, that the fleeting rear end of the Civic in front of me was alight with red. Thankfully I had room, the presence of mind to brake, swing right and with a slight screech of tires avoid rear ending the car in front of me at 70 miles per hour. Thankful that I didn’t have to experience any cartwheels, windows exploding or airbags popping.
What really surprised me was the lack of reaction on my part. The sibling didn’t even notice a break in the conversation. I guess a cool head prevailed, I don’t think I will try that again though. The phone is to be strictly off limits on the road from now on, especially after a dog day at work.

Because I really want to at least make the motions of passing my genes on.

Three years and counting…

2009-03-01T15:30:00.001-08:00

Happy blogoversary to me! Well in a manner of speaking. Though it hasn’t been a year yet for my second blog it has been three years and a few days since I started putting keyboard to cyberspace under multiple SP themed blogs. During that time I’ve met a lot of people, virtually and in the ‘real world’ of FB and email, Darwin, Venus, Pseudo, Java, RD, PP; had a drink with a few, T, Savi and even reconnected with old school friends, TinyLF.

Personally, I’ve been through a lot, two jobs, two cities, best friends leaving, best friends getting married, best friends getting pregnant, video toasts, drama, one night stands spurned, alcohol drunk, girls chatted up, endless hours worked, new friends made, businesses started, friends lost. Some things have stayed the same, friendships, stresses, the girl, feelings of home and place.

When I started off I had this grand plan but I seemed to have put that on the fast burner. I have got an import/export business with two very able partners albeit into Australia and it is extremely hard going at the moment and I have almost two years experience in a consultancy working in development. But I’m jumping a lot earlier than I envisioned, I want to take the risk now and not wait til I am comfortable living the dream here. I just received notice that my exit dates can be implemented as planned, now it’s just the financial tiptoeing to make sure everything is in working order. Then there’s the logistical nightmare of moving a life across a couple of oceans.

Oh yeah and fingers crossed this space should get a lot more interesting, I seem to be more prolific and erudite when I’m not playing the part of a corporate whore, not living the rat race dream. Salut to three years…..and hopefully more to come!

It’s a documentary, it’s a social statement, it’s a comedy!

2009-02-28T18:54:00.000-08:00

Seriously, what is it? I remember the first time I saw it, at the impressionable age of about 11. The National Gegographic nudeness, the strange clicking sounds and the baking heat of the Kalahari. I’ve watched the Gods Must be Crazy (and part 2) many times since then and I’m yet to figure out what the hell it is. The tale of the little bushman trying to throw a coke bottle of the ends of the earth because its sudden appearance from the clear blue sky (courtesy of a thirsty pilot with a penchant for littering) causes feelings of envy and want to turn up in their tribe.

It starts out with a documentary style tale of the Bushmen in the Kalahir….documentary as I mentioned.

Then all of a sudden there occurs what is possibly the worst planned yet close to successful coups ever shown on film. The elaborate plan involves a bunch of armed people in two jeeps pull up to the presidential palace, charge in unchallenged and blow the cabinet up in a hail of machine gun fire. Of course the presidential guard shows up inoppurtnely late shoots a few people and then gives chase in a Mercedes gazzguzzler, which promptly runs out of gas.

By this stage I’m scratching my head, theres a fat rebel leader who looks like he was outsourced from Cuba and a bunch of joker rebels. What part they play in a documentary I know not. A lot of banana trees promptly get the fuck blown up, a positive banana smoothie. All through this the little bushman wanders, walking to the end of the earth.

Baboons and Bushman talking, now it’s like a social/nature documentarty on crack. There’s a great white hunter (though an awkward around ladies great white hunter), a beautiful blonde teacher in distress. Oscar award wining drama written all over it by this stage. A grand rescue, machine guns, a romantic liplock and of course all through this the little bushman walks to throw the coke bottle off the end of the earth.

My favourite random quote from the movie:

That’s funny, this elephant’s dung is completely missing Boron.

I personally think this movie in terms of interpretation beats out the best of David Lynch. Mulholland Drive aint got shit on Gods Must be Crazy. It’s a social statement on the evils of materialism and the modern world with a random lovestory, third world coup, adventure tale thrown in for kicks. I have no idea who produced, wrote or dreamt up this movie…but I think I should look them up. Cos I want whatever they’ve been smoking.

And my newly rediscovered catchphrase: Ai, ai, ai, ai

And it begins

2009-02-26T19:58:00.000-08:00

The emotional blackmail. Put off for awhile since I made a deal that I wait for the blue book and not abscond back to the promised land prematurely. Now that I am inches from that goal, comes the anecdote,

Aunty N’s friends boyfriend…he went to Australia, got citizenship, came back and didn’t get dual. They refused him
Err….why?
No idea…

Sure….why do I have the feeling more aunties and their mothers are going to have trouble with dual, dealing with the shock of moving back.

What baffles me sometimes is the selfishness of the people who say they love you. All they really want is succor for themselves. So what if living here will crush my soul, destroy my sanity and make me a mindless corporate drone consumer? So long as I’m there in some form, who cares if it’s just the husk left.

All I really wanted to say was fuck off, stop putting doubts, paranoia into my head, into a situation which is already scaring the shit out of me. Self doubt is a specter difficult to fight even without the little whisperings of doubt from people who should know better.

Electronic memories

2009-02-25T20:06:00.000-08:00

There’s this song, Knuddelmaus by Ulrich Schnauss, that automatically causes the strangest , bittersweet memories to play of all the senses. A grainy, almost eighties film vision of the airport at Hong Kong, a suitcase on a grey cart, red uniforms. An empty chair, rattan crackling as I ease into it. The musty metal smell of the old school telephone, the dusty unused air of the cabinets. Crawling, itchy, sweaty April heat. Soft skin, crinkly cotton and sweet scented perfume. A solitary mynah croaking by the window. A spray of hair down my shoulder, steady breathing. Bright sunlight, as the plane lifts off, rays sparkling off the ocean blue. I’m not trying to figure out the montage, just describing it.

Sitting at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean

2009-02-24T20:30:00.000-08:00

27 feet down, this was not exactly how I had envisioned my first California dive, off Escondido beach in Malibu. They had promised kelp and that most definitely was there. I was after seated right next to one. As I had raised my hand and released the air from my BC and slid under the waves, everything disappeared into a pea soup green haze. Divemaster Dave, Phil, Brian and P sank right next to me, yet when I hit the bottom they were nowhere to be seen.

And boy did I hit bottom. For some reason, it seems that people dive out here in California with much more weights than we did back home. Even taking in the discrepancy of wearing a full wetsuit, hood, etc 27 pounds seemed a bit excessive. As soon as I went negative on my buoyancy, I shot through the water so quickly my sinuses didn’t so much equalize as implode quietly. I’m glad I didn’t do this over the Marianna because I’d still be falling.

