Melonia, its been a week with recovers and collapses.
Melonia, its been just a week of empty pushes, sometimes even not giving up has its own misery through slow death, if its this painful then what’s it like to endure more and more? I really don’t want to know, I guess I just don’t care, its still a minimum to take a step, in trying to get a glimpse again, even though its an impossibility. The last time we met, you teased my motivation to keep going, and yet kept a villainous promise to not make it tougher for me, to let me keep trying. I started to smile slowly from the left side of my lip when I forced the illusionary positivity needed to work on the rest of the year and it was that momentary peace I needed before you took it away by abusing my naivety as a child to make me drag myself into another disconsolate night. I felt the right side of my lip being heavy with cracked lines of disappointment in expecting a difference and yet I go on fighting the imbalances of my muscles cause I sense its still out there. That the louvre light in the form of her is still there, still there.
We are all looking for an alternative to keep us going, to make it easier than the usual air that sickens us. Its strictly alcohol for me and I’m not ashamed of it, I make sure the world knows. No matter how much I hate it deep down, my true self just has to force himself to understand. That’s what it has gone to now, we cling on to the things that disgusts us but we are fine to think its a small toll to pay when it actually isn’t. Just to keep our treasures safe from your villainous promises.
Three straight days of coughing and most of the time, no matter how clearly we write it, its hard to make you believe that the choking didn’t stop even in the slightest. The start of a week is growing to be ritualistic. A sour tasting that smacks your throat with the rotten question of where you are and why you’re here, maybe a few more additions of an upset stomach or a running nose makes you a more worthy sacrifice to the devil. The only energy that pushes you to start your day with the regular 2-hours of sleep comes from the warm licks of buggy, who also is a sad reminder of how you’re pathetically using a poor animal to fill a void. You do the usual by continuing to be the person who frustrated people for not taking better care of himself. I remember how medicating it was when her voice soothes to cure and how it kept kicking my stubbornness to a point that it bowed down to let me get medicine and rest. Didn’t know that you had other plans to inject my darks again, Melonia. Is this what you wanted? I have no memory of what happened on the previous day, neither do I know what I’m supposed to do when I wake up but here’s how artful you were in your injections of misery. Every time I expectorated let it be in the form of cruor or phlegm, you made a feculent humanoid form of me with the wasted exhales, inserted my conscious and made me watch. You made me watch in every repugnant image possible on how I’ve lost or on a simpler explanation that’s thrown at me by most — it was creepy and scary. I saw my mind and body at war, with one fighting for rest from overworking and the other fighting for wake from night terrors, annoying the process was the fever not letting both of them do their jobs. I saw how buggy was sitting in a corner not knowing whether to do his usual wagging crawl towards me or soak in the frightening image of a person’s self-destruction. I saw the sheet which was already too small to warm me, I was screaming for my left arm’s beating started to translate tears (which drove her away) into bleeds, that way I had no sob stories to tell. I saw the shivers continue to grow stronger on my right hand with every gasp followed by a dying word in gibberish, was I whispering her name again out of habit? or was I calling for help? Whatever it was, sounded quite the same. I had enough, I looked away, I’m at that standing now, I can’t look at myself and its for the best. Everything went black, remembering really is such a dangerously worrying place, at one moment when I inhaled, the pictures of those alluring over bitten lower lips and the unruly hair falling in grace and the next moment when I exhaled, they were turning into ash with the last few conversations we had. You’re lost in a carnival of delights and the next you’re in a dampening cold with nowhere to go, that’s what I woke up to and Melonia, thank you for making it what I wake up to everyday, you should be given more appreciation for adding a bit of variety, maybe from the pulchritudinous embodiment of magic to the demand to be forgotten.
Keanu Reeves, says living is only worthy for the happy, why go after it when you’re not. You’re only meant to reflect.
