I step under the warm shower, my feet still trembling. I could hear my heartbeat inside me, and I try to take slow deep breaths, counting backwards, slowly. The water cascades over me. I turn to the wall, but I cannot stay up. I rest my forehead on the wall & close my eyes. The cold wall is soothing but I struggle to hold myself up. It feels tiring, even to stand. The palpitations are still very real.

I turn around and slide down to the floor. Sitting naked on the bathroom tiles, knees tucked, hugging myself.

My son runs along the corridor outside the bathroom. I can hear his footsteps as he runs from one side to another and then disappears. Then the sound appears again, from the other side to this. I can see the shadow of his movement through the narrow gap at the bottom of the door. A passing shadow, accompanying the footsteps. Shadow and footsteps. Darkness and sound.

Tears start flowing now, the tears that I have been trying to spill out since last night. Now they come, finally. Mingled with the water from the shower. Water and tears, tears and water, both one, but neither each other, flow down my face. I do not know where the tears end and water begins, just like I do not know where happiness ends and sorrow begins.

I have a confession to make. I have considered the burn and the blade. Each at different times, neither together though. I have also thought about where it should be. The wrist? But that was too obvious, too visible. The thighs? That was a better choice. It would be hidden, my battle scar, safe from the world. But then, do I not have the freedom to even choose a part of my body?

Burn or blade?

Wrist or thigh?

But those footsteps that keep running, repeating, from this side to that, and from that side to this. The echo of these footsteps stop me. Have stopped me many time before and keep stopping me. Forcing me to give it one more chance.

1st September 2021

Fear of life can make you drown in such a deep lake of sorrow. I realized that, when a sickness like Covid hits you, everything else that you’ve been hearing, reading or telling others becomes worthless. the fear of losing your life grips you in a place where common sense or positive thoughts or loving words cannot reach.

My biggest fear rushed out from that deep place to float towards Imaad and wrapped around him. the first that when I isolated myself, I could hear his footsteps, his voice, and I felt the pain of not being able to hug him whenever I wanted to. How did I take that privilege of a mother for granted so much?

And when no one else puts your child first like you do, how could you be sure that he will be looked after in the very same way that you would? Who would understand his smallest change, a moment of silence, a meaning in one look? Will anyone ever know what makes him truly scared, what makes him uncomfortable, what makes him upset, the way I do?

Will he feel lost? Lonely? Will he be afraid to face the world? I ask myself all these questions and I don’t know where the answers are.

Another thing that shook me was my sense of hopelessness. I didn’t feel like reading to writing. In total isolation now, I would think that I would use all the time I have to write all those pieces that I have been jotting down. But, no. I haven’t felt like writing a word, until now, almost four days later. I’m yet to open a book and read. There is an utter senselessness, an overwhelming inertia, of nothingness. I don’t want to do anything, speak to no one. I have been ignoring all the calls to my phone, using my cough as an excuse. I have been binging on Netflix and TikTok! My brain refuses anything that calls for it to be an active participant. Is it its way of asking for a break? I feel like everything is on limbo.

There are many ugly buildings when I look out of this window of the room I have to myself. And I wonder, why do people need such big buildings? They just build and build, one tasteless floor atop another, and fill it with more people who don’t seem to have a sense of what they’re doing, or where they’re going. Are we all the, on some kind of a limbo? Senselessly moving with time, waiting for that end where something ought to happen? But we don’t know what that something would be, so we don’t know what to look forward to. Yet, all that we know is that we have to? Who among us has a choice?

………………………………………………………………………..

2nd September 2021

The girls have been in touch with me since the day I arrived. They have also been asking me about the food here. So I thought I should write it down. After all, a person is the food she eats, right? Not that I have a choice in what I get here. Anyway, here’s the menu since the night I came in.

31st:
Dinner – pasta, crumb fried chicken, 2 dinner rolls, soup, butter, watalappan

1st:
Breakfast – white bread, parippu, pol sambola, fishcurry, banana
Lunch – rice, fish curry, potato mirisata, vegetable chopsuey, custard
Tea – butter cake
Dinner – string hoppers, potato kirata, pol sambola, chicken curry (I forget what the dessert was. I think it was cream caramel).

