Baaaaaai!

Hey guys, my latest blog posts have been a bit erratic no? Most of it’s been halfassed jibberblabber if you ask me.

A thousand apologies, for I’ve been swamped with work, leaving much less time to take part in my favourite activity of lying around thinking of ingeniously quirky blogging topics.
And for once in my life, I actually enjoy the work.

In other news, have you heard this new Suraangani remix?

Yeah they’ve taken the audacious liberty of altering a classic… but, am I horrible for actually liking it? I kind of RLY do.
Somehow liking it makes me feel gay. In the metaphorical sense I mean.

What’s that song even about anyway?
Why is he bringing fish for Suraangani? O_o

Well this post is actually just me beating around the bush, till I have to give you guys a sad goodbye for the next two weeks.

My flight’s on Thursday, and I shall be being all spiritual-cleansing in Saudi for a week, followed by another week of being all consumer-shopping-madness in Dubai. Ironic much?

You know what I’m looking forward to most though?
THE AEROPLANE RIDE!
And and.. buying a new camera at the dutyfree!
And walking the wrong way on that moving-treadmill thing at the airport and going, hey look at me I’m doing the moonwalk!
And looking all shifty eyed to see if it’ll provoke the aiport guards into interrogating me (if they haven’t already after the treadmill incident)!
Wheeeee!

I’ll miss the blogosphere terribly though. I will be back with many a tale of my (ahem!) spiritual enlightenment, and how I ran down the up-escalators in a Dubai mall and such.

Don’t have too much of fun while I’m away, my pretties!
Ta!

Edit: I found this only yesterday.
And died and went to heaven listening to it.

The Wandering Eye: unethical or natural?

X: Have you seen A these days? Sheer hotness I tell you.
Y: GASP. Aren’t Tin and you an item now?! And you going and talking about A like that! You sleazy hobag, you.
X: Whaaaat! I’m sure Tin says the same thing when he sees Angelina Jolie or something on TV! Who can blame him?
Y: Chee.

The above is a conversation I had with a friend of mine (Y).
So I’m wondering, is it truly a crime to appreciate the good looks or personality of another person while you’re with someone else?

It’s quite clear though, that most people resent this.
I cannot count the number of times that my women friends (Y especially) have gotten all whiny and depressed when their men have expressed positive views about some beauty at work or a charming woman friend.
Works vice versa as well, with some of the guys getting all grunty and unresponsive when the girl says something nice about another guy.

Sure, I do understand that your better half saying someone else is gorgeous is enough to arouse a bit of possessive jealousy. And if he or she goes on and on about them, it’s potential for possible straying.
But isn’t getting all hoity-toity about a few appreciative comments sort of… insecure?
Everyone knows there are amazing people out there, who may not necessarily be the person you’re with. And just because you appreciate those people for their Adonis genes or talent or whatever, doesn’t mean you love the person you’re with any less right?

I know it’s the most natural human thing in the world that after that first madness-phase of a relationship, after passing the period of not-being-able-to-think-of-anyone-else, and you enter the mutual comfort zone, one may look around and merely notice other beautiful people.
Is that really so avoidable? Objectively, it seems childish to me that one may loathe the idea of their beloved appreciating the truth in another person.
Must loyalty to one cancel out honest perception of all others?

I would think couples would reach a certain mature secure stage in the relationship, where just discussing another person’s attractive characters would seem insignificant.
Still I find my uncle getting all frosty when his wife tells him what a nice man the neighbor is, when they’ve been married for 25 years.

But I digress, the pang of jealousy would be inevitable if Tin should say he thought someone else was amazing or something.
Some childish instinct many are yet to evolve out of? Or like the wandering eye, does possessive jealousy hold just as much license as a human reflex?

See you meyala!

The High Handed Ones were always a sort of clique-within-a-clique back at school.

Three teenage girls who strutted through corridors, cackling boisterously, eating and drinking during class hours, thought they knew exactly how the world works (still do), and they’d spend hours and hours discussing incessantly the philosophies of life, shrieking with fits of laughter and making plans of mad things along the way.

