First and foremost, thank you to everyone who took the time to send me advice, messages of support and prayers. It's totally and delightfully surreal to think there's a world full of strangers who actually care and are with you when you feel most alone. I'm 100% convinced that mum benefitted from all your good wishes, coz she's back at home as of yesterday, and recovering slowly, but nicely. So thank you, all.
The surgery went off without a hitch, and she's now ovary-less. They've been sent for further testing, and we're awaiting results. She's in quite a bit of pain and can't move around much, but we're told that she'll be back and bouncing in about a month, once the body's healed. The hospiutal didn't help much with her comfort, what with those damn incompetent nurses making her go through ridiculous and unnecessary pain everytime they waltzed into the room to 'check' on her. There wasn't much point in keeping her there because my brother and I were doing most of the work anyway, since the nurses were never around when she needed any help. Plus that room itself was a deathtrap of a place. So now she's home, resting and enjoying her new-found status as Queen Bee, whilst I, my brother, the dog and two cats bow to her every whim.
For once, I don't feel like complaining. It's good to have her home.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Hospital-ity
Hospitals suck.
OK... yes, that was a redundant statement. But this one sucked alot more than most others I've seen.
I spent the night in my mum's hospital room last night and am now yawning buckets in front of this here computer, trying to keep my eyes from rolling up into a comatose but welcome state of sleep. There wasn't a single hour throughout the night that went by without a nurse barging in like an evil spirit to perform tests on mum or clatter about unneccessarily, just because she could.
Changing clothes to leave for work was an adventure by itself. The bathroom is THE most patient-proof one I've come across, and I wouldn't be surprised if someone concusses themselves in it soon. There's barely room to breathe let alone move, and everything's placed way too high or way too low for invalid use. Heck, even I had difficulty getting my act together in there, and banged my head more than once on protuding towelling railings. and shelves. Good luck to mum, who's a good foot wider than I am.
The nurses are a laugh. Either they're over-zealous trainees, or just not interested in patient care at all. In other words, some are rude and crude to the point of making quite a number of enemies, whilst the others are still at the bumbling kindergarten stage of their career. NOT good for one's peace of mind. They pricked mum in the same place when taking blood thrice over, because the junior who took it didn't know how to locate other vein areas. Another two, who were clearly quite fresh to the whole nursing thing, changed her bed sheets in manner similar to a performance of the japanese tea ceremony. Almost one hour was taken to fold those damn sheets like a national flag and ritualistically wipe spirits on the rubber mattress with a forefinger(you need to have seen this to disbelieve it the way I did), whilst mum was made to perch uncomfortably on a nearby stool until they finished. I can only imagine how absurd it's gonna be after her surgery, when she can't move at all.
I know nobody said hospitals are 5-star hotles, and some level of discomfort and inconvenience is to be expected, but this was bordering on ridiculous, considering the name and external image that this particular hospital portrays to the world. We'd have definitely opted to move her to another place, if it were not for the gyneacological theatre being at only this one.
Ah well... que sera sera. Lets hope her surgery and recovery thereafter are less disappointing than her surroundings.
OK... yes, that was a redundant statement. But this one sucked alot more than most others I've seen.
I spent the night in my mum's hospital room last night and am now yawning buckets in front of this here computer, trying to keep my eyes from rolling up into a comatose but welcome state of sleep. There wasn't a single hour throughout the night that went by without a nurse barging in like an evil spirit to perform tests on mum or clatter about unneccessarily, just because she could.
Changing clothes to leave for work was an adventure by itself. The bathroom is THE most patient-proof one I've come across, and I wouldn't be surprised if someone concusses themselves in it soon. There's barely room to breathe let alone move, and everything's placed way too high or way too low for invalid use. Heck, even I had difficulty getting my act together in there, and banged my head more than once on protuding towelling railings. and shelves. Good luck to mum, who's a good foot wider than I am.
The nurses are a laugh. Either they're over-zealous trainees, or just not interested in patient care at all. In other words, some are rude and crude to the point of making quite a number of enemies, whilst the others are still at the bumbling kindergarten stage of their career. NOT good for one's peace of mind. They pricked mum in the same place when taking blood thrice over, because the junior who took it didn't know how to locate other vein areas. Another two, who were clearly quite fresh to the whole nursing thing, changed her bed sheets in manner similar to a performance of the japanese tea ceremony. Almost one hour was taken to fold those damn sheets like a national flag and ritualistically wipe spirits on the rubber mattress with a forefinger(you need to have seen this to disbelieve it the way I did), whilst mum was made to perch uncomfortably on a nearby stool until they finished. I can only imagine how absurd it's gonna be after her surgery, when she can't move at all.