2nd:
Breakfast – white bread, 2 sausages, omlette, kanji, sago pudding, jelly
Lunch – looked like some form of a nasi goreng with chicken and a fried egg
Tea – a veg roll

Dinner is yet to come. So far, food has been alright.

I also shifted rooms today. There was something wrong with the power circuit and the power kept going off. Happened once the night I came, and twice yesterday. When it happened again this morning, they changed my room. Perhaps, they don’t have anyone to fix it immediately, or maybe it’s a big job. However, I shifted to the room across the corridor.

My mood went out in a puff. This room has 2 single beds and feels stuffy. There’s a big ugly building on the left corner, which is very depressing. For some time, I felt down. I felt like I had to move out from my own old room. It’s strange, because I have never felt like this even when I had to move houses in which I had lived for years. I think Covid gets to your hormones too.

But I’m okay now. I put the two beds together and brought all my stuff. I also brought some stuff from the other room, like the mug I was using. I don’t know, it felt like it was mine. But I’ve been here only 2 days… sigh…

i went out to the balcony just now. Dusk had set in and the sky, a blue black. I know I complained about the view earlier, but it doesn’t look so bad as night’s cloak wraps itself all around. Some of the windows in some buildings are lit. Like someone said, every window tells its own story.

I have this crazy liking to look through windows at night. Those days, when we used to travel long distances in the night, I loved to watch the houses that passed by. It is a bit of a perverse hobby, but I loved to see what people were up to in their houses. Something made them vulnerable in a way that they didn’t realize themselves. They are comfortable in their homes, settling in after a day of work, like they were giving that last hours of the day to themselves.

Today too, I watched. Some windows had the curtains drawn, some hadn’t. Some lights were on, some weren’t. But, I wonder, each of those windows has a life behind it. Someone doing something. Maybe someone was cooking, maybe someone was watching TV, maybe you were with your family; together, laughing, or each in their own world. Maybe someone was alone; enjoying the solitude or feeling lonely and depressed. But each one of them is living a moment in their lives that will not come back, nor will be repeated, ever. Even if they were doing something routine, would it be the same as what they did yesterday? Are they feeling the same way they did, when they were doing the exact thing yesterday?

I think why I don’t like to do this during the day, look at people or through their windows. Obviously, not wanting to be caught as a pervert. But, apart from that, it doesn’t give the same feeling. Why?

I think, when you put yourself out there to observe people, you also bare yourself out to the open. When you look, you can also be seen. The night, on the contrary, covers it. The night hides you. Maybe that’s why people are more free and relaxed at night; they become more of themselves, because darkness gives you a sense of façade.

And then I look up at the sky, and my heart literally hurts. Who are we and what is our purpose in this world? The sky just covers us all up in its vastness. It’s there, just there, constantly. Yes, it changes, according to time, according to the weather. But its presence is constant. And then there’s us. We don’t even have control of our own lives, not knowing what life has for us the very next day, unable to control what we feel or think, our minds creating and re-creating the world for us. Our existence is not constant.

I’m glad I brought this notebook with me.

I think I spoke a bit too soon about the food. Even though it’s my last choice for dinner, I shall stick to my decision of recording the food.

Dinner – rice, potato thel daala, fish curry, parippu, watalappan.

……………………………………………………………………..

3^rd September 2021

Breakfast – red rice, parippu, pol sambola, sprats

I’m too depressed to write anything more about it.

Ftofylline & Theophylline – twice a day

Pantocid – twice a day

Montiget & Titalium (?) – once a day

Lunch – rice, kadala curry, bandakka, red seafood curry

Dinner – noodles, chicken curry, mushroom, yoghurt

අර්තාපල්

ඔක්කොම

Showing Ahmed how Imaad is supposed to write his Sinhala.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

4th September 2021

Breakfast – string hoppers, pol sambol, chicken curry, dhal.

It’s raining today. Yesterday was good; I felt active. I did yoga. I started to pray and even did some work on the Icarus translation. But today, I didn’t even feel like getting out of bed. I don’t want to do any work either. I think of how many more days I have to be here. I enjoy the relaxing, not having to do anything, no deadlines to meet, just to do what I feel like. But somehow, it’s not as fun as I thought it would be. I know if I don’t make the best out of it, I will regret it when I get back to the real world. So, I guess I should stop feeling guilty and enjoy it when it lasts.

