It was approaching Valentine's day. I didnt quite understand the colossal hype the newspapers attributed to this day. I failed to understand the link between chocolate and love, which was commonly understood, with the single exception of myself. Why heart- shaped chocolates? why not heart - shaped something else...like ...like... pol roti or heart- shaped rulang toffees? As my understanding on the subject of love and its obvious connection to chocolates was limited I sought clarification from Codey who claimed to have been in and out of love a few times in his life.
I found him under a tree, nose buried deep in the volumes of "Great Expectations'' by Charles Dickens. It was not like Codey to be reading literature when his exams were around the corner, unless influenced by some blessed old girl he was dating or planning to date. He confirmed my theory on his reading habits by saying he was sat a talking to an interesting girl in the bus who seemed to have a fascination for Dickens and he needed to know what the dickens it was all about. I seized the moment and ventured forth with my question on girls and love. I was disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm when he tut- tutted me away by saying I need to be in love to understand it and not to waste his time on trivial pursuits which, in any case, I am not adult enough to understand.
March 1998
The loud, raucous cry of locusts echoed in the still, silent night; their incessant chatter was as if to rebuke the rain gods for their tardiness in heralding the rainy season. I wondered how they could all chatter at the same time, when the the inmates of number 33, St Mary's Lane, Mt Lavinia, didnt seem to have a word to utter to each other. We' ve all been sitting out in the verandah after a heavy dinner, to escape the sweltering heat inside the house. My household believed in a heavy dinner, as none of us generally had time to grab a decent breakfast or lunch. I wished we could have a big breakfast instead of dinner. I only had my glass of milk for breakfast today. No wonder I can't concentrate too hard at school, my mind is always wandering, especially during history lessons. I blame it on the dietary habits or the lack of supplements to keep me going during day time. My mind wandering habits, leading to bad grades, therefore is a causal reaction of having less breakfast and more dinner. I wonder what'll happen if I voice this opinion.
From where I was perched, I could see my brother, Codey, dozing off on his chemistry book. Everybody in the household thinks he is brilliant and I am always encouraged to follow his leadership. This is a task for me, because I didnt hold the same opinion as others on the IQ levels of Codey. Don't get me wrong, he has brains and all, but my argument is that he doesn't have enough to be in the region of 'brilliance'. Besides, where I come from, intelligence is relative. It's relative to how the neighbour's son performs or to how your cousins perform in relation to you. So if all of these so called benchmarks are underperformers and one performs better than them, then one is considered brilliant. This is how Codey gets his ratings.
The sounds of silence was suddenly interrupted by my mother, who got up from her sewing and while on her way to the pantry asked everyone if they wanted coffee, quite as an after thought. I don't understand how anyone could have steaming coffee at a time when beads of perspiration oozed out of every known gland in your body. Everybody wanted coffee, and they looked at me with a quizzical look, that I felt I was under silent duress to nod in the affirmative. It is quite a clan thing, if one wants something or does something in this household, all are expected to follow.
From where I was perched, I could see my brother, Codey, dozing off on his chemistry book. Everybody in the household thinks he is brilliant and I am always encouraged to follow his leadership. This is a task for me, because I didnt hold the same opinion as others on the IQ levels of Codey. Don't get me wrong, he has brains and all, but my argument is that he doesn't have enough to be in the region of 'brilliance'. Besides, where I come from, intelligence is relative. It's relative to how the neighbour's son performs or to how your cousins perform in relation to you. So if all of these so called benchmarks are underperformers and one performs better than them, then one is considered brilliant. This is how Codey gets his ratings.
The sounds of silence was suddenly interrupted by my mother, who got up from her sewing and while on her way to the pantry asked everyone if they wanted coffee, quite as an after thought. I don't understand how anyone could have steaming coffee at a time when beads of perspiration oozed out of every known gland in your body. Everybody wanted coffee, and they looked at me with a quizzical look, that I felt I was under silent duress to nod in the affirmative. It is quite a clan thing, if one wants something or does something in this household, all are expected to follow.
Thursday, Decmber 28th 1998
My best friend Clyde lived a couple of houses down the lane. They lived on a beautiful two story house by the beach surrounded by white parapet wall that runs all the way to the train tracks. From Clyde's room balcony we could see the ocean waves crashing into the golden beaches of Mt Lavinia. The Mt Lavinia Hotel stood majestically to the north and the modest skyline of the Colombo was vaguely visible distantly to the south. In the evenings, as the sun sets, the beach bustled with people engaged in a variety of activity. Our parents forbade us from going to the beach without parental supervision, but from the balcony - our crow's nest - we observed everything that went around in the area. It is on this balcony we schemed various plots that included everything from spying on Clyde's older sister to securing world domination.