Dave’s instructions rolled through my head, 30 seconds down and if we don’t find each other surface. Of course being on the bottom of the Pacific in conditions that seemed reminiscent of the inside of an Blue Whale after a solid rice and curry session wasn't exactly condusive to recalling those instructions. Visibility was down to a couple of feet and everything was pea soup green.

It was with some relief then that Dave appeared out of the gloom, fluorescent tank gleaming. As he motioned for me to follow him and we swam off, I assumed we were going to join up with the rest. Yet we continued swimming, at what seemed to me unseemly haste through the kelp. The brown green streamers pushed at us as we weaved through them. If I thought visibility was bad in the open, under the kelp everything went a chocolate brown. All I could see was the fluorescent tank and the faint gleam of Dave’s torch.

We continued swimming through the kelp, at one point Dave jerked up over a rock as something zapped him. I took great care to swim further up over the rock (turns out it was some kind of electric ray). After approximately 17 minutes of exploring this area, getting sick of kelp and learning to control my fear as the light kept ebbing and flowing, Dave gave the thumbs up. Ascending through the green and then dark blue waters, we got to the surface, right hand up as a sacrifice to any passing speedboats, we surfaced.

I was intensely curious to find out what had happened to the original plan of all five of us swimming in one line. Maybe because of the visibility Dave had decided to split us up. Of course it was with some surprise that I noted when the mask came off at the surface, that my dive buddy was in fact…not Dave.

I could however hear Dave in the distance, yelling. Floating on the surface, nervously eying Phil next to me, I couldn’t for the life of me make out what they were yelling. It was only as Phil looked over curiously and wondered aloud what the problem was, that it started to dawn on me….Phil hadn’t stuck to the plan. He’d grabbed me as a dive buddy and decided to go a wandering without waiting for anyone else. Me, being unable to differentiate white folks at the best of times and most definitely not underwater and in scuba gear, followed as had been instructed. Admittedly I did think the situation strange at the time, but then how does one discuss these things a couple of stories down in the water? Also if it was any consolation, Phil had thought I was P, which if anyone has seen us in real life would realize how laughable a mistake that would be.

As it turns out Dave had, rather un-gratifyingly in my opinion, decided that I must have panicked and drowned Phil (another experienced diver) with me. He had gotten Brian and P to take off their BCs and tanks, tied them to a kelp plant in order to help him look for our bodies. The worst thing is that P didn’t even defend me, pointed out that I’m not a likely person to panic. He was just trying to figure out how to tell the maternal unit without losing vital body parts. 911 was even being dialed as Phil thankfully decided not to explore anymore.

As it turned out, once we surfaced all was well with the world. Universal OK signals were exchanged and we came back to shore in staggered shifts. One thing is getting through the surf at the beginning of the dive was not an issue. But at the end, freezing, tired, disoriented, it’s a hell of a thing to be battered by waves while carrying that tank and wearing those fins. It was not with much dignity that I exited onto the beach. The rest of the dive club members assured me it was standard at the beginning.

Carrying the weights and tank in a wetsuit up PCH was also not the most fun. But it was worth it, despite some of the worst visibility I have seen outside of a drain in Colombo, I mean for all I know I could have had Jaws next to me I wouldn’t have noticed, the dive was an experience. The main lessons being stick to the plan and learning to recognize white people better. I think I’ve had my fill of kelp but I am looking forward to seeing what populates those forests, Channel Islands next stop!

Ela Kiri!

2009-02-17T19:40:00.000-08:00

Ela Kiri though would be a good way to describe the day though. Despite driving on the 5 and the 101 in the pouring rain and being indescribably confused by the parking downtown and waiting for what seemed an interminably long time for the interview the breeze with which it was conducted put me on cloud 9. I am a bit suspicious as to how easy that was...hopefully that's just my paranoia talking.

Oh yeah and my lawyer was looking quite dishy and smelt really nice, the perks of spending two grand on her I guess.

So obstacle one is down, the major one. Now just some paperwork to be done and the light is shining ever more brightly down that long tunnel. The boss asking me about ‘putting down roots’ did kind of bum me out though in a defensive kind of way. For one thing, it’s none of his business and for another, ‘roots?’ Ermm….marriage and kids….out here? No thanks. The thing is that when it’s a pretty girl and I’m under the influence I can lie with the best of them. But a big, white dude…not real good.

To add the surrealnes of the day was the other email, a PhD offer from Monash. Unfortunately no funding accompanied this so despite R’s rather out-of-the-box thinking that I can fund it by gigoloing myself in Melbourne I will have to, with great regret, decline the offer. On the plus side though, it does open up dialogue with someone who seems a great supervisor to figure out exactly what I have to do in the next couple of years to get funding.

Items on the plate now:

Await the final bit of paperwork and then implement some further paperwork for the homeland.
Figure out financials, a retirement fund, a safety fund, travel money, etc.- Figure out travel plans, the thought of going to Amsterdam and then Qatar seems fraught with danger for some reason.
Figure out what equipment is necessary for the future.
Talk to sup about publications.
Research potential jobs, leads, etc.
Keep plugging away at the Reserve deal
Get the fuck out.

Ela Kiri!

On being a whippersnapper

2009-02-15T19:46:00.001-08:00

Despite being on the latter end of three decades on this planet, there is nothing like my field and the small town (weirdly enough it is small) to make me feel like a wet behind the ears consultant trying to Old Men of the world their job. I swear the last two crisis meetings I’ve had, the average age of the room must have been around 50 and I have more hair on my chest than all the heads in the room barring mine. Everybody seems to know of everyone else and leading meetings in such an old boys club is nerve-wracking.

What is surprising is how many of these people cannot think out of the box and how many keep turning to me to get things done. Now this doesn’t mean their bad at their jobs, the vast majority are excellent to a fault, but the bigger picture is something that seems to elude them. In a way it provides me with some comfort. I’ve never been the kind of person to want to specialize. The thought of being a dentist or mortgage broker or something similar scares the crap out of me, doing the same thing over and over again.

I need variety, on a large scale to keep me enthusiastic. Even in a job as varied as the consulting I do, things have started to pale. It might be the economy, the lack of big clients but things are boring now. Stressful and boring. Not a good combination, fingers crossed for a big fuck up of a project with a client looking to get shit done by spending money. Like a headache subdivision, in the coastal zone, in the mountains with a couple of access problems and pissed off county staff. Now that would make the stress worthwhile, for a bit longer.

I think I went off-topic there.