I awakened a thundering headache that started the process of reflection, I sat on my bed and reflected the marvelous dullness of my room in a hauntingly empty house. She tried so hard to keep me away from the deteriorating abode and yet I groveled back to the hellhole as an attempt to strengthen the self-hatred. I stood up and reflected on the red-stained geography book with the crushed pages and scribbled sticky notes on the floor, must have fallen off from the struggle but more than that, another night goes by with a failed attempt to study. I walked in to the hall and reflected again on how I’m living in a house that’s managed to break person after person from any form of life to cherish, every where I turn I see some form of loss ranging from failure to anger; the torn SAT notes barely hanging on the wall reminding a lost cause, the frame of my favorite motivational quote gifted by her questioning a truth, the bucket lists which excited a future that may never be, the novels meant to drive a career that I may never get to. I took a walk and reflected on how I would become a tool for madmen to voice out their famous quotes, let it be from T.Bundy to R.Williams because of how I comprehend them or more so afraid I’d turn out like them. I would have retarded imaginations on how things would go better, wishful scenarios on how I could redeem myself or a zealous place to explain better why I am what I am. Talking to oneself is said to be a sign of an overly efficient brain but mine scares me to believing in a symptom for delusional. I took the last step to get ready for another empty day expecting the sucking to continue and I know I’m ready when I can’t even muster the courage to look at myself in the mirror to wash my face. This is my worst trait of all, being afraid to catch my own reflection.
The slow bus rides are symbolic to how anfractuous my thoughts are, one turn takes me to a calm when done telling myself that everything’s okay and the few seconds of that lasting is used to make a game plan to get through the day, you’re on your toes on every hour of the day and for what? and the next turn takes you on a devastating anchor from the music you listen to on a long thinking process of what you’ve become to be? And suddenly a stop takes you on such a blank where you’re zombified to just keep going with just the image of a deserted road that leads you nowhere. Dozing off for a few minutes from tire and waking up in shock when your current state and a jolt of the bus knocks your head together often bruising your side when you still don’t mind and try dozing again.
Getting off for work in Colombo is a paranoia of its own, being just 17 minutes away from the institution which homes the people who used to be the ones you were trying to fit in with or maybe call ‘friends’ someday, have turned into a group you have disappointed. With a target on my back labeled as a browbeater (a synonym from the word I actually want to use), hassling to the job doesn’t add to a diminishing mentality. Working in a posh English pub is a 8-hour ordeal of its own, not knowing when I’ll have to serve drinks to someone who knows you and dealing with the long questionnaire on why you’re doing the job. Its never a doubt on my part but the side eyes that pinches me.
You meet strangers echoing your name from the distance making you nervous on the question on how they know you and you don’t know them, calling your name knowing you from a reputation that made and destroyed you, saying your name when you’re trying so hard to sit in a corner from the few minutes you find for yourself to write or even breathe. Although that’s not what hits you in your gut the most, it’s the deepening demotivation from how they sympathize the outlook of a rawboned teen with clear signs of sleep deprivation from the charcoal eyes on tan skin and the black lines of anguish from dry lips. The tones of pity along with the subtle tilted head is such a prickling sight to endure.
Right in the middle of work it hits you, it comes in flashes and then hits you with long sighs, fits of trembling taking over your right hand, you bite the inside flesh of your mouth so as to transfer the urge to cry because of how those drops and sounds turned from a humane to a demonic in driving her away. You’re searching for a distraction, inkling for work to tire your mind so as to not think about how you lost perfect! As the sun declares slumber, you begin to feel the hunger that’s taken enough of your ignoring. Its so interesting how we know deep down inside that its wrong but yet you shamelessly do it because yes sure you’re strong…pfft but you’re too tired to keep at it so you let your guard down for a few brief minutes, because your ‘tip’ is only just enough to head back so you start nailing your character to new lows by sneaking food behind the kitchen before it gets to the table. It plays on your morality so hard that you feel the two opposites of an angel and a demon dancing inside your chest, you try to satisfy them both by punishing yourself to push for more work and look for more work. This is when you walk on the line of sanity and get tempted to taste the other side, so you crouch low and sneak in a ‘shot’ and another and another and another till you’ve lost count on volumes but what’s the point, when you’ve got what you’ve asked for and you’re visiting a part of yourself that you thought you’d never see after you’re recovered. Somehow you drag yourself through such demeans and no one knows how much you have to scorch for confidence in what you do, I believe its a conversation for another time.
Trying to get back on a wasted mindset is what destroys the tiny bit of progress you’ve achieved and yet you need it. You first try to brawl with your mind for control, trying to stay out of being completely crocked but just enough to stay out of reality, then the urge to run and to keep running. To feel my heart not being able to keep up with my forced stamina, to feel my heart slowing with the happiness coming in the form of the merciful wind or even her air rubbing my cheeks but settling to not stay in my lungs, to feel my heart finally developing a panic attack from touching the line that keeps me from demise. You get your phone that’s already slipping from your shuddering hand and you start to laugh in all your freakish nature when you realize you have no one in your contact list to call anymore, maybe that’s an excuse, the only one capable of saving you is lost to you and the attack heightens when you accept its your fault. Your stages of grief are all over the place.
