11:45am, Christmas morning. The sky is just a heavy dark grey mass of shit. The streets of Wattala are a little quieter than normal, the majority of people celebrate Christmas in this suburb: the shops are closed, people waking up late at home, fielding phone calls from relatives abroad, enjoying kiri bhat (milk rice) and lunu miris (chili paste; also known as my lesson in "tastes good going in, burns on the exit").
I'm grumpy because some mosquitoes infiltrated my net last night, and the undersides of my feet itch like crazy and my forehead looks like someone hit me with a teeny weeny hammer in several places. My uncle comes up to me and says cheerfully: "Good morning, putha, shall we light up some crackers?"
My heartbeat races. Can it be that time already? Is this how my calling to join the revolution on the streets starts? My uncle, a sleeper cell, can so callously ask his nephew to join the worldwide fight against white supremacy? Should I go get my ski mask and AK? I'm about to say, "yeah, let's get those fools," when he pulls away the newspaper wrapping from the object in his hand.
Oh, firecrackers.
12pm. BOOM! Wattala and the neighborhoods beyond my auditory reach explode in a loud and smoky celebration of Jesus and gunpowder. It's great. I think about the people on the trains, leaning out the windows and yelling inside the tunnels, and I make a monkey face and make a monkey sound. I don't know, I guess monkeys would probably do the same if they didn't realize that everyone around them was planning to light firecrackers at the exact same time. They'd probably also hurl their poop at everyone, but I'm waiting to get a little more solid.
As the explosions continue, I think about how last time I was here in 2007, I don't remember that happening on Christmas. My uncle reminds me that at the time, as the war was ratcheting up, the government in Colombo was on edge, and the celebratory fireworks were most likely prohibited.
Today is a day of visiting people and getting lots of fried foods and sweets forced down your throat. Rich cake, coconut rock, sausages, more rich cake, cutlets (Jacob, your heaven), pancake rolls, eat eat, finish it, have some more, why are you not eating?
I'll leave you with a proposal to the late George Carlin. I read the Daily Mirror yesterday, and I did not see my reflection. Bummer. But I did read this article entitled "SL has been able to overcome post war hazard - Gotabaya."
SL being, of course, Sri Lanka.
Gotabaya, being Gotabaya Rajapaksa, the Defense Minister and coincidentally, President Mahinda Rajapaksa's brother, Minister of Economic Development Basil Rajapaksa's brother, Speaker of the Parliament Chamal Rajapaksa's brother, Member of Parliament for the Hambantota district (whose shady, multi-million dollar international airport brought in an "excuse me? WTF" revenue of Rs. 16,000 - $120! - last month) Namal Rajapaksa's and Director of Sri Lankan Airlines Shameendra Rajapaksa's uncle, Sri Lankan Ambassador to the US (thank you for my visa) Udayanga Weeratunga's cousin, among others, as well as a supporter of the nationalist-fascist group Bodu Bala Sena and architect of the Sri Lankan army's "kill LTTE leaders and cadre who surrender" policy at the end of the war. I apologize for that long, run-on sentence.
Post war hazard. The article says:
(here's the link in case the video above doesn't appear)
The crackers are still being lit up as I finish this.
I'm grumpy because some mosquitoes infiltrated my net last night, and the undersides of my feet itch like crazy and my forehead looks like someone hit me with a teeny weeny hammer in several places. My uncle comes up to me and says cheerfully: "Good morning, putha, shall we light up some crackers?"
My heartbeat races. Can it be that time already? Is this how my calling to join the revolution on the streets starts? My uncle, a sleeper cell, can so callously ask his nephew to join the worldwide fight against white supremacy? Should I go get my ski mask and AK? I'm about to say, "yeah, let's get those fools," when he pulls away the newspaper wrapping from the object in his hand.
Oh, firecrackers.
12pm. BOOM! Wattala and the neighborhoods beyond my auditory reach explode in a loud and smoky celebration of Jesus and gunpowder. It's great. I think about the people on the trains, leaning out the windows and yelling inside the tunnels, and I make a monkey face and make a monkey sound. I don't know, I guess monkeys would probably do the same if they didn't realize that everyone around them was planning to light firecrackers at the exact same time. They'd probably also hurl their poop at everyone, but I'm waiting to get a little more solid.
As the explosions continue, I think about how last time I was here in 2007, I don't remember that happening on Christmas. My uncle reminds me that at the time, as the war was ratcheting up, the government in Colombo was on edge, and the celebratory fireworks were most likely prohibited.
Today is a day of visiting people and getting lots of fried foods and sweets forced down your throat. Rich cake, coconut rock, sausages, more rich cake, cutlets (Jacob, your heaven), pancake rolls, eat eat, finish it, have some more, why are you not eating?
I'll leave you with a proposal to the late George Carlin. I read the Daily Mirror yesterday, and I did not see my reflection. Bummer. But I did read this article entitled "SL has been able to overcome post war hazard - Gotabaya."
SL being, of course, Sri Lanka.
Gotabaya, being Gotabaya Rajapaksa, the Defense Minister and coincidentally, President Mahinda Rajapaksa's brother, Minister of Economic Development Basil Rajapaksa's brother, Speaker of the Parliament Chamal Rajapaksa's brother, Member of Parliament for the Hambantota district (whose shady, multi-million dollar international airport brought in an "excuse me? WTF" revenue of Rs. 16,000 - $120! - last month) Namal Rajapaksa's and Director of Sri Lankan Airlines Shameendra Rajapaksa's uncle, Sri Lankan Ambassador to the US (thank you for my visa) Udayanga Weeratunga's cousin, among others, as well as a supporter of the nationalist-fascist group Bodu Bala Sena and architect of the Sri Lankan army's "kill LTTE leaders and cadre who surrender" policy at the end of the war. I apologize for that long, run-on sentence.
Post war hazard. The article says:
"While claiming that in a post war situation anywhere in the world, soldiers have a tendency to suffer from numerous mental disorders, Defence Secretary Gotabaya Rajapaksa said yesterday that Sri Lanka had been able to overcome this hazard productively.
He also said that, having gone through the cruelty of war, it was essential for the soldiers to be involved in religious duties to recuperate."George, can we add "post war hazard" as the latest iteration of "shell shock"? Less syllables, sure, but soon we'll possibly be using just a sad face and thumbs down emoji to describe "shell shock".
(here's the link in case the video above doesn't appear)
The crackers are still being lit up as I finish this.
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