I know nobody said hospitals are 5-star hotles, and some level of discomfort and inconvenience is to be expected, but this was bordering on ridiculous, considering the name and external image that this particular hospital portrays to the world. We'd have definitely opted to move her to another place, if it were not for the gyneacological theatre being at only this one.
Ah well... que sera sera. Lets hope her surgery and recovery thereafter are less disappointing than her surroundings.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Purgatory
A state of bleaurgh.
Don't know how or where to begin. Can't think of the right words to put it down into pretty writing. Writer's block? Lethargy? Depression? Sleep deprivation?
Just feeling bleaurgh. That's the only way I can describe it.
All is in a whirl... there's no one feeling at this very moment; more of an amalgamation (shah... how the big word, ah...) of all sorts of wierd-ass sensations seeping through my gut into the rest of me. No, I do not have indigestion. If there was one word that sums it all up, I'd blog it down, but it's failing me... so the best way I can relate to it is putting together all the other words that describe it - confusion, stress, sadness, excitement, fear, longing, restlessness, detatchment, fatigue and a dash of something unknown. A state of limbo... not knowing which way to turn, where to look or what to look for. My hands are both tied AND being pulled in several directions all at once. So much is happening yet it feels like nothing is happening.
Perhaps it's because of the stress at home lately. My mother won't tell me what's going on with her. How can I be there for her if she won't let me? The last time she opened up was to tell me that her physical state was not too great (the previous post should clue you in), but since then , not much else. I do know she got her test results back and they were better than expected, indicating that nothing had spread anywhere outside her ovaries... so surgical procedure, if any, would be devoid of unnecessary complications. However, the doctor had asked her to get my dad down, so I'm figuring there's more to the story than she's letting on. But no amount of questioning will make her talk, so I decided to leave her alone if she wants some privacy in the matter. But being kept in the dark sucks. Dad came home last night, to make matters more dramatic. She checks into hospital tonight for surgery tomorrow. My fingers, toes and heart are hereby crossed for her.
Maybe the bleaurgh is rooted in fatigue and sleep deprivation. I've been on the go at a stretch for the last month now, with Bugsy Malone. "Who???", you say. Er... knock knock... read the papers or listen to YES FM. Bugsy Malone is a broadway musical that's currently on the boards at the Lionel Wendt, courtesy of the Junior Workshop Players. Another marvel by the legendary Jerome de Silva, assisted by yours truly. Tonight's the final performance, so if you've missed it, I feel bad for you. Damn, those kids are talented, and exceptionally so. Although its also been the experience that re-affirmed my staunch commitment to theatre and that of never bearing children, it's been a fun but tiring process of running around putting costumes together and helping with the backstage work. I still haven't made up for the sleepless nights of pasting sequins onto costumes, and the exhausting flurry of hopping from store to store looking for insane outfits.
Or maybe the thrill of the last two days is now having it's after-effects on me. My company sent me along with another guy from office to participate in the Sri lankan 'Young Lotus' competition. After a full day of panic-attacks, multiple bathroom visits, fervent prayers and nervous babbling, we won the competition, and are now being sent to Thailand in a month to compete regionally as the Sri Lankan representatives. It's a huge boost to ye olde career, I must say, and a fabulous exposure to the industry; not to mention a thrilling opportunity. I've been riding an ultra-high wave since we won it two days ago, but now the pressure of it all has begun to seep in. Winning aside, it's bloody alarming to know that I now have a ton of expectation coming at me from all sides to perform consistently and prove my worth. One month of arduous training and learning presents itself before me... I can see me not getting any more sleep than I have in the past month.
Thrill also came in the form of the Egyptian Embassy approving my visa for that ill-famed tour I plan to take Mum on in April. Hopefully, her surgery tomorrow will go fine, and she'll recuperate fast enough to go. Feels good to know I can actually do something to reward her for all the nasties she's had to face recently. Selfishly, it's also exciting to think of my dreams of Egypt finally becoming a possibility. But Mum needs to heal first... and so the excitement has to abate for a while, until we know she will. Did I mention my crossed fingers?