I went through a night that I’m shocked to this day on how my personality was capable of it, I was running to catch the bus, buzzed out of mind, with my headphones on and walking behind Royal College at 1 in the morning after work, screaming the lyrics out not caring on what anyone would think because there isn’t anyone around in the first place. How wrong was I to think that I still couldn’t stir a commotion. I ended up getting the attention of a police jeep on a regular patrol, I had no idea what kind of atrocity that made them take a look at me. (maybe I danced too while singing or maybe I just kept screaming louder and louder) I remember a serious check for drugs turn into a mock for their own boredom and that I believe is an unmindful switch to explode in anger, your mind is so hurt bearing the forced control to not care and when its no longer in sense of things, it goes free to do whatever it pleases and I must admit for a brief moment it was relieving even though I hated every bit of it. I remember throwing filthy insults at them going to extents of criticizing their jobs and the hollowness of their lives. I don’t want to go on both in writing and in state. This is not who I am or who I want to be, how did it go to such a state that I let my falls be an outlet for my own compressed hatred, maybe its not, maybe its a blown up frustration that makes me a douchebag. A bus would pass by and another and another, people are packed playing the holocaust in each one, each packed with people suffering to make a living, each too much going on to consider letting scrawny ol’ me to hang on to the foot stand railing. Compelled to pull my chin up and walk the distance towards the station, another 6 km drag, I unknowingly call a poor well-wisher who just started making steps to help you, one of the few people who’s there and about and that’s all I had as a contact to even check up on me. The phone call gets ickier by the minute with the annoying questions on directions and the unnecessary responsibility to keep me from getting hit by something or preventing any public indecencies from happening. I didn’t feel the time when I was walking wayward from my liver not keeping up to break the poison but I felt the time as the call just got cut off and still knowing that, I kept talking to myself with still a distance to go even more so, I started to feel a growing agony in my right thigh from all the running and walking but to be honest it felt like a pain to replace another emotional disaster, another person fades away.
I tensed my eyebrows and clenched my fist till my nails made dents in my palm, I was forcing myself for a bit of sobriety to make decisions to get back and then I saw another as I approached the final bus stand, Melonia it seems there is someone who has gotten it worser than me from your wrath and in that moment I felt like an ass for complaining. I sat next to him on a ledge close to where the buses would stop and after I settled down, it sinked in so fast. The quiet, the isolation, the rough breathing… we didn’t talk at all or even took an effort to exchange a glance. Both of us were buried in our phones with our bags sitting on our laps, with the little I caught from the corner of my eye, he was sick and has been for a few days and the reflection on his eye from the usual teen social media browsing was the same as mine — Aimless. Its one of the most busiest corners in Colombo and yet it seemed like our existence announced the whole world to evacuate just so our misery can be magnified. He seems to have been waiting for a ride back for some time now and he’s on the verge of giving up when he crouched for a nap with his arms crossed pillowing his head. I was feeling a sense of relief for him more than me when a bus started approaching us and with my own intention to get on in haste, I nudged him hard with my bag to wake him and waited till it stopped and then I kept waiting after it whizzed past me. I turned around and caught his face properly this time and he was frustrated more by my nudge than the bus not stopping, he seems to be used to the fact that the buses don’t easily stop but his sleep seems to be something that isn’t too friendly with him which I’m all too familiar with. He was a student deducing from the text books hiding on his lap under the bag and I have no clue why he’s out at 2 in the AM but I’m one to ask when I have no straight answer if that was asked by me. I was feeling even more curious so I went back to sit next to him on the ledge, we still haven’t hummed even in the slightest anything to each other except the simple company of being the only two people in the setting. We weren’t beggars, we weren’t ones who were going to spend the night on the road but our spirits were at their lowest and slowly moving towards a crack. We weren’t losers, we weren’t ones who were partying till late or ones who have gotten into suspicion for activity but our images were being torched by the very confused state we couldn’t answer ourselves. Melonia, its 3 in the morning and there’s no bus, (so much for saving as much as possible) having no choice, I ordered a PickMe, he has given up and yet he didn’t seem to want to move and I couldn’t watch. I broke my silence and with a slight gesture got him to come with me. Still no words exchanged between us except more from just what I perceive through my sights and his limp while collecting himself to get inside the trishaw seemed like it hurt badly even the lightest touch of his foot on the ground yet his flinch showed me how much of it he’s suppressing and it astounded me with respect and a sense of commonality. He directed the driver to stop at the railway station and rushed off rudely yet I didn’t feel the ill-mannerism even after the driver himself questioned my logic in asking for his share of the fare. I may have my own self-worth playing a part but I understood why his interaction was hostile, I understood the coldness but no what hit me most was, I related to that pain and struggle even though I’m oblivious to anything about him, his eyes told a story and that story was important to me in getting closer to understanding her and the world better.