‘You’re very high-handed you know,’ said Missis Eccentric to Mooja, with her signature appalled-old-lady look.
Mooja had argued with Missis Eccentric regarding the meaning of bulletin board. Surely, any grade niner with enough gall to disagree with the most eccentric old english teacher on the staff had to be quite full of themself no? Or atleast quite mad.
She shut up, Mooja did. But you could see the stubborn line of her mouth itching to burst.

‘It was an honest mistake, miss!’ I protested.
‘No no no, this one is the most high-handed of the lot,’ Missis Eccentric said, disgusted with the fact that I’d been so forgetful as to give her the Meeting details way beyond the deadline.
My eyes lowered to the floor, a gesture naturally conceived as that of Shame.
But if you knew me, you’d know twas but to spare poor Missis Eccentric of the ordeal of levelling with a pair of eyes that were flaming with outrage.

I don’t remember how Eccentric labelled Chokka Bunnis as a high-handed little child as well; s’pose it was because she hung out with us, and there weren’t any other ‘philosophical shitheads’ (Saint Muffin’s words) we knew of.

So we became the High Handed Ones, self labelled really. What better way to insult a cruel judgement than to glorify it in its face?

We’d pose for photographs with our palms stretched out high in the air, a cult symbol, a silly play on the term high-handed.
‘Yeaz dahling, we’re qvite arrogaynte, can you not see ze peeg-headednezz in my visage?’ we’d slur in a parodically fake posh accent, eyebrows lifted dramatically, followed by ten minutes of ridiculous side-cramping laughter.

13 years together. And now one of the kindred spirits is parting, an unfamiliar day we’d babbled about but never really anticipated.

Chokka Bunnis, Mooja and I sat on the ledge on the rooftop last evening, rain and wind billowing around us, the sun dipping below the horizon.
Parting is such sweet sorrow. Who said that? Cuz there’s nothing sweet about the sorrow part.
Time to go.
‘Group hug!’
‘Like, aren’t we supposed to cry or something?’
We laugh, the echo of those years of loud cackles through school corridors.

Chokka’s getting on a plane today. Bon voyage to another land, where she will learn to fit into a doctor’s coat, and master a new accent.
‘Ehh, we’re becoming adults no, getting jobs, and going abroad and all.’ Annoyed adults-schmadults-look.

‘Who else am I going to run-up-the-down-escalators with?’ I whine.
Sad looks. Goodbye hugs. Careless humour to prevent formation of boohoo-lumps in the throat.

Chokka Bunnis: Aney I’m gonna miss all your weddings no!
Me: I’ll send you pictures no so.
Chokka Bunnis: Yah you better. Hmph…
Me: Growing up sucks no?
Mooja: Totally, man.

Dear God

What with leaving to Mecca and Medina in a week for 7 days of some, um, ‘spiritual cleansing’ (god knows my soul’s in need of some), I thought I’d write out a heartfelt letter to God.

Dear God,

I haven’t really been so good in the past couple of months. Kay fine, I’ve been sorta bad, possibly for the past coupla years or so. Ya know, spiritually and all.

I kind of don’t even call you so much anymore. Besides that time when I had my exams… and that time when I wanted to pass my driving test… and those instinctive OMG moments… and the quickie thankyous when I got the things I wanted.

And this call-you-only-when-I-want-something-done thing, a habit a whole load of my lot happen to put into practice, prolly even makes you go, man you suck, sometimes.

Actually a review of the past 5 years made me realize that I’ve been progressively dissing you, albeit indirectly. The revelation occured when I stumbled across the 7 Deadly Sins on Google and found out there’s not much on the list that I haven’t been guilty of.