Something's missing, amidst all this hype. Life has been choc-a-bloc busy, and yet it feels so unfullfilled. I should be swinging off chandeliers or weeping my gut out, but instead I'm moving at slow-motion in a surreal state of detatchment and longing for something I haven't found. Nothing matters when everything SHOULD matter.
The frightening sensation of wanting to take my life flashed through me a few times, although I have no idea where it came from and why. I'm not that dumb to even consider it, but the fact that I felt it at all scares the shit outta me. I honestly don't know what to call this bundle of emotion I'm going through....
So shall we stick with 'bleaurgh', then?
Don't know how or where to begin. Can't think of the right words to put it down into pretty writing. Writer's block? Lethargy? Depression? Sleep deprivation?
Just feeling bleaurgh. That's the only way I can describe it.
All is in a whirl... there's no one feeling at this very moment; more of an amalgamation (shah... how the big word, ah...) of all sorts of wierd-ass sensations seeping through my gut into the rest of me. No, I do not have indigestion. If there was one word that sums it all up, I'd blog it down, but it's failing me... so the best way I can relate to it is putting together all the other words that describe it - confusion, stress, sadness, excitement, fear, longing, restlessness, detatchment, fatigue and a dash of something unknown. A state of limbo... not knowing which way to turn, where to look or what to look for. My hands are both tied AND being pulled in several directions all at once. So much is happening yet it feels like nothing is happening.
Perhaps it's because of the stress at home lately. My mother won't tell me what's going on with her. How can I be there for her if she won't let me? The last time she opened up was to tell me that her physical state was not too great (the previous post should clue you in), but since then , not much else. I do know she got her test results back and they were better than expected, indicating that nothing had spread anywhere outside her ovaries... so surgical procedure, if any, would be devoid of unnecessary complications. However, the doctor had asked her to get my dad down, so I'm figuring there's more to the story than she's letting on. But no amount of questioning will make her talk, so I decided to leave her alone if she wants some privacy in the matter. But being kept in the dark sucks. Dad came home last night, to make matters more dramatic. She checks into hospital tonight for surgery tomorrow. My fingers, toes and heart are hereby crossed for her.
Maybe the bleaurgh is rooted in fatigue and sleep deprivation. I've been on the go at a stretch for the last month now, with Bugsy Malone. "Who???", you say. Er... knock knock... read the papers or listen to YES FM. Bugsy Malone is a broadway musical that's currently on the boards at the Lionel Wendt, courtesy of the Junior Workshop Players. Another marvel by the legendary Jerome de Silva, assisted by yours truly. Tonight's the final performance, so if you've missed it, I feel bad for you. Damn, those kids are talented, and exceptionally so. Although its also been the experience that re-affirmed my staunch commitment to theatre and that of never bearing children, it's been a fun but tiring process of running around putting costumes together and helping with the backstage work. I still haven't made up for the sleepless nights of pasting sequins onto costumes, and the exhausting flurry of hopping from store to store looking for insane outfits.
Or maybe the thrill of the last two days is now having it's after-effects on me. My company sent me along with another guy from office to participate in the Sri lankan 'Young Lotus' competition. After a full day of panic-attacks, multiple bathroom visits, fervent prayers and nervous babbling, we won the competition, and are now being sent to Thailand in a month to compete regionally as the Sri Lankan representatives. It's a huge boost to ye olde career, I must say, and a fabulous exposure to the industry; not to mention a thrilling opportunity. I've been riding an ultra-high wave since we won it two days ago, but now the pressure of it all has begun to seep in. Winning aside, it's bloody alarming to know that I now have a ton of expectation coming at me from all sides to perform consistently and prove my worth. One month of arduous training and learning presents itself before me... I can see me not getting any more sleep than I have in the past month.
Thrill also came in the form of the Egyptian Embassy approving my visa for that ill-famed tour I plan to take Mum on in April. Hopefully, her surgery tomorrow will go fine, and she'll recuperate fast enough to go. Feels good to know I can actually do something to reward her for all the nasties she's had to face recently. Selfishly, it's also exciting to think of my dreams of Egypt finally becoming a possibility. But Mum needs to heal first... and so the excitement has to abate for a while, until we know she will. Did I mention my crossed fingers?
Something's missing, amidst all this hype. Life has been choc-a-bloc busy, and yet it feels so unfullfilled. I should be swinging off chandeliers or weeping my gut out, but instead I'm moving at slow-motion in a surreal state of detatchment and longing for something I haven't found. Nothing matters when everything SHOULD matter.