Here’s the last chapter Melonia, the constant in every day of the week no matter how it goes, whether it was a busy day or not, whether it was less griping on motive compared to previous days, whether it was an easier day to breathe from panics or not, the 3 mile walk on the highway is a tightrope dance in asking yourself if you’re delusional to keep trying. Its unbearably irritating, you know you shouldn’t complain cause for one, nobody cares and two, your whines are just annoying. So you hold it in as much as you can inside the bus till you can torture yourself on the walk but the occasional deep sigh, grunt or gasp from an anamnesis just turns enervated heads with glare and the last thing they need is a kid who’s sobbing over something seemingly stupid for his age. Is it really though?
I’m first greeted by the adverting music from an empty teller booth, and at that time no matter what pleasant way its trying to convey banking promotions, it riles my fretfulness to start jittering for the estranged walk. The first few meters are quite calming, the weariness of the day’s work and I think about the day wanting to find the tiniest bit I accomplished just to ease my withering impulses. I make sure my mentality is powered with that minute fortitude to keep pushing, to keep hoping and to keep fighting cause somewhere after at the end of the tunnel, she might be there. Its naturally startling to face a circumstance you didn’t see coming but to face something even after knowing the cruciation that’s waiting for you is simply barbaric. Your own shadow forming out of the high streetlights starts transforming into a fiend that follows you and you’re now someone who’s afraid of your own shadow. The music sinks into you again, harmonious at first, settling into your mind, tickling the lost inner child, its absolutely great since there’s no one around and the whole road is your stage to sing loud and then you got too ahead of yourself, a song anchors you. A song that was introduced to you by her or a song that just understands your language. A few thoughts starts sinking in, you start to feel insecure of the very hope that drives you, guilty of all the wrong you did for the day erasing all the good, angry at the very people you held dear that aren’t there but you still hold dear, frustrated in your own character which used to inspire but now makes people cringe, and finally the dementia that you think still exists because you slowly feel yourself going cold. I’ve started to burn my lungs now Melonia, I guess you’re getting what you want with these little blahs of mine but I guess I abhor it so much there’s control over the consumption or should I say there’s control over how it consumes me, nevertheless it helps with the process. I don’t do it often so it hits me a little more. I seem to take it in very weirdly fashion and I know it too, first the abnormally deep breath that takes the roll by half and the gruesome want to keep it in till your chest is on the verge of exploding. Imagining the ‘what could have been-s’ or ‘what have I done-s’ and fuming till all those pesky questions are grey. Here’s what’s bloodcurling about the human mind though, when you’re attached to another so deeply and when you’re asked to let go and the most eerie of methods isn’t working to stop thinking about that very Evangeline you’re trying to let go off instead she shines brighter for the very blaze you’re trying to remove her with. I’m in awe of your tricks, Melonia, the way you use something so delicate as tranquility as a symbolic weapon to portray spectral destitute, my destitute. Every step I take reminds me of a flashback of how I used to be, from the bridges I pass where I read my guides to the desolate meadows I took refuge in and here’s the impaling shock that gives you the final blow to walk the rest like an incorporeal being, you remember how she pulled you out to a safer ground you deserved, a place you were happy to be, a haven you were safe in and now you’re back to that same abyss you were decaying in.
