The average Sri Lankan - part one

One of Hubster's good friends visited us today. After a round of chitchat and tea the conversation turned to the word 'appachchi'. The friend's idea was that anyone is free to call their fathers any name they wanted, as we are one Sri Lankan nation and there should not be an up country-low country division. 

True. We agreed. There should not be an up country-low country division. It's not as if we don't have enough divisions already. But here's the catch. Lately everyone I've met seems to be calling their fathers appachchi. Even those who addressed their fathers thaththa or some other denonym. Most of the little ones are taught to call their dads appachchi these days. I even know a family with two boys out of whom the elder calls their father thaththa and the younger calls him appachchi. I also have friends whose whole generations have called their fathers appachchi. They are the authentic ones. For me, I call my dad thaththa and my son calls Hubster thaththa and none of these posh name calling for us thank you.

Which is what I first thought it was. A fad. The new posh thing. But today, while talking to our friend, I realised, while it may be posher to call your thaththa appachchi these days, for the average Sri Lankan there's a bigger, almost subconcious reason for it. Racism. The sudden Sinhalese uplift. It's more Sinhalese to call one's father appachchi. They are embracing their true Sinhalese selves.

This is how the BBS and the RB and the whatnot are stealthily, sneakily snaking into the subconscience of the populace.

It's mastermind, that's what it is. Also kind of sick, in the worst way possible.

Also, oh please!

Thirty going on seven

I will be thirty years old in about another half an hour. If I were living in Australia or China I would be thirty already.

A few years ago, thirty seemed so old. Practically ancient. And I thought that I would have my act together by then.

Turns out, not so much.

When I was young(er), I wanted to be a surgeon. A female McDreamy if you will. Then I worked at a bank and there were no specific dreams as such. Then I wanted to be a judge.

Today I was thinking about all those things as Baby and I took a nice evening stroll and I realised that throughout I always wanted to be a writer. The thing is that as I go about my day, everyday I make up stories. They maybe brand new ones, different endings to things I face, alternative endings to books and movies long after I'm done with them. I even make up sort of epilogues for books I read and movies I watch about what happens to the characters afterwards.

Today it hit me. What an idiot! If only I had written these stories down, the collection I would have amassed by now.

What am I now? I like to think that I'm on the path of becoming a home maker. What about all your education, people are quick to ask. So what about it? I will still use it. Just at home.

I cannot in all certainty say that I will never work outside home again. A time might come where Darling being the sole provider will not be enough. One can never tell. Even if we had to scrape through I am happy to be home raising our son. I surprise people when I say that. I think I was the most surprised when it dawned on me. That I want to be a stay-at-home mom and home-maker. It is something that I never envisioned for myself.

Why then?

Beacause I want to make and bake and sew and garden and grow our own veggies and have chickens and have a cow and make cheese and write stories and most most importantly raise my son.

That is what I want. And looks like this dream is here to stay.

You with the devious eyes

You, with the devious eyes
Spare me a glance.
You, with the devious eyes,
Looking everywhere but at me.

You, with the sincere smile,
You, with the mischievous grin,
Merry making with your friends.
Moving like a hurricane,
Around me,
Wrecking havoc in my heart.

You, with the devious eyes
Spare me a glance.
This treacherous heart
Yearns for but one simple glance.

You, with the devious eyes,
Spare me a glance.

Bit**ing

I have this habit. I tend to bitch about people. No. I don't usually use bad words, but in this case it's the only one that fits.

If someone does something that I don't agree with, don't like, that makes me uncomfortable etc etc I talk bad about them with those who are closest to me.

The worst is that I bitch about my closest with each of them too.

I just realised what a bi*** I'm being.

It's not cool. It needs to be broken.

Also why waste life complaining about one person to another.

What if I found that someone was bitching about me to another. I would be heart broken. So would the subjects of my complaints.

Phew!

Self criticism and finding that one falls short of ideal is never easy. But well, here I am bitching about myself and not another.

It's a start right?

The downward spiral : dealing with depression

This is a post on something rather private. But as I realise that there a lot out there who might now be in the little dark hole I was sometime ago, I get a strong compulsion to share this.