The frightening sensation of wanting to take my life flashed through me a few times, although I have no idea where it came from and why. I'm not that dumb to even consider it, but the fact that I felt it at all scares the shit outta me. I honestly don't know what to call this bundle of emotion I'm going through....
So shall we stick with 'bleaurgh', then?
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
The Shit Hitteth the Fan.
It's been one helluva god-awful two weeks. Quite possibly archivable as one of the worst in my short lifespan. I'm in a mood to whine, so listen up. Hey! Don't turn away... come back here!
Never mind. I'm going to whine anyway. I'm Sri Lankan... I was born with a talent for it.
At the rate I've been experiencing emotional highs and lows in the past 14 days, its no wonder I'm a little more twisted than I started off as. It's been the epitomé of "emotional rollercoaster" - speed, terror, exhilaration and the need to puke.
Shall I begin at the beginning?
1. High - I moved out.
2. Low - And then I moved back in.
3. Lower than low - in five days.
I've been looking around for Ché Dramaqueen for some time now, and two weekends ago I was casually browsing the classifieds (lately a hobby of mine) when I came across an advert for a house on rent. On a whim I called the owner, spoke to him, and decided to drive past it. You know... just to satisfy that 'independant female' fantasy I have in my head.
It was perfect. It had everything I could possibly ask for- budget friendly, secure, quite posh with all the modern amneties, and close enough to home to save my mother from paranoia. And so I followed the initial whim and paid a downpayment on it. The next three days were spent in a over-zealous state of madness, where I planned and plotted the furnishing, formulated my three year budget for single-living expenses, got myself a bank loan to take care of all the immediate costs (lease, furniture, etc) and found myself a maid.
At last. After years of searching, I had found my own pad and I was moving out. I was 'freedom girl', advocate of justice for all domesticated daughters.
In all the madness, however, I had forgotten one thing. My inner feminist's arch-enemy; the Dad Monster. once I'd taken care of all the house details and scheduled the move, I made the call (he works abroad) to announce my new-found lifestyle.
Big. Mistake.
If there was ever a catastrophe to have taken place in ye olde family home, this would be it. My announcement sparked off a frenzied series of phone calls and emails flying at me from His Lordship the Father Figure(less), articulating in various ways his abject displeasure at my actions. He cried, I cried. He screamed, I screamed louder. He begged, I practically grovelled. In the end, he used his final trump card and vehemently promised to blame my poor boyfriend for my moving out, and do his worst to the fellow as punishment. This was topped off with a promise of Daddy Dearest getting a heart-attack (which he's done in the past in response to my actions) and blaming his untimely death on me, should I so much as DREAM of packing my bags. Then, my mother decided to cry too, and question her parenting skills, for having made me want to leave her.
So... I cancelled on the landowner, lost my downpayment, went into throes of depression at the thought of never being able to move out on my own, and now also have the debt of a huge loan sitting in my bank account.
3. High - I suddenly had money to play with.
4. Low - it reduced drastically in seconds.
Having gotten that big loan invoked all the female glee in me, to know that I could take out my depression on shopping or travel, and possibly put that money into some use. If it wasn't gonna be moving out, then I might as well find enjoyment some other way. And so I plotted and planned again on various means of making the loan worth the trouble. (the BF suggested I give it back to the bank, but COME ON. I'm from Venus. We never give money back.)
As I beamed over the healthy sum showing on my online bank statement, I made all sorts of crazy plans for taking a trip to disneyland, the singapore zoo, and starting an animal home. All this while foolishly meddling around with the buttons on my online bank interface. My mind lazily went to an area called 'time deposits'. Out of curiosity, I decided to experiment with the loan money, to check out what this so called time deposit was all about. And so I casually transferred one lakh into opening a new 'time deposit', just to see what it did for me.
Soon after, I realized I couldn't get the money out again. Not until my 'time' was up.... which is 6 months from now.
F***.
5. High - I surprised my mother
6. Low - She surprised me back.
So, with 100,000/- less to spread around my emotional spending, I decided to put the rest of the cash towards another lifelong dream of mine- A trip to Egypt. Coincidentally, a tour to the place in April was advertised that very day in the papers, and I decided to pounce on the opportunity. I also decided to treat Mum to a grand birthday gift of a ticket to accompany me, knowing how much I'd put her through in the last week (with the move and all that), and knowing that this could make her forgive me. So I devised a cunning plan with the help of that resident slime called my sibling, and stole her passport to secretly apply for her visa.