Sunday, 25th December 1998
Christmas Day. Uneventful except for Susie and her mother's visit. They brought a plate of cakes and other goodies as they have done on every Christmas for as long as I can remember. But they were gone before I was able to change, comb my hair and make an appearance.
Sunday, 24th December
I knew something was not right when I woke up in the morning. If things were normal I should have only woken up whilst been kicked out of bed. As my senses powered up, I noticed things were in fact far from normal. The bed, sheets and the air all felt different, cleaner, softer than what I was used to. And a white florescent light shone brightly down on me; a far cry from a darkness of my dingy bedroom I have woken up to as long as I can remember. It took a minute or two for my pupils to get adjusted during which - despite the excruciating pain on my right hand - I managed force myself into seated position. When my eyes finally adjusted to light I couldn't believe what I was looking at. Standing there was Suzanne carrying the little poodle in one hand, still with the stupid bow tied around its neck and what appeared to be a plate of goodies in the other. I was convinced I had died - but wasn't quite sure if I had gone to heaven or hell.
Saturday, 23rd December 1988
I would probably never know what my sleep capacity is. The dictatorial regime that run the house has decided that it's citizens must be up and engaged in "useful" work by 8am - even on the Saturday of the Christmas weekend. Considering I am kicked out of bed by 5:30am on school days, can't say I am not grateful for the additional two and a half hours - but given the chance I could probably, and would love to, sleep till noon. Fortunate, today, my useful work assignment was outdoor which I preferred for various reasons. Soon after breakfast I was given a machete and instructed to chop down a branch of our mango tree that was hanging precariously over the tile roof amid the strong protest from the second-in-command who thought I was too "skinny" for the job. She blamed my lack of strength on my eating habits. But my father insisted the "boy could do it". My brother who was two years older was exempted from doing chores due to exams coming up next year. But instead of studying that morning he decided to keep himself entertained by watching me climb the mango tree, hoping no doubt, that I will land on my face.
The Mango tree is my perch from which I could get a bird's eye view of the vicinity. I could easily engage in espionage into three neighbouring gardens. I didn't quite understand why the household members thought it fit to cut a branch off the harmless tree. However I also did not want to contest the majority vote cast on this matter. Any protests would fall on deaf ears. Once atop the tree, armed with machete, I looked into the Bartholemeuzs' garden. I could see Suzanne stroking and talking to that cat with the ridiculous bow. She was in the shortest of red shorts. Creamy white legs and short red shorts. Suddenly my task became difficult. When her eyes started moving, I focused on my job and started axing the branch with vigour and vitality I didn't think I possessed seconds before. It is a difficult task to bludgeon a sturdy tree trunk with a heavy machete, whilst looking macho and strong. May be I should have let Dasa help me. Little beads of sweat crawled down my face. As the branch started to creak and give way, it dawned on me that I was seated on the very same branch that was taking this beating from me. Realisation crept a little too slow. Down came the branch along with me. I could hear a thin wail slipping from my throat all in slow motion. The rest was darkness.
The Mango tree is my perch from which I could get a bird's eye view of the vicinity. I could easily engage in espionage into three neighbouring gardens. I didn't quite understand why the household members thought it fit to cut a branch off the harmless tree. However I also did not want to contest the majority vote cast on this matter. Any protests would fall on deaf ears. Once atop the tree, armed with machete, I looked into the Bartholemeuzs' garden. I could see Suzanne stroking and talking to that cat with the ridiculous bow. She was in the shortest of red shorts. Creamy white legs and short red shorts. Suddenly my task became difficult. When her eyes started moving, I focused on my job and started axing the branch with vigour and vitality I didn't think I possessed seconds before. It is a difficult task to bludgeon a sturdy tree trunk with a heavy machete, whilst looking macho and strong. May be I should have let Dasa help me. Little beads of sweat crawled down my face. As the branch started to creak and give way, it dawned on me that I was seated on the very same branch that was taking this beating from me. Realisation crept a little too slow. Down came the branch along with me. I could hear a thin wail slipping from my throat all in slow motion. The rest was darkness.
Friday, 22nd December 1988
The Bartholomeusz' are getting ready to celebrate Christmas. I can see their colourful Christmas tree from my bathroom louvre. The girl has even donned the cat in a red and green bow made of a curiously shiny material. After a hurried lunch, I sat for nearly an hour beside the parapet wall dividing our garden from theirs, to get hold of that cat. That arduous wait was with the honourable intention of relieving the cat from the misery of having to walk around with a ridiculous bow around his neck. That girl ought to know that she lives next door to an Animal Rights Activist. The poor cat will be the laughing stock of the feline community of Mount Lavinia. He already has a lot on his plate, with a name like 'Cattilac'. I am certain that cat feels quite inadequate and 'lacking', to say the least. This bow will only act as another blow to his already dampened self-confidence. Having empathized with the cat, I have renewed vigour to continue my heroic pursuit of defending cat -confidence tomorrow.
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