Gluttony: I like food. I’m sorry. I don’t even have a fatso metabolism nor am I manic depressive unless I’m PMSing, but I really just like cholesteroley sugary diabetes-inducing food. And a lot of it. Forgive me for all those full jars of Nutella and cookie cartons I ate all by myself.
Greed: Refer above I ate all by myself statement.
Sloth: I’ve slept 15 hours non-stop on normal off days, enjoy telling people to bring things to me than getting them by myself, and have been called a lazy bum on more than 2013 occasions.
Lust: Uh, well this could get awkward on the blogosphere. Will mail you the confessions ASAP in a more private environment ah.
Envy: Oh I bet you knew right away what a monster you’d created when I put that huge louse in Jimbo’s hair in kindergarten cuz he showed off cool Batman action figures that I couldn’t get. How I made him scratch himself for a whole month. Hee hee.
Wrath: My temper’s one of my biggest human flaws as you probably know. Destined to be a stubborn domineering potty mouth, this is quite likely the most harmful of my sins.
Pride: I talk to my reflection about how cool I am. ‘Nuff said.

So now you’re probably all, Dayumn. You godless heathen, you!
Butbutbuuuuut, what about that time when I housed that puppy, and hugged that friend, and fed that Cookie cat, and gave useful advice, and saved that poor cockroach, and things?!
Those count too, no?

Well even if they’re relatively insignificant, you know I’m not that bad, right? Hey it’s not like I’m mugging old ladies or eating babies or something. That’s got to count for something.

Hell doesn’t sound so fun in the books. Anything worse than the heat in Colombo right now has got to be some nasty shite. And I’m not a pedophile or a psychopath (though some may beg to differ about the latter), so cut me a bit of slack will ya?
I promise I’ll be good next week when the plane takes me to spiritualcleansingland. Really.

Who knows? Maybe when I get back, I’ll be changed. Maybe the journey woulda taught me to be a bit more understanding towards peers, stop putting bugs in people’s hair, quit being such a sarcastic bastard, and maybe even cut down on the Nutella.

Not likely?
Yeah I didn’t think so.

With love up to the sky,
Makuluwo

Interview with a Blahbarian

He gives me an all-important curt nod as I walk towards the table.
With a polite smile, I take out my notebook and apologetically blame the nasty evening traffic for my 5 minute delay.

I pull out a pen and survey him for a few seconds, deciding what my first impression of the fellow will be.

On his face is an expression akin to the man in the picture above.

He misunderstands the look.
‘Do you want an autograph? Heh you could just ask, people always do.’

Uh what?
‘No…?’

Omnipotent smirk.

What a pretentious little ass.

So tell me about your work, I ask.
I count the number of times he uses the words ‘I’ and ‘me’, and lose count.

A few more questions.
‘Actually, I think you’re supposed to ask me about this-’

o_O Um, would you like to interview yourself and email me the Q&A then?

The sunlight bounces off his shiny gelled-to-perfection do. I imagine it catching fire, his composure reduced to a comical running-around-screaming, till I’d have to put the fire out with his milkshake.

‘Is something amusing?’ he asks, uncertain.
I wipe the sadistic smile off my face.
‘Oh no, I was just admiring your Blackberry.’

‘Oh yes. It’s wonderful isn’t it?’ he agrees, glancing at it with fatherly pride.

‘I have to leave in another 10 minutes,’ he says, after another round of yawn-worthy self indulgent rambling.

Oh, so you made me come all the way here to interview you so you could leave in 20 minutes. Awesome.

I ignore a few prepared questions lest the man should argue those aren’t the questions I’m ‘supposed’ to be asking.

Nice to meet you then, tata.
Handshake. Ow, dude, you’re crushing my fingers.

Grabs his coat and rushes off.
I tap my pen on the notebook wearing a -_- expression on the face, that makes the couple sitting at the next table giggle.

I can visualize the headline of the Feature now…
Sri Lankan celeb: charismatic on cameras, pompous in person.

Nah.
Put truth in a magazine?
Whoever heard of such a thing!

eheheHEHEHEHHeheee.