That was just hours before she called me at office to say that she'd tested positive for Ovarian Cancer. By April, she'll either be convalescing from chemo... or if things don't go well... be making 'other plans'.
Right now, after this latest revelation (that happened 24 hours ago), life is pretty much still on a low.
And the rollercoaster just stopped in it's track.
Never mind. I'm going to whine anyway. I'm Sri Lankan... I was born with a talent for it.
At the rate I've been experiencing emotional highs and lows in the past 14 days, its no wonder I'm a little more twisted than I started off as. It's been the epitomé of "emotional rollercoaster" - speed, terror, exhilaration and the need to puke.
Shall I begin at the beginning?
1. High - I moved out.
2. Low - And then I moved back in.
3. Lower than low - in five days.
I've been looking around for Ché Dramaqueen for some time now, and two weekends ago I was casually browsing the classifieds (lately a hobby of mine) when I came across an advert for a house on rent. On a whim I called the owner, spoke to him, and decided to drive past it. You know... just to satisfy that 'independant female' fantasy I have in my head.
It was perfect. It had everything I could possibly ask for- budget friendly, secure, quite posh with all the modern amneties, and close enough to home to save my mother from paranoia. And so I followed the initial whim and paid a downpayment on it. The next three days were spent in a over-zealous state of madness, where I planned and plotted the furnishing, formulated my three year budget for single-living expenses, got myself a bank loan to take care of all the immediate costs (lease, furniture, etc) and found myself a maid.
At last. After years of searching, I had found my own pad and I was moving out. I was 'freedom girl', advocate of justice for all domesticated daughters.
In all the madness, however, I had forgotten one thing. My inner feminist's arch-enemy; the Dad Monster. once I'd taken care of all the house details and scheduled the move, I made the call (he works abroad) to announce my new-found lifestyle.
Big. Mistake.
If there was ever a catastrophe to have taken place in ye olde family home, this would be it. My announcement sparked off a frenzied series of phone calls and emails flying at me from His Lordship the Father Figure(less), articulating in various ways his abject displeasure at my actions. He cried, I cried. He screamed, I screamed louder. He begged, I practically grovelled. In the end, he used his final trump card and vehemently promised to blame my poor boyfriend for my moving out, and do his worst to the fellow as punishment. This was topped off with a promise of Daddy Dearest getting a heart-attack (which he's done in the past in response to my actions) and blaming his untimely death on me, should I so much as DREAM of packing my bags. Then, my mother decided to cry too, and question her parenting skills, for having made me want to leave her.
So... I cancelled on the landowner, lost my downpayment, went into throes of depression at the thought of never being able to move out on my own, and now also have the debt of a huge loan sitting in my bank account.
3. High - I suddenly had money to play with.
4. Low - it reduced drastically in seconds.
Having gotten that big loan invoked all the female glee in me, to know that I could take out my depression on shopping or travel, and possibly put that money into some use. If it wasn't gonna be moving out, then I might as well find enjoyment some other way. And so I plotted and planned again on various means of making the loan worth the trouble. (the BF suggested I give it back to the bank, but COME ON. I'm from Venus. We never give money back.)
As I beamed over the healthy sum showing on my online bank statement, I made all sorts of crazy plans for taking a trip to disneyland, the singapore zoo, and starting an animal home. All this while foolishly meddling around with the buttons on my online bank interface. My mind lazily went to an area called 'time deposits'. Out of curiosity, I decided to experiment with the loan money, to check out what this so called time deposit was all about. And so I casually transferred one lakh into opening a new 'time deposit', just to see what it did for me.
Soon after, I realized I couldn't get the money out again. Not until my 'time' was up.... which is 6 months from now.
F***.
5. High - I surprised my mother
6. Low - She surprised me back.
So, with 100,000/- less to spread around my emotional spending, I decided to put the rest of the cash towards another lifelong dream of mine- A trip to Egypt. Coincidentally, a tour to the place in April was advertised that very day in the papers, and I decided to pounce on the opportunity. I also decided to treat Mum to a grand birthday gift of a ticket to accompany me, knowing how much I'd put her through in the last week (with the move and all that), and knowing that this could make her forgive me. So I devised a cunning plan with the help of that resident slime called my sibling, and stole her passport to secretly apply for her visa.
