I watched the President's speech on the internet, as no doubt many Sri Lankans were doing all over the world. And I was bored. I zoned out so many times that I had to youtube it all over again. I was waiting for some sign of hope, some future plan. Instead I got inane rhetoric, some chest beating and veiled threats.
Far be it from me to fail to give credit where credit is due. Mr. President, you ended the war, and inspite of my doubt and negativity, I applaud you. But you didn't address the important things, the most pressing concerns. What of the people, good sir? They're still out there. What are we going to do; what are you going to do? You spoke of kings, the diaspora, the soldiers, and of course, yourself, but you didn't tell us how, where or when we're going to start rehabilitating, renewing, healing. You said there are no minority groups anymore, it's just those who love our country and the few who do not. Is that how we're gonna play it then? We don't have an ethnic issue, it's an issue of patriotism?
It would be wise not to forget what brought us here; the reason our people fought and died. We have an ethnic issue, and a big one at that, and it's disrespectful to those who died to brush it under the rug. Land gained, though indeed an important symbolic move, is not the same as hearts gained, as trust gained.
I watched the celebrations on the street via videos, images posted on the net. Effigies being burnt and people dancing around them. There is something savage about a fire. The Duckling said it best: "what men, who does this?! this is like the 83 riot images.. only at that time they were dancing around burning people".
How fucking true.
Little boys chanting 'demalayan maranawa'. Can they even comprehend the enormity of what they're saying? I've lost count of how many emails I've opened and deleted with a shudder, pictures of VP, eyes wide open, a bullet wound in his forehead, closeups, right angle, left. War, victory; it brings out the sadist in us.
I watched them interview people after the President's speech. There were men stuttering, hardly able to get a coherent sentence out, such was their joy; women were crying, wailing even, tears through smiles. The words dutugemunu, rajek, weerayek were thrown in every few seconds. I shook my head in disbelief at this display of faith, this complete and utter devotion to a man. And it reminded me of how I look at Obama; in my eyes he can do no wrong. And it reminded me of how I read about his decision to withold the pictures of torture and convinced myself that he knows best, until I read this piece by John Cusack and realized that we must hold the powers that be accountable, to carry through on their promises, be it a promise of transparency or a Mahinda Chinthanaya, we must question them at every turn, we must demand full disclosure, a free media and a right to express our opinion without fear. The love for our country demands all those things. To love Sri Lanka and to love our elected officials is not the same thing. We don't have to love you, we elected you. And questioning your actions doesn't diminish our patriotism.
I wish the celebrations would quieten down but that's just me being negative. The Forces deserve a welcome home. They deserve our respect, pride and joy. What do I know of the horrors they've seen? The people deserve a moment to celebrate the lifting of the cloud of fear. What do I know of their fear? But as the alcohol flows and the flags flutter, I'll borrow a line from who else but me, if that's ok with her:
a nation at its loudest isn't always a nation at its wisest
I went to bed Friday night having read MR's declaration that the war will be over in 48 hours; I woke up to the proclamation that the war is over. Browsing through news sites, I can't quite peg what I'm feeling. There's joy, of course, that it's finally over, but that's only a part of it. There's this feeling that I can't quite put my finger on, nerves, foreboding, worry, excitement all mixed in.
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Saturday night, I'm at a club on 52nd and MIA's paper planes comes on. S leans in and goes 'you know the war is over right?' and I nod, while she sings Pirate skulls and bones Sticks and stones and weed and bongs Running when we hit 'em Lethal poison through their system
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According to Reuters, they've found the bodies of Charles Anthony, Nadesan, Seevaratnam, and VP.
And I wonder..
are there firecrackers going off in Colombo, as posters of MR are plastered across the walls and people take to the streets, and the arrack is opened and the uncles shake each others' hands and toast the end of the war, and the aunties say 'myyy did you ever think we'd see the end of this'?
should I feel elated that a man who has caused so much suffering and terror is now dead, or should I feel some sympathy for a man, no doubt cruel and terrible, but stll a man nonetheless, who fought for a cause?
does it make me unpatriotic to feel the latter, just a bit?
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It is, no doubt, a time to look forward. I may not like what has been, or is being, done, but I hope that it is for a greater good. Thousands of people are dead now. It would be wise to never forget what they died for. On both sides.