Lunch – white rice, dhal, green beans, fish, manyokka.

Do you know, when people talk about depression, they talk about good days and bad days? I always wondered how that could be, you know, how can your mods swing like that with no reason. But I think now I know.

One day, you feel chirpy, you want to get things done, you want to channel you inner energy into something positive or creative. That was me yesterday.

And then, the very next day, you wake up and a gloom takes over you, body and mind. It’s like a thick cloud is pushing you down from up there. You don’t feel like doing anything, because your body doesn’t want to, but also because you think what the purpose of it all is.

And to feel like his, when you’re isolated, when there is no distraction, makes the gloom darker. Your thoughts become loud. You realize that you’ve only been having conversations all by yourself. You yearn to hear another person’s voice, simply talking to you, and to hear your own voice talking to another. Not over the phone, but the real, actual voice. And you wish that you could reach out of this bubble of silence. But when even the closest of human interaction comes; a call, a text, you don’t feel like responding. You don’t feel like making that effort, and so you ignore it.

It’s such a dilemma.

Tea – fish patty

I think the food manu has come one whole circle.

Dinner – pasta, chicken, bread rolls, butter, soup, bread pudding.

I hope these are not the only varieties the chefs here have.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

5th September 2021

I am determined to make the best out of the day today. The gloom of yesterday has lifted, partly, but not completely. It’s still hovering over me, ready to descend at the smallest hint of me looking up. But I’m determined not to let it. I know I should, for my own good.

Things I need Ahmed to send;
– Eva
– Vaseline cream
– Dove shampoo and conditioner
– Razor

Breakfast – white bread, pol sambol, potato white curry, fish curry, yoghurt.

Lunch – white rice, chicken curry, ambarella, parippu and some vegetable cooked – I’m not sure what it was, caramel pudding.

Tea – butter cake

Dinner – white rice, parippu, fish, beetroot, bandakka.

I’ve had too much of rice today. I hope tomorrow’s breakfast would not be rice.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

6th September 2021

Breakfast – red rice, parippu, boiled egg, yoghurt.

Lunch – yellow rice, chicken, parippu, cutlet, seeni sambol.

Tea – pancake!

Dinner – was a delight! Soup, bread rolls, sausages, bled vegetables, hash, chocolate caramel pudding!

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

7th September 2021

Breakfast – fish bun, cheese sandwich, fish patty, chinese roll, banana.

Lunch – trying to be biriyani rice, fried chicken, cutlet, boiled egg, ash plantain, maasi sambol, achcharu, bread pudding.

Tea – chocolate puff biscuit.

Dinner – pasta, grilled chicken, bread rolls, butter, soup, watalappan.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

8th September 2021

Lunch – white rice, chop suey, fish, chilli paste, chocolate caramel.

Tea – butter cake.

They said I can go home tomorrow. It got me thinking. Despite it being a quarantine, and being confined to a room, I enjoyed living alone. The fact that I could do anything that I want, at any time I wanted to, without having to be answerable, has been exhilarating. And I imagine, put it into the context of a normal life, where I could go out… how could that have been? I feel I would have understood myself, found myself much sooner, if I had lived alone in my 20s. I had the chance when I took up living in the hostel in my final year, but I think I was still too within my shell, or not confident enough to take up that freedom completely.

I think every person should live alone in their early adult years. It will help them develop their personality much more sooner and better. The Lankan way of parenting, where you look after them no matter how old they are, is actually detrimental. You can be there to support them when they need you, be the shoulder to cry on and all, but not force your every belief and emotions on them. I hope I can do this to Imaad, where he will feel free to make his own decisions, to express himself without the fear of thinking “What will they say?”

I’ve forgotten to write down the breakfast.

Breakfast – white bread, parippu, fish curry, pol sambol, yoghurt.

Dinner – string hoppers, potato curry, chicken curry, pol sambol, fudge.

………………………………………………………………………….

