Postcards from Sri Lanka: R.I.P. Peter

*disclaimer* 90% of my job is writing, and I love it. But it’s not just writing, it’s use-all-you-non-existent-research-thesis statement-full out-university paper- kind of writing. It’s not easy that’s for sure. Keeping this in mind, I couldn’t be bothered putting too much thought into the below. You’ve been warned. And don’t come nit picking to me if things don’t make sense ;)

It’s totally been awhile since I’ve blogged, and it’s not even as if there’s nothing blog worthy going on either. There’s plenty, but I wanted to wait until I had something a little bit more interesting other than work to write about ;)

First order of business. Peter’s dead. And I wasn’t the one who killed him. I swear. Although there were a few close calls mainly in the area of him being on the bathroom floor and me not noticing him. But Peter was murdered in cold blood. We have a little frog who likes to hang out in the bathroom during the evenings, and he’s creeepy I hate it when he’s in there, mainly because I’m frightened he’s going to jump on me. Anyways, I’ve noticed that since the frog has been around Peter has been absent, my only conclusion is that the frog ate Peter. I’m not even going to dignify him with a name.

Of Movies
I’ve never been to a theatre in Sri Lanka before, and I was dying to see a movie before I left. When Aiya was here a movie called ‘One Shot’ was being promoted for release. We didn’t know all that much about it, but the posters were hilarious. Hilarious enough for us to have taken pictures of it. (And due to the lack of a fast internet connection, these pictures will not be posted, but you’re all more than welcome to see ‘em when I get home.) It was all that hard convincing Nilanga to come along with me, she’s always game for going and causing an unnecessary ruckus, because really I had no expectations of this movie whatsoever. Yeah it blew. But my fellow movie watchers, they made the experience for me. People were throwing stuff at the screen; during really dramatic moments someone would yell something obscene and everyone would laugh; the fight scenes were the best though, along with the cheesy on screen sound effects some yobos decided to make their own ;) I know it sounds as if it would have been irritating to watch a movie with such a crowd, but it was so much fun. It helped that I didn’t care too much about what was going on screen. I mean come on, it was 3 hours long, I fell asleep in the last 45 minutes. But what do you honestly expect? It wasn’t a Hindi movie!

Of Music
I was saddened that I wasn’t able to buy X&Y before I left home. And nothing from our neck of the woods gets released here in legitimate form until waaaay after. So it was with a heavy heart that I went to my local pirated DVD store to find out if perhaps they might have ripped copies of X&Y, lo and behold they were expecting a shipment by the end of next week! So my name’s on a waiting list, and next Friday will be a very good day. I was going to be cheeky and ask them if they also had the new Gorillaz album, because as I said previously, Damon Albarn was my first brit-pop boyfriend, and come on, DJ Danger Mouse AND De La Soul both collaborated on it. It’s impossible for it to suck.

Of Life
One of the many great things about my job is that it lends me a sense of normalcy. I love what I do and don’t dread waking up in the mornings, even though I’m very poorly paid, my level of job satisfaction is 110%. I’ve had some pretty lucrative summer jobs comparatively speaking, where the money was amazing, but I disliked my work. Couple this feeling of work induced euphoria with being in a totally different country, and it’s a pretty sweet equation. On weekdays when I’m going to work, the tourist inside of me shrivels up and dies. Suddenly, and unknowingly I become part of life here in Colombo. To think about it is so strange.

On my way home from work the owners of the little stores I pop in at all know me and have something nice to say. The guys at the gothamba roti stand try to teach me how to count in Sinhala, while I teach them phrases in English, and if they’re in good spirits sometimes French too. The little girls at the ‘convenience store’ (aka a large dimly lit wooden box crammed with all sorts of things) where I buy long distance phone cards always want to examine the broach or pin I’m wearing. Let’s not even start with my friends at the DVD stores, they know me rather well and we always have a little chat on a myriad of different topics. I’ve even made some charming friends at the fabric store as well, but that’s really thanks to ammi and the wardrobe makeover she’s receiving from me. But all of this changes on the weekends, when I once again become a tourist

The traffic which I find so irritating on my way to work, and on my way home suddenly becomes charming on the weekends. On Saturday and Sunday, it becomes the fascinating hustle and bustle of a metropolitan city in the developing world. Even the smells and the dirt which make me want to hurl Monday to Friday become bearable because after all they’re a ‘new cultural experience.’ It’s funny how inadvertently easy it is to totally make everything politically correct. Things that I would normally turn my nose up at in Toronto suddenly become acceptable in Sri Lanka because it’s not ‘nice’ to impose my cultural expectations on a culture so far removed from the one I’m used to. Talk about receiving a solid liberal arts education huh?

Of Travels
I’m heading down south for the weekend! Hopefully there’ll be much to share when I get back to Colombo.

Postcards From Sri Lanka: Fanta

A feeling of melancholy washes over her; the notes of a once favourite song invade her ears from a passing car on the road. She is seated under a ceiling fan in a poorly ventilated cafe on the side of the road, trapped in a reverie unable to come to terms with the sudden surge of emotions that are whirling about inside her. Finally she gives in. Trishaws buzz by, the horn of a truck blares. Beads of condensation on the bottle in front of her drip down in a steady stream.

She always preferred to drink out of a glass bottle.

Although she sits there in stillness she has been transported to another time and another place, a summer passed away. Eyes are open wide but she sees nothing. Her ridiculously inappropriate shoes don’t stop her from feeling the coolness of the earth, under her bare feet she is being tickled by the green blades of grass. The taste of fruit punch from a home-made popsicle lingers in her mouth. The red kind. She is eight again, sitting under the shade of the big maple tree on her front lawn. A copy of ‘Where the Red Fern Grows’ from the public library has been cast aside carelessly beside her. A self-congratulatory smile plays on her lips as she turns her gaze towards the other end of the street. Her brother (who had been playing baseball all afternoon) drinks thirstily from a bottle of water like someone who had been lost in the desert for days. He drinks greedily, completely unaware of the fact that she has backwashed into the bottle.

“Mind if I take a sip?” he asks, breaking her out of her reverie. The noise of the street fills her ears, the air is heavy with the smell of diesel oil once again.
“Here, you can have the rest,” she said picking up the bottle and taking a quick sip.
“Thanks.”

She is eight again and a smile plays on her lips.

Fanta from glass bottles were never meant to be shared. Her brother is again blissfully unaware.

Not much is really going on. It’s the weekend and I think I’m going to bum around. And no, I’ll never reveal to you the song from above. One hint though, think Salt ‘n’ Pepper. Remember, they never play any good music here.