Without knowing it I’m back, I’ve blankly cantered the rest without knowing it, it seems the more you go through it, the more days and nights spent practicing - the more the pitch dark becomes a normality, nothing scares you anymore and that’s not human. Your legs are already worn to its best possible use yet you need to dig up some strength to jump over a wall to get to your own place even at the last point there’s some way degradation finds a way to follow you. Your mind finally gives up and it enters a realm to give you mirages conjured up from your dehydration, there seems to be floating images in every angle of your vision, doesn’t affect you, you walk past it like the undead, nature hates you for not flinching so the images evolve into figments of the people you lost, still doesn’t affect you, finally nature brutally pulls the card that’d trump you, the shade of her standing there disappointed. With the standing of your hairs, you’re taken apart by your own veins, can’t help but disappoint more by exploding into tears, runs barging inside almost making a commotion big enough to wake up the entire neighborhood, your body’s screaming for water but like your usual messed up priorities you start worrying about punishing yourself for tearing. Your puppy runs in to calm you down with his soft licks and whines but you’ve had enough so you push the poor creature away to walk into the hall that’s in disarray, adding to your disgruntlement is how you don’t have it in you to clean up being OCD thus adding to your slow depersonalisation. Scratching every nook and cranny of the kitchen for a snack is more of a relief than not, as I mentioned before, any form of distraction helps, whatever you find goes as an apology to the pup who’s been waiting for you and that’s the least you could do for pushing away the only living being who’s trying to get close to you. You’re done now, if you were a thermometer you’re melting way below zero unable to hold your ground and yet you need to be civilized before you sleep, so your soul comes out of your body and yanks your lifeless body into the bathroom, quite hilarious actually. Gets better in dark comedy when you just assume that your mindless body would do the necessary cleansing cause you’re at a point where you don’t feel the shower water hitting your face cause you’ve entered a trance and that’s growing to be a big banging headache for the next morning. Pulling yourself out, getting ready for the big collapse, you just stand in the middle of the house, recollecting every tiny detail for one last self-torture, 3 beds in the big secluded house and you collapse on the hard cushioned house, and just waits. You go through the usual feeds in social media aimlessly, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling, nervous in seeing some kind of glimpse of her but there’s no trace. You find the random link that just makes you giggle for something stupid or you snap something stupid just for existence sakes when it hits you that old people may be right in saying social media is a curse. You’re incapable to fall asleep naturally so you have to wait for the exhaustion to devour you and since your mind is free again, she comes again to make you miss her in such a way that it starts to hurt physically somewhere deep inside, somewhere that can’t be touched and healed but on a bright side that pain gets so excruciating that it knocks you out and finally you’re asleep for two brief hours or maybe even less on the days you try to kill yourself in pushing to do a bit of reading but whatever it is when you wake up, the cycle welcomes you with glee to go through it again. Did your hunger go away Melonia, or are you still unsatisfied? Whatever your answer is, you’re winning and I’m happy for you.
Stubbornness and Selfishness, I’m lost in how its tagged into my price but I buy it because of how people used it on me, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or where I’m supposed to go or whom I’m supposed to go to but I do know that I have to keep struggling, to keep pushing and to keep searching. I swear on your incarnate evil Melonia, I will pursue the understanding of the human mind no matter how long it takes or how many many rejection emails I have to read to find acceptance, maybe take on a third job to save money so I can fill in those dreaded forms on my own cause that’s what the world teaches you — you’re on your own. I’ll play by the rules, listen and bow to any harshness thrown at me to an extent where I reject the occasional compliment as well. I’ll find the comfort I need within the pain itself. I’ll train myself to be a sponge and take on various fields of study so as to fit in to a place that I’m actually welcome to be in, it may not be a safe zone or even a comfort space where I can be myself and that’s for the best, it was a privilege to leave it behind with her. I’ll have strict codes to myself in opening up and make sure I’m well drilled to not let emotion slip making the mask that much harder to remove. I’ll push the limits of my own physiology so they don’t get in my way the next time I have to do the thousand mile or even a thousand tasks. I keep telling myself that I’m still a kid and I have so much that I’m yet to realise but I have to be my own adult because of you Melonia, so here’s a brief timeline for a 29 year old me to check if I went down a wrong path which is why I have intentionally written this is in a mix of ‘I’s’ and ‘you’s’.