That was just hours before she called me at office to say that she'd tested positive for Ovarian Cancer. By April, she'll either be convalescing from chemo... or if things don't go well... be making 'other plans'.
Right now, after this latest revelation (that happened 24 hours ago), life is pretty much still on a low.
And the rollercoaster just stopped in it's track.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Temper Rising
The more I sit here and listen to the god awful stories my Tamil friends have to tell about being harrassed in Colombo by the authorities, the more I'm starting to be bothered by it all.
It's very easy for us to sit like the chickens we are and ignore it, because we're not the ones being persectued, so it shouldn't affect us.... but I think that's where the whole problem rests in the first place.
Anyway, I've had my say in my previous post... this is just me outletting my increasing irritation at the powers that be.
It's very easy for us to sit like the chickens we are and ignore it, because we're not the ones being persectued, so it shouldn't affect us.... but I think that's where the whole problem rests in the first place.
Anyway, I've had my say in my previous post... this is just me outletting my increasing irritation at the powers that be.
The 'Patriots' can Kiss My Ass.
My blood's been boiling for some time now, and reading a recent comment posted on killromeoproject's blog just iced the cake. I am SICK TO DEATH of the pompous asses who call themselves 'sons of the soil' and float around shooting their mouths off about fucking 'patriotism' in this country, when all they seem to demonstrate is mental instability, racism and a blatant disregard of human rights.
Ok dramaqueen... chill, baby...calm down... breeeeeathe... phooo phoooooo... woosah....
Lemme begin from the starting point of my angst.
All my life, I have made a conscious effort to stay out of anything to do with politics, simply because I'm of the firm belief that it is, quite frankly, the root of 95% of this world's problems, and Sri Lanka has ALWAYS been ruled by a group of unmitigated fuckwits, despite which party they belong to. I have neither read nor given a shit about the political whatnot of this country (since half of it is brainwashed or fictitious crap spewed by state media anyway) because I always thought that my life didn't need to be affected by parliamentary antics.
However, my self-inflicted ignorance hasn't stopped me from being perfectly aware of how OTHER people in this country ARE affected by the political mafia, so much so that now, after years of watching this country crumble bit by bit, I have no option BUT to speak my piece on all this nonsense.
I've always been annoyed at the way governance happens, and had my share of bitchfits with the occassional public issue, but my annoyance reached it's peak a couple of evenings ago when a colleague related a shocking story to me at office. Let me share-
She's an Indian lady, who is married to a Sri Lankan Tamil who just happens to have been born in Jaffna, but has lived and worked all his life in Colombo and India. The evening before the CFA was officially abrogated, she and the hubby were stopped at a checkpoint on their way home from work. When the checkpoint officers had seen his ID card that had Jaffna put down as his hometown, the two were asked to get down from their vehicle, and had been harrassed for about 20 minutes. They had called her husband a 'kotiya' (tiger) and called her the 'kotiya's indian whore' (she'd shown them her passport). Then they had told her to wait till 'tomorrow' (end of CFA), that they'd get 'jacked'. She had then been bodysearched in front of her husband, who was being verbally threatened to not move. The sanitary napkin in her handbag had been taken out and displayed to all the male officers there before being torn, to check if she was 'hiding a weapon'. They'd taken down my colleague's home address, her husband's work address, and sent the two off with menacing warnings and threats. The couple had immediately gone to a Police Station and lodged a complaint, to which they received sarcasm, accusations and nothing else. For the last two days, both of them have lived in abject fear of something happening to each other, and she can't come out of her shock. She says she has NEVER been treated this way and never realized that they COULD treat people this way. She is truly disgusted with Sri Lanka, and is now making plans to go back to India with her husband, for the sake of peace and security.
My only reaction to this incident was "WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?", after which, I was totally and utterly speechless. Can our forces who are supposed to protect the innocent be allowed to TREAT people this way? WHO gives them the authority to harrass folk like that? Why is there no mechanism for the intolerance of this putrid behaviour?? There are countless stories of people being violated both emotionally and physically for having done nothing except being born Tamil. I've heard pseudo-sympathetic listeners to these stories say things like "unfortunately you're a Tamil". WHAT'S so unfortunate about being a Tamil? WHY should a person feel that his or her race is UNFORTUNATE? Where the hell do we get off by saying things like that? Imagine for even a second that YOU were treated like that, that YOU were told that it was unfortunate to be born a Sinhalese!