Bonding over Slumdog

2009-02-14T22:06:00.000-08:00

While the world was happily wining and dining their significant others, I had a slightly different kind of evening. I went out with the maternal unit for a movie. Specifically Slumdog Millionaire, which she had desperately wanted to watch for ages. In the end it was an enjoyable experience. The movie actually worked better for me the second time around. Danny Boyle’s cinematography was more vivid and Pinto was even more beautiful. The only issue I had was the winning the contest which seemed to jar with me for some reason. Getting the girl and the money? Oh so Hollywood.

Also I discovered that one of the advantages of bonding with the maternal unit over a movie was that there wasn’t much talking involved. Don’t get me wrong, I love the maternal one as one should, but considering I met her a handful of times over more than a decade, our interactions are always a bit guarded. Especially considering the sibling and her have such a strong bond, it tends to leave me feeling a bit of an outsider. The lack of context with the family unit tends to make close interactions difficult but thankfully it’s gotten easier over the last couple of years.
Anyways familial complications aside, watching slumdog with the mother was quite a pleasant way to spend the evening, despite getting the slight ribbing received. Just another step toward normality.

P.S. I wonder what this does for my badboy status?

Gods with clay feet

2009-02-13T23:53:00.001-08:00

Something’s been bothering me for some time now. It’s been itching in the back of my head, irritating my subconscious for almost a year. This fog of adulthood, so different from the bright sunshine of youth. I need a light, a beacon to take me home. One of the hardest things to come to terms with is that those who were your pillars of strength during your childhood are, well, human. How does one come to terms with the cold, hard truth when they make mistakes, leave flawed legacies behind that make you question the very truths you built your existence on? How does one let go of the resentment, get on with what needs to be done and finally accept them and love them unconditionally for who they are, who they were? Human.

I’m still trying to figure that out.

Friend to Family

2009-02-04T19:27:00.000-08:00

Do you know when a friend has crossed over the threshold into family? When from a single line, non-commital email over a business matter, they can figure out that your pissed off, stressed out and stretched drumskin tight. Yes I may have been working 10 hours a day for the last couple of weeks. Yes I may still be far behind in where I have to be. I may be addicted to sleeping pills (and possibly some other things) and my ulcer may be back with a vengeance judging from the constant pain.

But at least I have friends like R (and a good exit strategy) to help keep me going.

Peace

2009-02-01T21:01:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it is worth it. It really is. Waking up in the morning, rubbing the bleariness out of your eyes, lugging a heavy tripod out, setting up everything with shaky fingers and figuring out F-Stops and exposures.

It really is worth it.

Grey Morning

2009-01-31T21:51:00.001-08:00

That early morning light, before the dawn breaks, the house was still grey as I came down the stairs. I remember the feel of the book in my hands, the slightly corrugated feel of the cover. I lay down on the soft cushions in the hall; eagerly opening the pages of the book and watching the words swirl out. It was a book that only a seven year old would be fascinated by, ‘A Giant Collection of Facts’ that Aunty N had gifted me.

Unfortunately even at seven, I wasn’t the best morning person. The next memory I have is the jingle of the phone, the sun still wasn’t up but it had become noticeably lighter. The customary polkicha was whistling its piercing call. There was a hubbub of voices above. Charted. Emotional. Finally a choke of grief and a woman crying.

That’s when I knew. Even though the voices were hushed I understood and it was buried somewhere deep in my subconscious. Even though the truth came out only a decade and maybe more later, from that day I knew. My world had imploded and its shards were spreading across the continents. And my old life was blowing away as the sun rose to chase the grey away.

Oh Crap...

2009-01-27T15:36:00.000-08:00

I guess it had to happen sometime, even in the higher end of the market. The economic crisis, that big, bastard vulture of a crisis seems to have come home to roost. Fingernails on chalkboard for the next couple of months. Hopefully I've enough reserve goodwill from being the highest earner for this little shindig in the last few months...actually come to think of it, a severance package mid May wouldn't hurt either:)

Wild ride it is.

Out...out...out

2009-01-26T16:30:00.000-08:00

There are times when the (almost) 10 years of struggle seems to condense and vanish into nothingness. When those six months and endless things to do seems so overwhelming before I start a new stage in life. A day of working my ass off, having requests and responses piled on top of me, surfing this site while stuck in a freezing office makes me want to just ball up and smash my LCD screen into smithereens. To scream..."I want out, out, out....get me the FUCK out of here...NOW!!"

But of course I don't...because it is only six months, because there is a lot to be done and I have...for the past 10 (or so) years...gotten up every day and done what I had to do to get here and move forward.

P.S. T and PP, you better not give me grief about that being emo...it's not...

Hands On (Part 5) – The Comeback

2009-01-25T18:13:00.000-08:00

An erotic story gone wrong…very wrong. Part 1, 2, 3 and 4.

He could hear his mother mutter something…

“In fucking-conceivable”

At the edges of his consciousness, through the haze of blood clouding his vision, he thought, ‘that’s an odd way of putting it?’

A piece of flesh, half mutton chop flying through the window hit him on the ear, breaking his reverie. His mother still mumbled, now incoherently next to him. As the figure got closer he tried to focus, the blurriness sliding in and out.

“Uncle Victor?”

His mouth fell open, out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother’s do the same, a semi roasted, semi-masticated duodenum fall out.

It was Uncle Victor! There was no doubting it. But…when was the last time he had seen Uncle Victor? It was on the farm, that exciting, breathless holiday with his moisturizing, musical uncle. Uncle Victor had been one of his uncle’s best friends. With a liking for brightly coloured sarongs and a taste for nationalism, he was an artsy piece of work. Old Reserve and Ginger Beer (Elephant House only) was his drink…though he did waver towards Cream Soda every once in awhile…muttering under his breath, ‘it’s those damn ads I tell you, all those young….”

Memories from that hot, wet, yearning summer kept flooding his mind as Uncle Victor loomed closer. He looked over at his mother…still chewing on the duodenum. As the smooth metal shone out of the dark, he realized with shock that Victor had a gun, beautifully polished .338 Lapua Magnum, air still steaming out into the cold out of the blackness of its muzzle.

‘Fuckity, fuck, fuck,’…his mother had finished the duodenum. The rough words barely on him as all he could see was the muzzle edging closer with a sweaty, brown finger on the trigger.

”You and that fucking sheep…” Uncle Victor’s voice was a low hiss…menacing in its quietness.

“He knew you know…he saw it all…we both did. And it broke his heart! After all the hard work he put in saving her from those military experiments, being her friend…to see you do that to Fluffy…”

The memories came flooding back to him now, the supple legs with their short tight black hairs, the thighs with their white, soft fuzz…the wetness…

“You know he left, he bought a gigantic tub of moisturizer and disappeared!” The voice was now tinged with manic…”he was my best friend…and you broke his heart! You broke my heart!”