After Baby was born, I was diagnosed with post partum depression. I was weepy, crying at the drop of a hat, constantly worried about the baby, getting angry for no apparent reason, again bawling my lungs out for no reason and having strange, terrible thoughts. Worst still, feeling guilty about those terrible thoughts.

Initially, I considered them to be normal baby blues. But as time passed it only got worse and I had to seek medical help.

The first doctor went to gasped as I described my thoughts to her, which I thought was rather unprofessional as she was a psychiatrist specialising in such things. I did not go to her again.

Later an aunt of mine who had also suffered from post partum depression directed me to another doctor who was kind enough to assure me that what I was going through was normal and that many new mothers go through the same. What was important was that I sought help.

What I wanted to share was not only the above. What I wanted to tell you was, don't give up. Don't give in. Be defiant.

Whether it is post partum or depression of another kind, you can get through this. People will say all sorts of stuff. Let me list some out for you.

1. What do you have to be depressed about?
2. You were brought up so pampered that you can't deal witjlh it when you hit a rough patch.
3. You are loved by everyone so much, how can you be depressed?
4. If only you were a little more religious!.
5. I think voodoo would help.
6. I know this person who was depressed and electric shock thrapy was the only thing that helped. Maybe you should try it.
7. Are you sure you need medication? Can't you handle this on your own?

Here's the deal. They mean well. It is just that they have probably never been where we have been and hence have no idea what we are talking about. They are also worried that we might be mental and are secretly terrified.

Nope. Just because someone is depressed it doesn't mean that the last cookoo is about to leave the nest. It doesn't mean that we will become axe murderers. Or the seven psychopaths. (on a side note, how cool is that movie?)

So what I'm trying to say is this. Let the people talk. Let them offer their unsolicited opinions. Don't let it bother you.

Count your blessings. Trust me, it helps. Write your thoughts down. Build stuff. Cook. Sew. Crochet. Knit. Paint. Draw. Write. Doodle. Sing. Dance. Exercise. Go for a walk. Take pictures. Whatever that takes you to your happy (or less depressed) place.

But most, most importantly DECIDE TO BE HAPPY. Happiness does not come easy. You have to DECIDE to be happy.

Stop obessessing that you're depressed. The more you worry about it, the more you get depressed. The more depressed, the more you worry. It's a viscious cycle. You have to break it somewhere.

Start right now. DECIDE TO STOP BEING DEPRESSED. DECIDE TO BE HAPPY.

Also, seek medical help. It can do wonders. Trust me. I know.

P.s.
This is not a medical blog or a medical article. I'm neither qualified nor experienced to offer medical advice. This is just to tell you what worked for me.

Rock-a-bye baby

Everytime I put my baby to sleep I sing him a lullaby. I keep on singing it until he dozes off and then I just hum it in an undertone.

But every single time, up until he finally falls asleep, even with his eyes closed, Baby protests having to go to sleep ( at least I thought so). He always goes "gnnnnnnnn" or "mmmmmmm" or " ahhhhhh".

Today, while I was putting Baby down for his morning nap Darling said "stop humming". I looked at him in wonder. What did he mean? Did he not want me to sing to the baby?

"Trust me". He said. "Just stop humming for minute".

I stopped humming. So did Baby.

I started again. So did Baby.

All this time he had not been protesting at all. He had been singing and humming along with me.

New resolutions

After Baby was born I've been kind of slack lately. I take care of him and that seems to be pretty much all I do. I've been told countless times by loved ones that I better get back to my usual self and not be a lazy, fat person who (in a moment of insanity) cut her own long hair short.

I have to start doing many things. I have to start taking care of myself. I just realised that I don't want Baby to have slob for a mother or for Darling to have a slob for a wife. They deserve better. I deserve better.

So it's time to start making some changes. Starting tonight. I thought if I write this and send it out into the universe that it might help me.

So what am I going to do?

For starters, work out everyday. Secondly try my hand at some craft project every day. I don't necessarily need to finish one every day, just make something.

Above all else, I just want have strength of mind.

P.s also hope that my hair will grow back faster.