Curbing my addictions

We’ve had social media blocked off for us for over a week owing to social unrest and the part companies such as Facebook and WhatsApp played in it by being too easy a platform for extremists to organize themselves.

For someone who had been feeling totally nauseous about being so addicted to facebook for a while, this was somewhat heaven sent. I disagree wholeheartedly with the idea that a government takes it upon themselves to censor communication, but took it as a sign that it was time for me to give it up and I make no apologies for it. Every time my brain needed a distraction even the tiniest one, where one thought halts before another starts, because  some times, thinking is painful, or hard or  because reality sucks, I would just absent mindedly scroll, scroll, scroll. My threshold for any discomfort is now actually paper thin. Why must I put up with myself, when I can scroll through the bottomless pit that is social media?

My brain and my fingers are so used to this by now, for the first two days, I would randomly open the app, like, for no reason, every five minutes. When I caught myself doing this for the upteenth time, I ended up uninstalling the apps.  And have been feeling lighter than I did in years. Is this what it is like to start curbing your addictions?

I’ve been reading as per usual, but I feel my brain using more concentration power to do so. We actually plugged in our TV and watched movies, which hasn’t happened in the past five years! Look, I am even blogging!  I  am pretty sure I even sleep better!

When they uplift the ban, will I be tempted to re-install the app, just to see what’s happening? Facebook used to be how I got my news. I do miss it, but  I do not miss the humblebrags, the keyboard warriors, the vacation pictures, the breakfasts, the drama, the drama, the drama. And working myself up on other people’s account.

Man, I hope I make it through. But I am too old, and I need my sanity and this is a good start to start to stay away from the small screens.



Keeping busy

I did some DIYing  over the last month. I and Darling are staying at our in-law’s house and we needed a little nest of our own so we moved upstairs to what used to be my late father-in-law’s office space. It’s smaller than anything we’ve ever lived in, but it makes me very very happy.

We recycled so much of father-in-law’s things including filing cabinets, working spaces and shelves. A little room set aside for storing documents became our closet, two different alcoves on either side of the studio became our individual work spaces. I can’t begin to tell you how it makes me smile to have my own little space to do as I please. The conference room became our bedroom.

I painted everything white so that it makes the tiny space looks airy.

I redid the table and chairs stripping the old paint and varnish and updated it with new paint and new cushion covers. This was a big learning curve as I had never done anything like this before. My sister who routinely dabbles in updating old furniture gave me tips and basically showed me how.

Here are the before and after pics of the table and chairs. I am so so proud. If you are a pro, you can probably tell what a noob I am at this but I will probably update a lot of old furniture in the future so here’s to learning! Cheers!!



I sat through two graduation ceremonies this weekend.
On Friday evening Charith Peiris got his degree and I couldn’t be more proud. Here is someone who has persevered against all odds, against confusion and heartbreak and turmoil and still overcame himself. Cheers! 
On Saturday morning, my four year old nephew Seth graduated out of preschool. I am such an emotional aunt! He was acting a bee at the concert and he had to tell a certain “Billy Bee” that Billy Bee couldn’t come in because he couldn’t buzz like the rest of them. Seth seemed genuinely upset by the lonely Billy Bee and only started dancing and singing with all his being only when the colony accepted they were wrong to shun Billy Bee. Seth doesn’t yet know what life is like, he doesn’t know how hard it can be. But he represents hope and happiness in its purest form and I look to him for courage.
I missed my mother more than ever, if that’s even possible but life seems to go on, which somewhat surprises me, even though it shouldn’t. I imagined her sweet sweet laugh seeing Seth dance and I wanted to break down and weep. She lives on, in my heart, the way I can still hear her laugh and see how her face dimples when she smiles. 
May we all march on, find the strength to keep doing the things we love, and always have at least one reason that makes us happy to be alive.

Of feeling alone.

I am trying to jot down a thing or two about aloneness.

The way it is intrinsic to life and how we like to pretend it isn’t so. I might be married, happily, I might read and write and work and play with dogs and children but I could also feel extraordinarily alone.

Friday nights at Long Bar helps me forget this fact for a bit. ( I am there about twice a year, therefore, my appreciation is much more intense) I am able to put my hair down and laugh a little. Buying a new dress has no less of an effect. Going some place far away does the same. Loving. Giving. Smiling. Does nothing to ease the awareness that I am completely alone. Surrounded by the work I must finish for my lovely mother, driving my father long distance, walking around our house, sitting on the rooftop with Shadow; watching kites and blue skies. All of this is just distraction, a soothing balm for ‘life’, a temporary solution for a permanent problem.

I’ve come to think that the way I feel about owning things and being in relationships has nothing to do with how alone I feel. It’s not the fault of my husband, nor my family or friends or the books and shoes I own, the poetry I read and the walks I go on or how fulfilling I find my life is that I should feel this emptiness. These things serve an important purpose in my life in that they remind me I need not suffer unduly and that life might even be bearable as long as we pick and choose the distractions that suits us the most but ultimately, here I am and I must deal.



Journal entries

I’d be working, or watching a video or writing or reading. I’d put it away and sit up and suddenly it would be as if I am looking straight into my mother’s  smiling face.

I can’t tell you what it is like to miss her.

Wasn’t she just here? I swear she was.

Some days I could rip my hair out wanting to tell her something. Wanting *only* to tell her. So I end up telling lots of people or no one at all, my thoughts and my sadness hidden deep in my heart for I can’t seem to find that comfort no matter where it is I look, no matter who it is I talk to.

Some days are harder than others aren’t they?



It’s been five months since my mother’s passing.

Losing a loved one is hard. Too hard. The first three months I felt like I was having a constant high fever. Towards evening, my head would get heavy, my breathing shallow, I would have to fight wanting sleep. Losing the person who birthed you, it’s nothing like anything I had ever felt before. Being ripped apart from her, the sudden loss, the peek I got into the abyss of loneliness, I hope you never have to feel that way.

My heart remains broken.

While that is so, I enjoy all the little things a little bit more. I don’t do the things I don’t much like anymore. I relish the time I spend on the roof top with the dogs and the plants, watching the sunset, imagining my mother enjoying the same things. I babysit my nephew with my husband and hear him laugh and think of how his laughter always made my mother’s face light up.

I sit in front her picture in the mornings and send her good thoughts. I will only ever look at her through rainbows in my eyes and a smile on my lips. Not that it doesn’t break my heart,  yet it is what it is, and I am here and this is all I have.




I turned 32 yesterday.

Life goes on. On and on and on. I do an OK job of turning up at work, keeping my appointments, seeing (some) people, making conversation. heh.

Existence has always been a bit bothersome. I’ve always had a foot in melancholia.

So here we are. 32. And perfectly comfortable in a certain kind of sadness. A certain type of gloom. A depth defying sorrow. I get up and go about , looking at existing, and some days , I swear, it feels like an out of body experience.

Someone at work blow-dries my hair, I wear a new dress, put on eyeliner. I look at all of it and I know I am here. Here. Proof. I have pictures. I went somewhere yesterday, I had lunch with my darling nephew today. My father and I made sandwiches for dinner.

This is where I truly belong.

Being parentless is extremely hard. Being without my mother, the person she was, the person she was to me, the person who without fail stood up for me at every turn, the person who loved me endlessly, who always came forward to  wipe my tears, to look at me with nothing less than kindness and love; losing her has opened up an abyss of emptiness for me.

And so. Here we are. Another birthday come and gone. How strange is life. How strange is it that I should be here, feeling all this , living this life?