9th September 2021

Today will be my last day at the centre. It has been a soul searching 10 days. I’m still confused about everything that went through my head in the past days, but these few days have also put a lot of things into perspective.

The food hasn’t disappointed me on my last day.

Breakfast – white bread, omlette, sausages, butter, fudge, chicken kanji, yoghurt.

Lunch – mongolian rice, grilled chicken, fried eggs, fudge.

Tea – chinese rolls.

I’ve packed up. The vehicle will be here in 10 minutes. I’m welling up and I feel like I want to cry. I have never cried when I left any of the houses that I used to live in. I was too small when we left Laxana Villa, our ancestral home. And when we permanently left Warakamura, where we had lived for abt 20 years, I only cried because I had to leave Lumpy, my dog. The house in Dematagoda, despite being special because Imaad was born when we lived there, didn’t hold any emotional value. I was waiting to get out of there. I think I was most upset when we left the Samudrasanna house, but the prospect of shifting to a bigger space with a garden was more important.

But today, as I folded my bedsheet, zipped my bag close and checked the bathroom for the final time for anything that was left back, I feel like I’m leaving something of myself in this most strangest of places.

These 10 days would never be repeated. Maybe they were 10 days of my life that I missed when I was growing up.

මතක මාවත් වල ඔහේ සැරිසරන
වියවුල් හිත සොයන්නෙම
නුඹව ද?

අසණි වැසි වැටෙන පොළවට
දිය කරන්නෙම ම’නෙතින් ගැලූ
කඳුළුම ද?

අබලන් මාවතක ආයේ ආයෙත් කැරකෙන රෝදයකට
යට වී පොඩි වෙන්නේම
මගේම හදවත ද?

හුදකලාවට පෙම් බඳින්න,
අඳුරේ අතරමං වෙන්න,
ඇස් වසා ආත්මය ම හිස් අවකාශයට පුදන්න,

ප්‍රේමය,

මා නොමරා මරණ

ලෝකයට පෙනෙන්න, නුඹත් එක්ක හිනැහෙන,
සෙනෙහස අවැසි තැන, මා සමඟ සැනසෙන,
සම්මත මායිම්වල නුඹ අත අරගෙන,
විඩාබර වූ විට මා ලැමෙහි සැතපෙන,
අයිතිවාසිකම් කියන නුඹට ඉඩ දී,
මට යන්න නොදෙන,

සිනසෙන විට අතැඟිලි බැඳ,
හොර රහසේ මගේ දෑස් සොයන,

සෙවනැලි අතර සිට විඳිමි,
අරුත්බර සැබෑ පෙම,
අභිසාරිකාව මම…

අඩි උස සපත්තුවේ
ටික් ටොක්, ටික් ටොක් හඬ
පෙර ගමන් කරයි.

පිටින් බෝසත්, සිතින් සල්ලාල පිරිමි ඇස්
හඹා යයි
පසු පසින් තව.

“ඔහොම නං ඉතිං අපිටත් බරියැ”
වදන් පසු කරයි,
යනෙන තැන.

ඇස් කොනින්, කට කොනින්,
කතන්දර දහසක් පා වෙයි,
උනුන් අතර.

පැත්තක බංකුවක වාඩි වී ඉන්න මා දිහා
හදිස්සියේ නුඹේ ඇස් දෙක,
නතර වී මොහොතකට;
යටින් කළු ගැහුණු,
ඉදිමුණු, රතු වුණු,
ඒ අස් දුටුවේ මා විතර ද?
තද රතු තොල් පෙති වලට ටිකක් යටින්
ලාවට වියළුණු ලේ පැල්ලමක්,
දුටුවේ මා විතර ද?
වමතේ බැඳි ඔමේගා අත් ඔරලෝසුවට යටින්,
වියළී ගිය කැපුම් ඉරි,
දුටුවේ මා විතර ද?

එක් නිමේෂයකින්,
ඔබේත් මගේත් දෑස් යාවී කළ කතාව
තේරුණේ අපට විතරද?

ඒ,
ඔබ මා නිසාත්,
මා ඔබ නිසාත් නොවේ ද?

And I cried,
standing in the middle of my own bedroom,
until the sobs took over my whole body,
and I lost my voice,
left only with a hoarse sound,
trying to keep my breath.