It is not the end now, but a beginning. For change, for hope. I hope we can make this work. It may be naive and idealistic of me to hope that we can now begin to build a country that can live up to its fullest potential, but the war has been an excuse in every which way for so long. An excuse to hate, to stagnate, to turn the other cheek. The time is now for us to make a difference.
It is easy to get caught up in the emotion. For some it'll be joy and pride and patriotic glory; for others it'll be worry and fear at the underground movement that has no doubt already begun. For some it'll be relief that they can now go about their business in peace, for others it'll be dreams crushed and lives lost.
As for me, I just can't wait to go home. I doubt there will be any change in Colombo, but when I get home and turn that corner at the army checkpoint next to my house, what will I see in the faces of the boys with the guns? The boys no older than my little brother, who gave up their families and education so they can wear fatigues and carry a gun and stand under the midday sun to make sure we sleep safe every night. What will their lives be like now?
I was up in the wee hours of the morning writing cover letters. Not one, but hundreds. Or like seven. My father is driving me crazy. I swear I'm gonna stop talking to him for the next few days to retain my sanity. He's all send me a cover letter for X place in 10 minutes. And I'm all what?! And so I send him a draft, he says redo it. I send him another draft, he says redo it. I send N a draft, he says 'i wouldnt buy u if u were free, and i'm cheap'. The nerve.
Clearly I have a problem selling myself.
But it has been decided, I will be coming home in mid June for the foreseeable future. I had a podi panic attack about it at 3am this morning, when I realized that omg this is it, I'm leaving New York. So I went through assorted pictures of sunsets and coconut trees and Arrack on ice with a devilled fish on the side and I was ok.
I am excited though. Browsing through the various websites, I see much that I am interested in and would love to be a part of. Contrary to popular belief, I am infact a hard worker and very organized. Its just that college has made me lazy; a lover of naps and a procrastinator. Give me a job and a deadline and I'll be on that bitch like white on rice. No, really.
Well, cover letters call, I must be going. Now just to figure out how to get home before the 12th, in time for that awesome Thriloka gig.
was a nightmare. In retrospect, I can laugh about it, but I'm quite impressed I didn't throw myself off a cliff. That could be because we have no cliffs around here but I digress. Let me tell you all about it.
It all started off relatively well. I had just got back from Boston, having had a ridiculously good time boozing with my cousins and was gearing up for finals week, which begins on the 11th. By gearing up I mean acknowledging it, not preparing for it or anything. How silly of you to even think that.
So I head out to class on Tuesday; twas windy and rainy but no worries. I go for my first class. I go for my second class. I go to the lab and do 3 hours worth of data entry on shifakas. Everything is still going swimmingly. Up until now my biggest concern is whether I should skip my 2.20 class to go take a nap. I decide the prudent thing to do would be to pop into class, see what she says about the final next week, then sneak back out and go home. With my plan in place, I saunter breezily towards Javits 101.
And then I see.. it. A large gathering of students, notes in hand, outside the lecture hall, which can only mean one thing: an exam is about to take place. I approach cautiously, much like RD would approach K when she's got that gleam in her eye. I glance casually over someone's shoulder. Gasp! Psych notes. Noooo. It comes back to me, her telling us that she will give us the final the week prior to finals week. Why would one do that, you may ask. I have no idea. I realize, with a little jolt, that I am well and truly fucked. The thing is, I've caught a bad case of senioritis and have been carelessly cutting classes and taking multiple naps a day. On the days I have gone to class, I've taken a Harry Potter with me. (I'm rereading the last two, blame it on O). In short, none of this bodes well for me acing this final. But I take it. What else to do no? 50 questions, I can honestly say I wasn't a 100% on any of the answers.
With that out of the way, I approached the professor to have a podi chat about my final paper. When can I hand it in, I ask. Next week is fine, she says. By the way, I'm substituting this paper for the lab work, I say. What, she says.
Let me backtrack.
A requirement for this course is that you participate in 5 credit hours worth of experiments. Basically you go and let them do their little tests on you and you get points towards your grade. I quite enjoy these, except that, what with work and lab, I don't have time for these extra-curricular activities. Luckily, there's a clause that says if you so feel like you don't want/can't do the experiments, you can write a two page paper per credit instead. Fine by me, since I have to hand in a 10 pager for my psych writing requirement in any case. So by my calculations, the one big paper can substitute for the little papers which substitute for the experiments, right? Wrong.
