Sunday – the South West Monsoon
Sunday. Funday apparently. The South West monsoon has set in so the gloom of rain was very real. It was gonna be a wet day. I got out of bed late. It’s nice to wake up late on some days. These sworn early birds need to get a life. I was happy to be able to sleep beyond 8am – something I have not done in a while. To hell with the circadian rhythm for one day.
Today’s breakfast was pol roti and pol sambol. I had made both yesterday. And they tasted bloody good so I was pleased. I never measure anything so sometimes these culinary experiments go a bit whack. I oiled my head, had a bath, made the roti and ate it all in an hour as I had lectures at 10.30am. The sacred hour of lectures on Archaeology and the technology of Stupa building. It was very interesting and short.
Lunch, Maleficent the sequel (Angeline Jolie looks a stunner, that Aurora looks like Charlotte Church, and the Prince was not my cup of tea but it was a good watch) and yoga. With lockdown and the weather, a vaccine now a week old and general laziness, I had missed exercising for a few days. It was ok you know. But my muscles were silently screaming and I chose to hear them only occasionally. So I did my 1 hour yoga class – struggled through the stiffness and berated myself in the midst of prompts of staying focused and in the moment. I had greedily gorged on a cupcake I had made only about 30 minutes before and it was sitting like a weighted lump of dough in my gut.
The cupcake was really a mishmash of experimentation. I used coffee liqeuer instead of coffee and some wretched Canola oil cos it called for vegetable oil. It turned out moist but Canola raised her ugly head like soya bean oil in cheap mayonnaise. Ugh. Luckily I salvaged it with a decent icing. Butter icing with almond flavour. Added Amaretto for effect and almost ruined the taste. Growl. But it was tasty and I added a maraschino cherry to lend its fake almond taste to the hodge podge. It looked good and tasted decent. Next time Canola can fly a kite.
I had a few missed calls from a known Buddhist monk. Finally he got through to me and I asked him about a book in Pali I needed for my thesis research. He was very helpful and we had a long chat, about life, an incident that took place some months ago and the unnecessary grief it caused him. Coz when laymen allow vices to rule and rue their lives, the clergy are expected to step in and prevent it. Ridiculous. Adult men must learn to behave themselves regardless of their vices. Why the hell is the clergy expected to be the voice of reason? Aren’t these learned men? Sri Lankan men honestly need to grow up.
This was a nice precursor to a chat I was having with another friend. She had shared two clips. One was about how we need to avoid Larry the Lame who is desperate and be after Gary the Good who is not desperate and would therefore not approach you. The other clip was about why single independent women are still single. This was nuts. So basically we are all running on parallel lines on a rail track – Gary the Good Guy and Single Independent Women – and in between you have the wayward Larry the Lame trying to be a sleeperette and literally sleep with you. What a facepalm situation. Got me thinking. I know people who have got married having hooked up on Tinder. Dude isn’t Tinder about sex? How are people getting married on it?? Then I remember the endless accounts on Instagram – the minute you add them, there’s a barrage of likes and a plethora of random Hi messages and other inane questions that would excite a slug. Honestly. Instagram is about sharing pictures – not hooking up. FFS. Growl. The most recent was the case of Andreas Stefan. Now this foreign guy from the looks of his pic, adds me. Has only 8 posts, all model shots and has like 100 something followers. And sends me a Hi. Now the pics are professional shots. This guy is obviously a model. There’s no way in hell that a model who looks like that has only 100 followers. So whoever the fuck Andreas Stefan is, he is not the model. He is some louse who has stolen these pics and set up this account to chat to women. Jeez man. Why the hell aren’t you on Tinder mofo?? That’s where the action’s at. NOT Instagram. Aargh. So right now I am assuming that Gary the Good Guy is on Tinder and Larry the Lame is on Instagram coz with everyone’s wires crossed, I guess it would make sense. Except that Gary the Good is probably waiting for someone to swipe. Or is waiting to make the first move – on Tinder. Haiyo salli.
In the middle of all this I get another call from a relative who is generally approachable and instead we meander into a conversation about another relative needing psychological help but refusing it. I explained that all these things usually stem from your childhood (as explained to me by my psychologist friend and as I have experienced in dealing with my own issues with a psychologist) and he was like, Oh how come? So I explained, our first experiences impact our lives. All our adult issues usually stem from our childhood. I extended this to his own life and his mother and his own failed marriage. This somehow spiraled into a rant and I was accused of being ‘accusatory’ and knowing that this was a raw wound, I had to explain that I understand it hurts but not to deny it. And I said, you should talk to a psychologist. God. The barrage. Honestly. Sri Lankan men – a majority of them – belong in a good asylum which should be renamed ‘denial zone’. Coz talking to a psychologist was never a part of their DNA growing up. Heck, it wasn’t a part of many people’s but you don’t question going to a doctor do you for your physical health? Why the hell wouldn’t you do that for your mind? Till we normalize mental health wellness and mental wellbeing, this denial is going to plague most of our lives. I frankly have had enough.
Reminded me that in between Larry and Garry, would be Siri the Psycho with his baggage of yore. Sorry sunshine. I ain’t your mama. Go fix your damn issues. No one is issues free. And if you can’t fix em, stay the fuck away. I sometimes wish we could tell the adults in our life that.
I am now penning this in silence while listening to a Stairway to Heaven tribute by the Heart sisters and a pretty decent choir. Definitely can do with a stairway to heaven these days. I shall go back to my disrupted circadian rhythm to wake up to some over hyped review call in the morning. For now, the finale for the night is how Superman the original movie achieved the illusion of a man flying. Oh the irony.