And as my body lost its strength,
I crunched, down to my knees,
and a moan engulfed me,
filled the lonely room
with my voice, but not mine,
familiar, yet strange,

The sound transformed into a scream
that knocked off the silence,
bounced off the walls,
and tried to escape to the night.
But the windows were shut.
So it echoed back to me,
My scream;
which was mine, yet not mine.
And wrapped itself around me
as I shrank further to the floor.

The solid cold of the cement was inviting,
I wanted more of that cold on me,
more of it to touch my bare skin.
one by one, my hands ripped off the clothes;
my shirts, my bra, my jeans
– I stopped at my panty, was it alright to be completely naked?-

While part by part more skin touched the floor,
my screams had reduced to sighs,
my body, crunched into a ball,
the cold floor soothing me, calming me.

My fingers trace the lines of scars,
long lines that snake my inner thighs,
Hidden, Secretive, Where no one sees.
The lines had grown over the months,
more in number,
more in depth.

My fingers try to smooth down the dry skin of the latest one,
and it comforts me.
My foot flexes, toes spread,
I straighten my legs, one, then the other.
I stretch my body and roll over,
forehead touching the floor.
My nipples grow hard on the cold cement,
a staggering difference to when it’s
squeezed, or pinched, or bit.

My body screams in silence,
wanting to be heard,
No, to be listened to rather.
Just like when my mind, my thoughts, my dreams, my hopes,
all want to be listened to.

Tomorrow, they will be back;
my family, my friends, and the whole world to which I play my role.
Tomorrow, the madness will begin all over again.

But tonight,
the cold cement floor soothes me,
comforts me,
will keep me safe.
Just for tonight.

And through her wild hair sunlight crept,

turning the dark brown into a deep red.

A wildness on fire;

Unruly and Red

snaking into a glorious mess,

which she tries to pile up at the top of her head,

But fails.

As it comes tumbling down, framing her face once more.

her soul, flowing though every strand,

Seeking,

Beyond the pain,

Beyond the emptiness,

A touch that would heal,

A caress that would ignite,

A pair of wings that would carry this wounded soul away.

Her hair spreads, red tangled tresses,

locked together, moving apart,

crossing over burns and scars,

Seeking, ever more.

Consuming all that is her;

her lips, her eyes, her skin and smile.

A wildness that cannot be contained.

With a life of its own, it tugs at her,

whispering words of ancient wisdom

that for eons,

murmured through the trees and fluttered in the breeze,

that hid among the sands of desert and beach,

to be unearthed when it was time.

She listens, to each tug of each strand,

and sets it free;

Red, wild and tangled,

the glorious mess of her soul.

Have you ever seen us like this,
Moving ahead, like one body, in one voice?
Have you ever seen us like this,
Unafraid to call out, to make a noise?

Today, we are the ocean,
wave after wave, hitting back at you.
Tonight, we are the sky come alive,
A power about which you never knew.

Do you rest peacefully at night?
Do our shouts lull you to sleep?
Do our faces appear in your dreams?
Do our hopes fall at your feet?

You play all your cards,
You throw all your darts,
You pounce at our hearts,
But we don’t give a fart.

Because,
Tomorrow,
Tomorrow, we will grow larger.
Tomorrow, we will be louder.
Tomorrow, we will be stronger.
Tomorrow,
Yes, tomorrow,
Tomorrow, we will conquer.

They fucked her.

One by one, they came in line
and ravished her , raped her.

Bit her lips till they bled,
Sucked her breasts till they ran dry,
Clawed at her skin till blood oozed out,
and fucked her. Hard.

Amidst her cries, tears,
Pleading them to stop,
to let her live.

Pleasure reached the pinnacle.
The height of orgasm,
As their fingers wrapped around her slender throat,
Her voice hoarse,
Their panting loud.
Climax.
As the vile poison flowed into her.

Spent.
Yet, still unsatisfied,
Not wanting to let go,
They passed her on to the next in line,
And so it continued.

One after the other,
One by one,
Until another chance came circling back,
They went on, and on, and on.

While Lanka cried,
And Lanka bled.

4th April 2022