He remembered, the tightness. The power he felt as he moved, the soft entreaties.

Bahhh….bahhh

Such soft music to his ears, he could almost imagine her calling out his name, in a bovine sort of way.

“And now you’re going to pay!” The gun came, up…the finger tightened.

Baaaahhhhhh….

It was a different sound. The erotic charge had become low and menacing. This was not his imagination. It was very real, deadly.

Time seemed to freeze. Uncle Victor hesitated, the finger loosened. There was barely a whisper of sound through the quiet air as the cloven hoof came around.

The gun clattered to the ground.

There was a blinding flash, because as the gun was a cheap Russian knock off, the safety didn’t work really well.

Two red eyes welled up though the inkiness of the night…

Over to Sach:)

Which one?

2009-01-21T20:31:00.000-08:00

So this is very random...but I thought of the funniest repartee when someone asks you the question:

Machang, what are you doing with my sister?

Which one?

Random...not that I've ever had the opportunity to say the above.

Am I that ripe?

2009-01-20T20:29:00.001-08:00

Seriously, meat market anyone? What’s with the setting up itch that seems to hit womenfolk once they get married?

Was having a FB chat with an old friend I haven’t seen in yonks, now happily (I guess) married with a kid. The usual jazz about how are you, what have you been doing, blah, blah, blah…

And then…

“so any thoughts of getting married?”

Eh?

“No”

What I really wanted to say is I’m 27. Not to mention bat-shit crazy. Why on earth would I want to marry or settle? Everybody I talk to complains about marriage. I hardly think the wifey would be happy with workaholic, crazy business idea, scuba diving, porn star photographing husband right? Well the latter I can understand, only because I don’t really have the opportunity any more to photograph porn stars…sob…

So what is it with the mid twenties, married girls? Do they just want everyone else to jump the bandwagon?

Mind you this girl’s very sweet but when she hinted she wanted to hook me up with a bird with wider shoulders than mine (I’m sure she’s a nice girl as well but I like my chikas hote/cute…what can I say, I’m shallow) I decided enough was enough and moved on to the fact that I was now an alcohol peddler.

Surprised uncomfortable silence. As much as it is possible on FB chat (which sucks by the way).

Done deal.

Reassuringly Self-destructive

2009-01-17T19:42:00.000-08:00

High…

I love this feeling. It takes the pain away. That gnawing, gnarling pain at the base of my shoulders. That pain from being where I don’t want to be, not being who I want to be. That’s all replaced by bliss…a white haze of tropical light…someone there, something there to fight for…hold on to…bleed for…bliss…

Then I wake up. Gird my loins. And get busy doing what needs to be done to get there.

Task List for the day

2009-01-16T08:42:00.000-08:00

Get through another day of work.

Check website is live.

Email a bunch of random people letting them know OR is finally available in Australia.

Find hiking boots.

Place insoles into said hiking boots

Purchase knee supports for hike tomorrow.

Get bars, camelpak, change of clothes and laptop, dive stuff ready for a productive day in the Valley.

Fly and finish watching Leon.

Stick to task list ....

I Like these calm little moments before the storm

2009-01-15T19:32:00.000-08:00

I like these calm little moments before the storm.
It reminds me of Beethoven. Can you hear it?

It's like when you put your head to the grass and you can hear the growin' and you can hear the insects zzzzzzziiiingg.

Do you like Beethoven?

courtesy Luc Besson

Captain Obvious

2009-01-14T22:15:00.000-08:00

Trishaw driver taking us to Devundera…

Driving past on Galle Road, I note the new, brightly lit building in the middle of the sea.

Mae, vam pathe mokkada thienna (what’s that on the left side)?

Ruminate

Beach eke…

I maybe a bit of a kallu suddha but…

Shiny, Happy Morning

2009-01-13T12:35:00.000-08:00

Shiny, happy…I’m not sure why I’m so into this phrase as of late but I am.

Figured I would harness the insomnia for doing good. Woke up at 5.00am, ate a couple of wholegrain pancakes, cup of coffee, read a few FB messages and funny photo comments and one rather endearing email. Look I’m a social kind of primate and the fact that most of my friends are 10’s of thousands of miles away bums me out on a daily basis. I may be an online whore, but I am one with the best of intentions.

A refreshingly random Gmail chat about coital relations and implications of keeping score with D and it was off to the gym. Solid one hour workout…this early morning gyming is something I could get used to. A rather nervous shower in the gym (not a big fan of public nudity) and off to work.

The drive down Malibu Canyon was sweet if a bit trafficky. Singing along at the top of my lungs to a Hundred Million Suns while the early morning sun bathes the Santa Monica Mountains golden is not a bad way to get to work. The Asian gentleman in the car behind me seemed a bit concerned at the start of the drive, though by the end I think he was singing along as well.

Plans stamped, approvals gotten and its back to the office. It is all a bit breathless now and the tasks and action items keep getting piled on me by an oblivious management. Obviously being a high achiever has its downsides, especially when I’m currently in my lazy island boy mode.

All things in all, things are good. And I’m shiny and happy…I really am…

And for the record, I too resolve to be negative about negativity. All power to T!

Smokescreen

2009-01-11T18:09:00.000-08:00

Fall of EPS imminent.

Let’s take out Lasantha.

Celebrations for the fall of EPS. Crakers muting the cries of horror.

“We would have done it before if we wanted to”

What convenient timing. It’s like déjà vu back to the Premadasa days. My hope is tied up in the fact that we are more aware now, we have more tools at our disposal to spread information. There is more dissent. Hopefully enough to overcome the shrug and head waggle.

What to do?

The way forward

2009-01-10T20:31:00.001-08:00

Back to reality. 2009.

There’s a lot to do, which as 2008 went is no surprise. The difference this year around is that I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

CIN scheduled for Feb 17th…fingers crossed that goes well at the first go.

Financials to sort out, investment funds to set up in the case the shit hits the fan in the next decade. Deals to swish. Things to let go off.

3J is taking off. A lot of facebook stalking and guerilla marketing to come.

A relaunch of the shady studio with P. More portfolios to shoot hopefully.

A big move to plan. Something that’s really scaring the shit out of me. I’m used to money, hard work but money. I’m used to convenience, instant gratification and electronics galore. Thinking of getting into a scene where money is scarce kind of scares me. I’m yet to test myself as to whether I’m that selfless.

Excitement though at the same time. Dreams of Trinco and Adams Peak swirl in my head. D is coming to SL in July and we are already planning some killer outings. There’s also the thought of being able to slip beneath those green waves and do more exploring. Getting to know people better, new people. The possibility of surprising R on his 30th in Aussie.