As of right now my screw ups caught up to me and I lost jobs left and right, one for punctuality and the other for alcoholism (Figures on the second one), I made sure I absorbed as much as I can, took time to take it in and I’m ready to keep trying. I spend most of my time at a local orphanage near the beach side and it has been the very factor I have missed, having personal history and birthday traditions, I guess I went back to origins, a better environment for my pup as well than being cornered by my demons. I have taken a step to live small after being fostered by a family of four who are living on a very tight budget themselves. The humbleness and the innocence is teaching me about basic human nature again and I guess that’s a necessity a branded creep needs to take. I’m more inclined to listen to the stories of people no matter how they come into my life and when the rare chance of someone getting close to me, I make sure I appreciate them in the best way I can through my personal series on Medium before they walk away. I’m helping a talented mother who’s a self-taught genius in crafting bring her work to the public, its a debt I owe in the peace she gave me in teaching me to make my own dreamcatcher and that was a matter of life and death at the time. I’m teaching myself to rewrite my A/L’s in trying for the college hurdle again next year for the same reasons and nothing less but maybe more. I can’t be blabbering like this if my writing isn’t getting better with each article so Language is an option I picked out of the three. Trying to be morally better by adding controls on my drinking problem but that’s a bit tougher than the rest based on essential factors. I’m experimenting on art and photography as another shine for the efforts I take to get another glimpse. I’m not going to run after anyone anymore and at the same time, I haven’t given up on anyone, I’m tired but I’ll keep having the strength to stand and wait right where I am, maybe in time when I’m ready again and when she has healed from my darks and maybe if grounds are formed again to listen for another request to be a person and just a person, I’ll keep hoping, it maybe an impossibility but I’ll fight that too for you. Right now, I just want to sleep, cherish my memories of her, be better, understand better and with every fall that’s about to come, listen better for you. I want to know what I have inside me that’s so broken that I disappear even from myself and to all these questions, I just think my writing is key and I have to keep at it. I want to meet people like me and help them definitely not be me, I want to meet people unlike me and mutually learn for the better. I’m going to look at work as a waiter again and its not because I have low standards but because I want to start growing from the bottom and being invisible have become a comfort zone I can’t seem to get out of. I can learn humility again and just see people from every angle they come in, the side they show openly at the dining table and their hidden self that leaks from doubt. I came out of the house that kept deepening my wounds of self-discovery and I now live in a place with only the basic of facilities, with a room that’s just big enough for my arm’s length and I’m okay, that’s more than I ever got in my own house. I seem to be understanding the meanings of family and what’s it like to have a sibling through the family I live with and I intend to put my blood and sweat in being a positive part of their lives. I talk to just two people now and that too just very minimally (One a bunny hearted introvert and the other a spoilt ethereality) and I consider myself lucky whenever they find the conversation interesting with them. They seem like the fresh start I need in being there not by the everyday text kind of way but if they ever need me, I want to make sure I’m there and slowly if I can prove that to myself to more people and heal them along the way, I can be a person again at least from a distance to watch the Louvre Lights. Finally I’m letting go and I’m holding on, I’m slowly letting her go bearing the soul cracks that’ll keep cutting me inside for a long time to come but I’m holding on tightly to whatever I left from a memory to an image and I’ve locked it up in the room that’ll always be hers to call a home. I’ll see you soon Melonia, I’ll keep feeding you and through the suffering you give me, I’ll learn and someday the final battle will be an epic showdown of each other’s progresses but regardless of that, even though what I’m about to say seems naive and stupid, I’ll someday come for you too and try to save you by listening to your story from the time of your existence to now and if it kills me with the pure evil you hold against human nature, let it be so, I’m sure you’re not so bad if we took you on a vacation out of hell. If I have to be called an insect or an idiot in your case for trying all of this or on a much laughed at point to keep l..ing even if they hate me then bleh… fine but I’ll stay in my lines without further turning into a criminal or making them uncomfortable with the sight of me. Till time gives an answer to the maybes or ifs, I’ll be here.
You must strive to find your own voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all in your desperation.
To the gracious reader, I am many bad things but this piece is not a cry for help. I only posted this within the walls of Medium and didn’t share it anywhere else. I’m a dangerous introvert who have strict restrictions in sharing but as any other lost soul, I have a leak that comes through my writing, for some it may be music and for the more crazy of us, it may be tap dancing but I’m glad that my form comes through words and my voice than a turn to be a menace. So know you read it because you wanted to and I posted it because I want people like me to feel better and be comfortable in finding their therapies to be better. My motive behind this writing is to open a door for people to use me in reducing their anxiety to step out other than that this piece has no in making anyone uncomfortable nor is it an attention seeker. Although in all honesty, I hope someday, one person reads it, the one its meant to but that’s just a dream and nothing more.
- Colombo ~ Capital City of Sri Lanka
- PickMe ~ Sri Lankan version of Uber
- Royal College ~ Leading public school in Sri Lanka
- Trishaw ~ Small Scale local means of transport