Ever since I heard my colleague's story, I've been raging. Raging at the damn idiotic attitude that this country seems to have adopted... raging that mothers don't seem to be teaching their kids that race is not a determining factor of character... raging that we have rulers with the brains of fleas to actually fuel this horrible culture of thinking... and raging that no matter what anyone with sense does, things will not change. I am truly alarmed and severely pissed off at the lack of intelligence our so-called 'patriots' are displaying... this is NOT a Sinhala-Tamil war... this is an LTTE-GoSL issue, and the faster people recognize that, the better for everyone else in this country.
You 'patriots' on BOTH sides of the fence deserve a slap. You think this war will be over just because the Govt nukes the Peninsula? You think that one party winning will stop the other from being persecuted by attitudes and racist behaviour? You think people will stop hating each other when either we or they win the war, and will accept that they are 'unfortunate' by birth? And do you think that winning a stupid political war is worth the thousands... nay, MILLIONS of innocent lives that have been destroyed by it?
You're such a bunch of dumbasses. A spineless, uneducated bunch of disillusioned dumbasses.
'RACE' is something that society has created. Borders are created by society, and is only psychological. Land is still just land, whether it's split up or whole. It shouldn't matter if we have a seperate state or not, as long as people can live their lives in peace and security. Like you were going to picnic in the North anyway. WHAT are you fighting for? WHAT are you a patriot of?
This is absurd and immature! It shouldn't MATTER what fucking RACE people belong to, because at the end of the day, we all eat, sleep, feel, bleed the same way. And when we die, we are buried in the same fucking ground, and rot the same fucking way. SO get over yourselves, and off that damn pedestal. BOTH of you- Tamil AND Sinhala 'Patriots'!
My stance? I don't have a race. I'm called a Sinhalese but I don't care. I never put it down on the forms I fill, because I don't think it should ever matter to anyone. I am a living, breathing person just like my colleague, and any injustice done to her is an injustice done to me as a human being.
This war was created by political agendas bourne of racial issues, and is fought by political agendas bourne of greed. It will NEVER end if the rest of civil society doesn't STOP with the damn racial charade. Get this into your thick skulls, oh 'patriots'.... you are no better than your Tamil neighbour. You are all just bitching over the years of racial slander and attitudes you have recieved from the other party. Isn't it about time we STOPPED?
If you think I'm talking out of MY arse, then go to this link.... there's facts there that should open your goddamn eyes.
http://www.groundviews.org/2008/01/17/what-liberation/
Oh yeah... one more thing... you may have noticed that I've framed the word Patriot in colons... that's because you're not one... you just think you are, but have absolutely no idea what the word even means.
How unfortunate for you.
Ok dramaqueen... chill, baby...calm down... breeeeeathe... phooo phoooooo... woosah....
Lemme begin from the starting point of my angst.
All my life, I have made a conscious effort to stay out of anything to do with politics, simply because I'm of the firm belief that it is, quite frankly, the root of 95% of this world's problems, and Sri Lanka has ALWAYS been ruled by a group of unmitigated fuckwits, despite which party they belong to. I have neither read nor given a shit about the political whatnot of this country (since half of it is brainwashed or fictitious crap spewed by state media anyway) because I always thought that my life didn't need to be affected by parliamentary antics.
However, my self-inflicted ignorance hasn't stopped me from being perfectly aware of how OTHER people in this country ARE affected by the political mafia, so much so that now, after years of watching this country crumble bit by bit, I have no option BUT to speak my piece on all this nonsense.
I've always been annoyed at the way governance happens, and had my share of bitchfits with the occassional public issue, but my annoyance reached it's peak a couple of evenings ago when a colleague related a shocking story to me at office. Let me share-
She's an Indian lady, who is married to a Sri Lankan Tamil who just happens to have been born in Jaffna, but has lived and worked all his life in Colombo and India. The evening before the CFA was officially abrogated, she and the hubby were stopped at a checkpoint on their way home from work. When the checkpoint officers had seen his ID card that had Jaffna put down as his hometown, the two were asked to get down from their vehicle, and had been harrassed for about 20 minutes. They had called her husband a 'kotiya' (tiger) and called her the 'kotiya's indian whore' (she'd shown them her passport). Then they had told her to wait till 'tomorrow' (end of CFA), that they'd get 'jacked'. She had then been bodysearched in front of her husband, who was being verbally threatened to not move. The sanitary napkin in her handbag had been taken out and displayed to all the male officers there before being torn, to check if she was 'hiding a weapon'. They'd taken down my colleague's home address, her husband's work address, and sent the two off with menacing warnings and threats. The couple had immediately gone to a Police Station and lodged a complaint, to which they received sarcasm, accusations and nothing else. For the last two days, both of them have lived in abject fear of something happening to each other, and she can't come out of her shock. She says she has NEVER been treated this way and never realized that they COULD treat people this way. She is truly disgusted with Sri Lanka, and is now making plans to go back to India with her husband, for the sake of peace and security.