Like I said, 2009, fingers crossed, touch a whole forest of wood, should be a new year. A new experience. A new start.

Let’s roll.

Abyss

2009-01-10T20:29:00.001-08:00

Listening to Abyss by Karsh Kale and Anoushka Shankar.

As usual I’m the only one up. Everyone is either deep in a morass of sleep or drunkenness. I’m the only one with a ticking mind, the alcohol wasting through my system. 8.20 am, a brilliant night out with a bunch of friends celebrating the birthday of someone I thought was one of the most important in my life, yet all I felt when you were around was tension and unhappiness. I was truly enjoying myself when you were not there, ironic if I have ever lived the word.

I always thought it would be you. The same disfunctionalality, the same depths, the same scarred hurt carried through into ambition and a desire to succeed.

The 3rd of January, 2009. It has been a long road, but one that I have finally, after many false ends and hopes, decided to come to the end off. I always thought it would be you and this truly hurts to know that it won’t. I’ve had this grandiose speech in my head for a long time about what you mean to me and I meant to deliver it on the beach that I call home when the moment was right…but now I guess it will never be. I have had enough of the struggle, the fight. It is not the competition, I can deal with that. But I can’t deal with the ambiguity, the half suggestions never quite fulfilled. What goes on in your head is not a mystery to me, but trying to find a way in is.

I have enough to deal with in life, new starts, fresh starts and horizons. I need to be sure of myself to survive and not have to deal with another’s conflictedness, fears and insecurities. I never thought when I came down that it would end like this, you in a room a few feet away but for all that it is worth you could be the 10,000 miles away that you were for the last six months.

Today I move on, as R has pointed out as his favourite quote for the holiday, ‘these things happen.’ This is the only sour note in what has been an amazing three weeks but there’s no escaping it. The only regret I have is that I lied. I told you that you would always be my friend no matter what happened. As I sit here with the early morning sun in my face, the alcohol wasting through my system, I know that is not true. And I hate lying. There is no way I can be around you, there will always be that half hope, that glimmer of something happening and it will always be a false one. I’m someone who values my friends and has certain standards as to how I treat them. I hold my friends to the same standards while making allowable concessions. How you were this holiday just didn’t make it, I know what your fears are and why you have them. But that still is not much of an excuse for how you made me feel. I want to give you a chance, but if I do I’m afraid I’ll keep giving you chances for the rest of my life.

So this is goodbye, something I probably will never have the courage to say to you face to face but will remain on this random binary bit of the universe. I’m sorry that so many people have let you down in your life. And I’m sorry that I’m joining them, but I just can’t see any other way. I hope for your sake you come through whatever you’re going through and become that person whom I knew over the last years, the person I was crazy about. For your sake.

I hoped, I tried, fought and dreamt, but I’m out. And I’m sorry.

Now it’s goodbye.

The good, the bad and the ugly

2009-01-06T20:51:00.000-08:00

Well happy 2009 to the blogosphere! It surely has been an eventful and interesting end to the last year and beginning to this one.

The Good

One of the best holidays I have ever had in my life (barring one fuck-up).

5 days spent in Madiha in Matara learning to scuba dive (more on that later). The perfect break, three awesome people to hang out with, trishawing it to Dondra and bussing it to Unawatune. Sea turtles 12 meters under the sea, the perfect beach and lots of fishies. The only drawbacks were sharing a van with a pair of huggy monkeys (I know both of you are going to be reading thisJ) and ending the trip with a strange compulsion to watch My Fair Lady.

Van mates

Seeing R’s face when I walked into the Lounge to suprise him and hearing him say “bloody hell, that’s twice now!”

Hikka with the second family, snorkeling with Akks and getting stoned with the boys.

A couple of rocking nights with old and new friends at Sugar. Was called a ‘classy guy’ which almost prompted me to fall off the table I was dancing on. Hot dogs and trishaws gunning in the night.

Sights of Sigirya I had never seen before, elephants wrestling in Kaudulla and the splendored ruins of Ritigala. Sunrise over the Giritale tank. Elephant on the Habarana road. The best rice and curry in the world at the Habaran rest house.

31st night at an ocean front suite in Galle Face. PKS crying with happiness to see me. Akks and I rocking the dance floor. Having a drink with T.

The best news I have had on the way to the airport.

More good news on landing.

Most of the holiday was perfection but…

The Bad

Who else but the girl could break my trip. Now firmly the ex-oneitis, cigarette burns and fork stabbings later. Attitude and ignoring for some unfathomable reason (await a pre-written post on that). Her face when I walked into the Lounge to greet R, strangely uncertain and then blank. A trend for the rest of the holiday.

On the way to the airport:

Text –

I’m off, take care.

Phone –

Your off?
Yes…
Take care…
You too…
What’s the matter with you? Why are you acting like this?
You really don’t know? I don’t think you’re that dumb.
I don’t know…goodbye.
Goodbye.

Hello?! Hello?!
Yes?
I’ll miss you.
Ok.
Click.

It’s strange to lose a friend after three years, especially when I can’t figure out why the friendship ended. As R says ‘these things happen.’

The Ugly

I try not to snap, but K pissed me off. I pushed his head under the water and snapped. He tried to come up but I put my knee on his neck and pushed down. Luckily R saw the look in my eyes and pulled me off. I’ve only ever snapped twice in my life now…fingers crossed that won’t happen again.

It always amazes me how important and amazing my friends are too me. Which made the bitterness of what happened even harder to swallow. I miss the boys and the akkis. I miss the friendship I had with the girl, irrespective of the other possibilities. I’m glad I met a couple of new amazing people. 2009 should be interesting and bittersweet but I have hope.

Great things are afoot.

So this is Christmas

2008-12-26T18:41:00.000-08:00

Or at least a bit after Christmas…

And what have I done?

Surely one of the most turbulent years of my life...

Lost one of the most important people in my life, one of the central pillars of my existence. And I am wandering in the darkness a bit as a result.

Learnt what it was like to be an adult, to really deal with stuff when the shit hits the fan.

Was one of the top Associates at my company, managed to garner a perfect review, a promotion and a decent pay increase.

Got to know the boys well, very well and regain my sanity a bit.

Made a couple of new, absolutely awesome friends.

Got the photo studio business running but lost steam halfway through.

Partook in far too many mind altering substances.

Went to the edge of the abyss many a time but managed to claw my way back.

Found out exactly how far I could push myself and not break.

Applied for my citizenship.

Learnt to breathe under water and became a PADI certified diver.

Went to a rave or two...or three.

And last night had my heart crushed...