I love you, man.
God you’re so narcissistic.
What? I was just telling you how awesome you are.
Just stfu.
You’re so rude to me.
Only cuz you’re an idiot.
You‘re an idiot.
Smartass.
What does my smartness have to do with my ass?
Idiot smartass.
There’s no such thing.
You’re right. Idiot and smart cancel out and leave you with ASS.
Hahaha! That’s actually pretty funny.
You’re the only one who laughs at my jokes.
Stop grinning like an idiot.
You’re the one grinning. And it’s 5PM and you haven’t brushed your teeth.
I just woke up! And it’s an off day!
In the normal world, hygiene has no off days.
Could you shut up? I’m trying to think.
New experience for you?
Hey, another funny! Standup comedy just might be your thang.
Being a silly cow just might be yours.
Awesome. Shall we go brush my teeth now?
Yah kay, coffee first.

- conversation with my reflection in the mirror.
Is 7 mugs of coffee a day to blame or is that just an excuse for extreme behaviour?

In other news, I’m off to the Middle East next week, for 14ish days.
Mecca and then Dubai! Man, it’s been 10 whole years since I got on a plane. Can’t wait.
Do the air hostesses still give you a shiny new set of playing cards?
I want!

Irony

is that you look your best when you’re in love.

You’re in love and you feel great, so the smile’s brighter, got a weird glow in the face, funky skip in your step, and you feel like dancing and everyone can hear the careless child in you when you laugh…
Which consequently results in appearing so much more attractive to the male species, but alas, your affections are already reserved.

Funny sense of humour you got, mister god.

Fire

It’s always fascinated me, fire.
Bright red and orange and blue and purple flames.
Beautiful and dangerous. Dancing. Taunting, tempting.
And the smell of fire burning, intoxicating. Exciting.
Fire crackers, cigarettes, small explosives, things I’ve loved to play with.
Imagine buildings and vehicles exploding, metal flung into the air like balls of fire, and a roaring fire-monster amidst it all.
Hot and relentless. Beautiful.
An arsonist in the making or someone with a mind too idle?

I’m feeling sick. Flu or something.
And whenever I get sick, for some unfathomable reason, my mind wanders to the strangest places.
And I sit there, mind evading, counting the purple balloon clouds and singing songs that had never been heard.

The hippy gathering

was kinda fun.

All thanks to Finrod for convincing me to go, since I was initially aversed to the idea of risking divulging my true identity.
Cuz you know, the aura of mysterious anonymity is nice to have and all.

Couldn’t stay for too long but while it lasted, twas evidently an interesting tool to voice out varying opinions in public among open-minded people- something that’s not too easy to do these days in Colombo.

I was starving when I walked into the room, but the smell of the arrack-tea sorta offed my appetite completely. Fixed the hungry-problem either way!

Most memorable for me was indi’s ‘Colombo, you’re a coward’ piece, which he will hopefully be putting up online sometime for others to enjoy.

Also quite memorable was this guy’s song on Periods… yes, those periods… and Brandon Ingram’s funny little take on the screwed-up-ness of fairytales. And Natty’s divine singing.

Met a whole bunch of bloggers, though I had no idea who was who, except for Whacko, Finrod and Celestial Dream (who gave me a real life equivalent of her online ‘HUGSHUGS’. Bahaha!), and indi was obviously instantly recognizable.

But besides the first three mentioned above, nobody really knew I was me!
Except for that sneaky bastard who recognized my purple shoes (?!) and went AHA makuluwek! and blew my cover. And then he and his sneaky friend pretended they don’t blog but it was so obvious they were bloggers with well-hidden identities. I’m on to you!

Twas all wonderfully random and silly and useful at the same time, and is very clearly a real-life parallel stage to the Sri Lankan blogosphere: where one can explore and discuss the wide range of thoughts on the minds of modern Colombo inhabitants.

So I do hope Opic Mic becomes a more often occurence.
Up until the point I gather up the courage to take the mic some day myself, and maybe even say things that don’t make people boo or snore.
Hey it doesn’t hurt to dream!

Passion

Obsessive
Compulsive
Impulsive, destructive
Consuming all terrain
Poison on the brain
Wanting its end
Wanting it endless
Confusion and craving
Profusion, consuming
Possessing the soul
Clawing the mind
Withering, burning
Flames of yearning
The victim doth learn
Though Love burns irate
It cannot compare
To the passion of Hate.