My only reaction to this incident was "WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?", after which, I was totally and utterly speechless. Can our forces who are supposed to protect the innocent be allowed to TREAT people this way? WHO gives them the authority to harrass folk like that? Why is there no mechanism for the intolerance of this putrid behaviour?? There are countless stories of people being violated both emotionally and physically for having done nothing except being born Tamil. I've heard pseudo-sympathetic listeners to these stories say things like "unfortunately you're a Tamil". WHAT'S so unfortunate about being a Tamil? WHY should a person feel that his or her race is UNFORTUNATE? Where the hell do we get off by saying things like that? Imagine for even a second that YOU were treated like that, that YOU were told that it was unfortunate to be born a Sinhalese!
Ever since I heard my colleague's story, I've been raging. Raging at the damn idiotic attitude that this country seems to have adopted... raging that mothers don't seem to be teaching their kids that race is not a determining factor of character... raging that we have rulers with the brains of fleas to actually fuel this horrible culture of thinking... and raging that no matter what anyone with sense does, things will not change. I am truly alarmed and severely pissed off at the lack of intelligence our so-called 'patriots' are displaying... this is NOT a Sinhala-Tamil war... this is an LTTE-GoSL issue, and the faster people recognize that, the better for everyone else in this country.
You 'patriots' on BOTH sides of the fence deserve a slap. You think this war will be over just because the Govt nukes the Peninsula? You think that one party winning will stop the other from being persecuted by attitudes and racist behaviour? You think people will stop hating each other when either we or they win the war, and will accept that they are 'unfortunate' by birth? And do you think that winning a stupid political war is worth the thousands... nay, MILLIONS of innocent lives that have been destroyed by it?
You're such a bunch of dumbasses. A spineless, uneducated bunch of disillusioned dumbasses.
'RACE' is something that society has created. Borders are created by society, and is only psychological. Land is still just land, whether it's split up or whole. It shouldn't matter if we have a seperate state or not, as long as people can live their lives in peace and security. Like you were going to picnic in the North anyway. WHAT are you fighting for? WHAT are you a patriot of?
This is absurd and immature! It shouldn't MATTER what fucking RACE people belong to, because at the end of the day, we all eat, sleep, feel, bleed the same way. And when we die, we are buried in the same fucking ground, and rot the same fucking way. SO get over yourselves, and off that damn pedestal. BOTH of you- Tamil AND Sinhala 'Patriots'!
My stance? I don't have a race. I'm called a Sinhalese but I don't care. I never put it down on the forms I fill, because I don't think it should ever matter to anyone. I am a living, breathing person just like my colleague, and any injustice done to her is an injustice done to me as a human being.
This war was created by political agendas bourne of racial issues, and is fought by political agendas bourne of greed. It will NEVER end if the rest of civil society doesn't STOP with the damn racial charade. Get this into your thick skulls, oh 'patriots'.... you are no better than your Tamil neighbour. You are all just bitching over the years of racial slander and attitudes you have recieved from the other party. Isn't it about time we STOPPED?
If you think I'm talking out of MY arse, then go to this link.... there's facts there that should open your goddamn eyes.
http://www.groundviews.org/2008/01/17/what-liberation/
Oh yeah... one more thing... you may have noticed that I've framed the word Patriot in colons... that's because you're not one... you just think you are, but have absolutely no idea what the word even means.
How unfortunate for you.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Limbo
It's a wierd day. I feel lost.... alone... disconnected.
Nothing has happened for me to feel this way. Life is as it always was, and I'm surrounded by love, activity, people.... but I feel like I have nothing.
Part of me is dying. The sad thing is, it's the other part that's killing it....
Sigh. Where's that fairytale when you need it?
Nothing has happened for me to feel this way. Life is as it always was, and I'm surrounded by love, activity, people.... but I feel like I have nothing.
Part of me is dying. The sad thing is, it's the other part that's killing it....
Sigh. Where's that fairytale when you need it?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)