What will 2009 hold? There is of course no real way to know but I hope a lot of healing, a lot of diving, a relaunch of the studio, a big move back home and a lot of good times with the family and friends that make my life worth living. Maybe you can’t have some things that at the moment seem so important in life, but I am grateful for what I have.

A happy new year to everyone out there on the world wide web. Stay safe.

Five Free

2008-12-06T18:19:00.000-08:00

Yes, yes this is a random post…but I scored last night and I’m not really up to typing a lot. Unlike poor Darwin I am having a rather pleasant trip(s) so I decided in a fit of productivity to exercise the $5 free credit I received from Amazon MP3:

Longing, Fabric & Deepest Blue – Karsh Kale (I needed to complete Realize, a torrent that downloaded 99% but then mysteriously ceased…which for a OCD person like me has been a constant thorn in my side)

Realize – Cobie Callait (yes, an unashamedly mainstream pop song…but I keep hearin it on the radio and it’s quite catchy…also she’s pretty cute)

Broken – Lifehouse (another pop group…but I’ve always liked their stuff. In deference to the economic meltdown I thought I would buy the song instead of the entire album.)

There…another post…if slightly boring and possibly incoherent…more to hopefully come………

Insomnia

2008-12-04T03:03:00.000-08:00

3 am - Wide awake...tick tock...tick tock....mind racing despite innumerable Advil PMs....perfect time for sleep

3 pm - Task list includes preparing LLA application burden of proof and exhibits, contacting client and getting other applications moving in light of the small victory yesterday, preparing hearing presentation, project transfers, a hundred other million things.....state of mind = ready to pass out...

Why the fuck am I always so sleepy when I shouldn't be and not sleepy when I should be....

Trouble

2008-12-03T20:51:00.000-08:00

I was thinking...probably the after-effect of a horrendous couple of days and the nervous anticipation of a long overdue vacation and a chocolate buzz...and an entertaining, if slightly odd conversation last weekend...

...You're in trouble if you can remember exactly what it felt like when she was last in your arms right? I'm pretty sure that means trouble...sigh....

...alcohol...drugs....where are you when I need you.

Oh well, at least I have another 12 hour day to look forward to tomorrow...

How not to inspire me

2008-09-01T14:11:00.000-07:00

Email 1 - "Reminder to all employees that Labor Day is NOT a holiday for us"
Email 2 - "Please see above"
Email 3 - "CEO is taking Monday off"

Fuck me...as I sit here the phone has not rung once (well it did ring once but it was a automated marketing call). All my consultants are gone...I'm tired as fuck, my head hurts, everyone else is either asleep or relaxing at home. I (and some of my poor coworkers) are the only ones suffering this shit out. Fuck loyalty...I want out. I want to go home, fuck this place and all in it.

Eight more months to gird my loins and stick this bullshit out. Fuck.

Arrogance

2008-08-26T20:27:00.000-07:00

It was an interesting conversation over the sushi, this question of arrogance. See the thing is I’ve been accused of this before, though one of the people who called me out was just yanking my chain in the great mating game. But I guess as I pointed out to the boys I (and we) are a bit arrogant, especially when it comes to associating with the expats in SoCal.

See I have this thing, I remember where I’m from. Just because it’s been almost nine (yes nine) years since I’ve left home I haven’t left any of that behind. I still dress the same, jeans, t-shirt, flip flops; you won’t see me in football jerseys and pants sagging around my ankles. I speak the same, no nasal American accent or posh tosh Brit accent. I detest the people who have been here for a month and speak like they have Paris Hilton stuck up their arses. I have been successful enough without having to compromise who I am.

So yes I guess I’m arrogant, but the funny thing is I’m not at the same time. I get along famously with similar souls who I’ve meet for the first time. I think I need the same irreverence that I have towards everything reflected in my friends, the absolute opposition to fakeness and insincerity and the ability to laugh at oneself.

This probably explains why I have so few (read none) American friends, while I had so many (and still have) British friends. The Americans take themselves too bloody seriously and combine that with my irreverence makes for a lot of bruised egos. Back to the subject, I guess my arrogance comes because when I see the qualities I so dislike in a bunch of people, I clam up, which can so often be interpreted as arrogance…when it’s actually disregard.

Those of you who know me, feel free to comment. I will bear no harsh feelings.

Late night phone calls

2008-08-24T00:37:00.001-07:00

Maybe there is something to late night phone calls....for once that was nice. Perhaps the game is still on...I just wish December would hurry up and come along...for that final reach for the finish line.

The regretful robot

2008-08-22T20:08:00.000-07:00

You know when P and S mentioned as an aside that after watching Stealth, they though they would pick Jessica Biel over Jessica Alba any day…I was understandably a bit taken aback. Granted they (I think) did not go through puberty with the wet dream of an equally pubescent Jessica Alba frolicking around in a bikini (I believe there was a cetacean involved somewhere in that equation) but still…Alba’s ass is one of the greatest gifts to mankind, right up there with fiber optics and liposuction. If you need any evidence ask me about the plot for Into the Blue. I swear I’ve seen it about 10 times but all I remember is a brown bikini.

Anywhoo….back to Stealth, OMFG…isn’t it the coolest film ever…like totally!? Whew…apologies for that, I think I’ve been in the Valley too much. But seriously, the movie hits all the right spots, explosions, blue bikini, planes, flyboys, blue bikini, exotic locales, guns, blue bikini, etc.

The high points were however as follows:

A regretful robot – seriously Eddie is soooo much more 21^st Century than Hal ever was. He feels sorry; he has empathy for the thousands of people he condemned to death by radiation poisoning. If he had a female flying deep penetration unit to hang out with, he’d be asking to be held in the night…when the tears come. Like the rest of us 21^st Century males.
A geography lesson – before Stealth I didn’t know where Tajikistan (omfg, I spelt that right the first time). I especially did not know where it was in relation to Alaska and North Korea. I mean most movies show you exotic locales, but how many films show you where they are. Bloody brilliant.
A ladyboy – was it just me but did anyone else notice that the totally hot chick Jamie Foxx picked up at a Thai forest monastery (seriously, who knew that was a pick up joint) had an Adam’s apple? I think he got that page (btw the Navy lets them fly super futuristic jets but gives them pagers to get in touch? Really?) at just the right time.
Jamie Foxx running into a mountain face – enough said.

I do have a few criticisms though, minor really but I feel I would be letting humanity down if I wasn’t totally honest with this review:

Why the fuck did the North Korean dude shoot Jessica Biel? Seriously hot chick parachutes into your country you capture her alive and then possibly buy her a drink. You do not go poking holes in her. Could you not see that brilliant ass in your scope? Idiot.
Why did Jessica Biel and Josh Lucas break into North Korea? I’m confused…see they ran towards the North Korean lines through a wasteland (which I assume was the DMZ) and then broke through the lines. Aided of course by a self sacrificing robot. Odd that.