What, she says. Um, I say, and repeat myself. Oh no, she says, the deadline for the papers ended yesterday, and you need to do this to pass the course. Um, I say.
We look at each other blankly. Her face has a muted look of horror that is no doubt magnified ten-fold on my face.
I need this class to graduate.
Okk.. I say, do I still have time to do the experiments?Deadline for experiments is Friday, she says. I dash off.
Ok so Friday. This gives me 3 days to find five suitable experiments which are being held at times that I'm free and hopefully they have free time slots. Can be done. I spend a panicked 30 minutes in the library tracking down experiments and scheduling them. Crisis averted.
So I head home finally, utterly distraught at the thought that I came, not once, but twice within the reach of not graduating in the span of a couple hours. And I had another final the next day (note: again, not during finals week. What is with these people?!) to study for. I take a small (long) nap and settle down around 9 to study. By that I mean turn on E! and watch the Daily Ten etc etc onwards til 11 to watch the Daily Show. Vut?
Around this time I get a call. Two calls actually, simultaneously, one from the mother and one from the father. I pick up the father, since priority must be given to overseas calls. He has a rather unusual (re: horrific) proposition for me. Apparently the parental unit has conspired against me and come up with a plan for my future, seeing as how I, according to them, have no interest in it. My future that is. The plan is this: I should come home immediately after graduation and start the AMI course my mother did and eventually take charge of her school.
*^&$%$^@#$!@!%#!!!!
I laugh nervously; I think he's kidding. But he's very calm, very no baba why don't you try it, very uncharacteristic. I start panicking.
No thaththa, are you mad I don't even like children I don't wanna I can't nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
Well think about it, he says, talk to ammi. This is so unlike him it's scaring me even furthur.
I call my mother.
Amma what the fuck?! (I said heck, not fuck, but I was thinking fuck).
And then we yell at each other for half an hour, the gist of the conversation goes something like:
I want you to do it, its good experience!
Experience for what?! I'm never going to work with chidlren!
I want you to take charge of the school!
Its your damn school!
Just do it!
I won't!
I said do it!
NOOO
DOO ITTT
NEVERRRRRR
You get the picture.
By the time I dramatically hang up on her I'm utterly panicked. I'm literally shaking and, I won't lie, there were a few tears. My tentative plan was to go home, do fieldwork and go in for my PhD, not become the director of a montessori FFS! Pissu comes online, and I'm trying to explain to her and she's trying to calm me down. It went something exactly (since I copy-pasted) like this:
me: omgDude my paretns have lsot their mind!!
Pissu: why?
are they bringing marriage proposals?
me: i wish!
they want me to come home and do that damn ami course
and my mother wants me to take over her school
i mean seriously WTF
Pissu: oh god
she has a school here or there?
me: in sl
dude you've gotta find me a job!!!
ill die if i have to work with children
I panic further so I call N. Thank god I have sane people in the same country as me. The conversation goes something like:
me: omgomgomgomgomg
N: dude
me: sobcrywhinepanic
N: this is like having a girlfriend, without the fun.
me: *insulted*
Anyway, between the two of them I calm down, Pissu promises to find me lots of job opportunities and save me from the deadly throes of a career in child care, I realize that I have a final to study for and Tuesday ends. Dramatically.
Two days later, having finished not one, not two, but three finals (note: all not during finals week), including one all-nighter, I'm about ready to pass out. But I have realized one thing though. From a glass half full perspective, I got pretty fucking lucky this week, considering how badly it could have gone. I could have decided to skip my class and have missed my final entirely, invariably failing the course; I could have not found enough experiments on time, again, failing the course, and not graduating; I could have not had awesome friends who have great contacts, and who are willing to hook me up; I could have got my leg humped by a goose. All in all, things could have been much worse. And I just got my Psych grade back and, by some stroke of luck, or maybe because I'm secretly a genius, I have managed to get the exact same result I got on my midterm which I did study for.
a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid.
that three weeks from graduation, I have no job, no place to live, no passion, in life or otherwise. that I'll never have quiet weekends where I get to sleep in again. that I will never ever live up to my fullest potential. that I'll never find the chemistry or connection I had with him, with anyone else again. that I have become hard and cold and bitter and crotchety. that the world is getting scarier and uglier and meaner and continuously unbearable to live in.
that I will never get out of this godawful self-pitying rut.
