The cast of Oddamaivadi

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

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.

The Transition

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

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.

Six months on

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.

End of the decade

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

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!

Cold Blue

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...

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

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.

Finding my religion

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.

It’s an epidemic

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

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.

Simple Pleasures

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….

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. 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.
5. 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.
6. 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.
7. 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.
8. 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.
9. 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.
10. 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.
11. 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.
12. 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.
13. Superblende Kandos.
14. Cold Old Reserve and coke.
15. Hot butter cuttlefish.
16. 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.