But the key question that I have as a result of the movie is one that is going to provide me with a conundrum for some time to come. One that I would dearly love to solve first hand (weak pun).

Which ass to choose?

No Nudity Please

2008-07-31T20:36:00.000-07:00

Not that I’m against nakedness you know. But generally when it’s a cute girl…or even sometimes a mediocre girl when I have a high BAC. Beggars can’t be choosers right? Naked, wrinkly, old men though are however not high on my list for nude spotting.

There I was in the gym kind of elated that I ran into the only cute girl from work at the gym and I would finally be able to judge how her ass looked and picked myself a locker. As I took my shirt off up rolled some clown, you know the usual middle aged yobo. Typically of most Americans he tried to engage me in some random small talk about the baseball game that was going on the screen in the locker room. Typically of me, I ignored him (I don’t even understand baseball), plugged into my earphones and bent over to put my shoes on.

I’m not sure how long I took to put on my shoes but when I looked up my balls retracted. The gentleman next to me had not only disrobed but appeared to be putting on something that looked like a cross between a jock strap, a BDSM device and a leather thong. All thoughts of the work girl’s ass fled, never to be thought again.

Along with my balls.

Perhaps a career as a tenor.

What to do when the Big One hits

2008-07-30T19:52:00.000-07:00

Look disconcertedly up at the air duct vent and wonder why the air conditioning system got so loud.

Realize that it’s not in fact the air-conditioning system as everything’s shaking.

Feel a certain sense of déjà vu.

Get a bit worried since the shakings not stopping…

In fact it’s getting stronger.

Desperately try to remember what the advice was for a big shake up…under the desk or in the doorway. Try to recall the news article I saw in the gym exposing one of the two options as a fallacy.

Fuck…

Realize files on my head would not be pleasant.

Make a run for the door and stand uncertainly as the shaking thankfully stops.

5.4 on the Richter scale.

Send the obligatory text…”you boys all shook up?”

A Southern Californian Fairytale (Part 2)

2008-07-23T20:57:00.001-07:00

Cough…cough...life interrupted....my sincere apologies for the delay.

Where was I?

Oh yeah…channeling Sir Mixalot, how did it go? “I like big butts and I cannot lie!”

Well to be fair I don’t really like big butts that much, but then after a BAC of 10% who was I to be picky.

To be honest I can’t remember the lines that I threw but suffice to say that she had my number and I had her email by the end of the dance with the promise of a studio shoot for her portfolio. That I didn’t have any experience doing a portfolio shoot or for that matter a studio was a slight issue, but then to be fair, like most strip club experiences (don’t ask) I expected nothing to come of it.

Some incredulousness from P, a dropped cigarette in the car and a hangover later all I could remember was something about a Lavish from the night before. So there I was staring rather blearily at a computer screen suffering the Monday blues when the phone buzzed.

Hmm….818 number…must be a consultant accidently calling my cell.

“Hello”

“Hi Honey, it’s Lavish”

To say that I was surprised was probably the understatement of the century.

Of course she wanted a photo shoot. Now the issue of not actually having a studio became a bit of a stickler.

A quick call to P and a trawl of the web brought up a host of DIY photography equipment. Suffice to say that all the boys inhaled enough PVC over the weekend to take at least a decade of our lives. A couple of all nighters, lots of sawing, pissed off neighbours and various hallucinogens later and we had a studio (and a knowledge of plumbing that will obviously stand us in good stead in the years to come).

All that was left was planning the actual shoot. For this we needed research…and it was research of the highest quality and very taxing on the mind. Poring though picture after picture of naked girls to figure out poses and lighting. Rather excitedly I shared with P the fact that I had come across the girl’s old portfolio and even more excitedly pointed out a pose to him.

“Now that would be stellar….just getting the pose might be a bit of an issue eh?” Said I.

So the big day rolled around. Lavish turned up and in the blink of an eye was naked. I believe I had to snap my fingers in front of P’s face to get his attention. Fair enough considering she got disrobed at light speed, before we could even suggest lingerie.

“No, I need naked shots”

“Ok then…”

Then it happened. The first test shots were brilliant, but then the dreaded event occurred. I know apparently it happens to everyone, but I’ve certainly never had an issue and I don’t think P has had either.

Equipment malfunction.

Of course if there’s one thing that inspires quick thinking it’s a naked girl. So some quick thinking and some jerry rigging and the shoot progressed. The work was snappy, the giant lightbox was beautiful. Then the big moment came. With a rather wild glint in his eye P mumbled he was going in. Now or never…this was the time to ask for the pose.

“You know you earlier portfolio had a cool shot, we want to repeat it. Could you erm….turn around and spread your ass?”

History was made and a Studio was born….

A Southern Californian Fairytale (part 1)

2008-06-16T19:15:00.001-07:00

Alternatively known as the stripper, the softbox and the studio.

Well this is a fairytale in only the loosest of terms. To be honest I don’t think this will be something I can tell my kids in the future. Just a portion of it told to the girl got me about as much attitude as could be squashed into 15 minutes…not that the two above audiences are at all related….cough….cough…*glance around furtively*

Anyways, this was all CP’s fault. Her and her shoddy scheduling for her wedding. I mean who gets married in November?! The fact that R and I couldn’t make it and in fact could only be there on a TV screen pissed both of us off immeasurably. Probably pissed me off more since I actually had to drop her off at LAX. After hugging her goodbye I rolled over to the boys’ place…determined to drink till I dropped.

If CP was the base for this escapade, D was the catalyst. Appalled that PC and I were intent on drinking, getting thanakolafied and then watching Black Hawk Down, D insisted we instead go to the local Xposed, a fine establishment where ladies show off their athletic skills and make more and hour than I can ever hope to.

God knows how much rum and cokes later, there we were, PC, D, me and S (who had sadly forgotten his glasses) staring up at indistinct shapes, that we were pretty sure were women writhing around poles.

“Two for one deal gentlemen, two for one”

Always being one for a deal, this was not something I could pass up.

In the bad light and with my BAC somewhere near dangerous levels, I swear she looked like Rihanna.

“Dance honey?”

“Yeah…that’s a splendid idea!”

So off it was to the secluded couches for my two for one deal.

“Honey you can touch anything you want…but not my vagina”

As an icebreaker….this sentence left somewhat to be desired.

I processed this rather intriguing piece of advice…before dissolving in laughter.

She laughed as well…a bit uneasily.

“So do you watch porn?”

“I’m a guy, whatcha think?”

“You ever seen me?”

“I barely know what you look like right now”

“Eh?”

“Oh…no…no”

“Well keep an eye out for me, I’m called Lavish.”

At this stage the girl was doing this thing with her rather bountiful rear that introductions were the furthest thing from my mind...

*light bulb*

“Wait a minute, if you’re in porn, who does your photoshoots?”

To be continued…

Friday the 13th

2008-06-13T15:27:00.000-07:00

3.30pm

Friday the 13, June 2008.

This time is always the worst. Waiting for the weekend to start. For that blessed relief of either thanakola and a movie, loose girls and house music. Whichever floats my boat these day, though recently of course it has been mostly the latter.

It's sort of like the last two hours of a flight. I always get cabin fever then. It's like I have the ague and it's all I can do not to resonate enough to scare the crap out of my fellow passengers. Is it me or have I lost my writing ability? Methinks its about time I crank out some funny shit on this blog, maybe the story of the stripper, the softbox and the studio. It's sort of like a Southern Californian fairytale with a princess with really weird boobs...not to mention wholly inappropriate photographic direction. Maybe I should write that up.

Or maybe I'll just get thanakolafied and watch Juno.

Endless Cycle

2008-06-10T20:17:00.001-07:00

What? Really?! I can't fucking believe it. In a fit of nostalgia I checked out TLF to see how I was placed last year at this time. Imagine my surprise to read something I could have written this time around being none the wiser. I'm not sure whether to be bummed or somewhat comforted that at least this time around some things are better. There are a few normal people to hang out with (though I describe them as normal with some trepidation...hehe).

I also have a plan this time around. PhD application in the works for submittal in a couple of months. If that doesn't work out a PR application combined with a two year re-entry permit. If that fails another PhD application...if that fails...well there's always the bottle. It's somewhat of a plan, just requires pure survival for the next 10 months.

The similarities are eerie though, tragedy (though much, much more personal this time), unexpected plane rides, feelings that can't quite be extinguished no matter how much I try and push them into the back of my head. It's a bloody endless cycle of insanity and darkness. I feel broken, I'm not sure if I've felt this broken before but I know I feel broken. I want to lie down in a drugged up haze and sleep for six months. Wake up when the light at the end of the tunnel is flashing in my face. When the warm sun of home is rising, the greeny gold light and those brown eyes are in front of me. I feel broken.

Best in the house

2008-06-08T21:20:00.001-07:00

You know as the ultimate love song I always liked the Smiths, There is a light that never goes out. With a lines like

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine

how can one not think love this tune.

It's been unseated though, courtesy of a rather lucky torrent session.

The new favourite:

Death Cab for Cutie - I will follow you into the dark

If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

Lovin' it.

Blogged with the Flock Browser

Deja Vu

2008-06-06T18:44:00.001-07:00

I coulda sworn I've done this before? Though I can't believe its almost been a year ago...or is it been almost a year ago? Anyways since Scrump and RD (indirectly) tagged me, here goes:

NB: I'm not going to bother with the rules or tagging anybody else...discretion after all is the better part of valour, not to mention there's nobody left to tag.

1. I have trouble figuring out which is my gut and which is my head. Throw my heart in there and intuitively deciding anything becomes sort of like getting the answer 42. I'm not really sure how to fix this, but I think rolling the dice might help me figure it out.

2. I love Kandos superblende, love, love, love it.

3. I used to be a big drinker. I still am but in a different context. Whereas those days I'd be hammering the vodka/red bull or a screwdriver with Blavod and dancing on tables, nowadays I'm more likely to be found sipping (yes sipping) on Old Reserve or a good rum with a bunch of friends. I still haven't sunk to the level of scotch on the rocks, when I do I'll throw myself off a bridge (sorry P and D).

4. I love photography, especially nature and street work. I'm not so sure how I feel about selling out. Necessary evil I guess?

5. I've been in love twice. Once was puppy love (not literally...because that would be...well weird). The second time was very adult but ended in tears (again, not literally...because that would be...pants). This time I'm not sure if I am. Might be the 10,000 miles and the other hundred things on my mind that are clouding my rationality.

6. Related to 5, I don't like saying 'I love you' or 'I miss you.' I say both sets of three little words to important people in my life. But I've learnt the hard way that using those words two often breeds a contempt, a familiarity with words that are too powerful for general use. Those words should be treasured and brought out at unexpected moments to maintain their power (wow...deep eh?).

7. I really do want to save the world, or at least Sri Lanka...not in a single handed powerful way. But in my own small way. I also want to live happily in a nice house with a nice wife and two cute kids...not sure how compatible the two aims are....lets find out shall we?

That's it right? Lets do this again next year yes? Would be interesting to see where I stand then. Assuming I'm still standing.

Am I crazy?

2008-06-02T14:05:00.001-07:00

So I want to do a PhD. I really, really want to do one.

Why? As I have been asked by the tortured graduate students that I count amongst my friends. Many a time.

Well...I'm sick of the private sector. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind business. In fact I have a couple of entrepreneurial things in the works as it is. The thing is that I'm tired of this empty life. Working for rich people, making already rich people richer. While the rest of the world starves. I mean lets be frank I work in fucking Malibu. I'm a sell out. I harp on about sustainable development in the developing world while enjoying what is frankly a comfortable first world life surrounded by ipods and streaming video.

So I'm going to roll the dice.

A long time ago (well just over a year ago) I gave myself a deadline to go home or at least start doing something I believe in. I thought I was going to be late on that deadline, but it actually looks like I'll be within the set time. For one thing I've decided to forget about getting a black coloured passport. As easy as that would make travelling (with the exception of the Middle East) I think I'm going to stick with my red one.

Crazy? Quite possibly. I'm giving up a chance others have killed for, played lotteries for, died alone and cold in the cargo holds of ships for. And I'm giving it up...on the whisper of a chance. Note that I am building a backdoor, escape hatch into my plan...but that is a last, last resort. As I told the boys this weekend, I'd rather die broken and penniless in Lanka than driving a 7 series and living in a million dollar home here. I think the backdoor is less for me than the family..to salve their worry that I have finally lost my mind. Mind you I think that door was chosen for me when I was 8 and decided I wanted the heat of Colombo over the toys in the City of Angels.

My hand's clenched around the dice right now. I need to complete two years out here to make sure my CV isn't complete pants...and that means 10 more months of back breaking, soul sucking work...but I think I can make it. I'm researching PhD's with a fervour, trying to remember everyone who works in my field in SL, saving.

I need my life to have reason, to have a purpose. Come April, I'm going to do everything I can to stack the odds in my favour and then roll.

And hope for sixes.