When I was fifteen, I thought I had the world in my palm. I wanted to disappear and come back as a different person. Like most young people at that age, I struggled with who I was, who I wanted to be, and my place in the world. I looked around, everything around me seems interesting, but it seems impossible to figure them out. That transitionary phase of youth is the most challenging to navigate. The road to adventure loomed large in my head. It is possible this was a result of being a teenager in the seventies. Perhaps every teenager feels like that in every generation, even today.
I had a couple of scars in my life by then. The first was living with my mentally ill grandmother in our family home. That was a hard call for a boy too young and without the mental capacity to cope. The second was dealing with abuse at a Christian boarding school where I was boarded. It was as if I was in a plane crash at fourteen.
I was formed by these things when I was a teenager. I learned to be a fighter from these two events. They made me.
Looking back, it was a good thing and a bad thing. It was the unity of the opposites. The advantage of going through that trauma at such a vulnerable age made me strong and resolute. The world was complicated a little earlier at the young age of fifteen. I was heartbroken a little earlier from the boarding school incident. It introduced wisdom to my life. It made me strong. I figured that nobody has a perfect life. The real me emerged from that trauma.
I was no longer the victim. I did not thrive on victimhood. A lot of that credit needs to go to my father, who had no idea what his son has been through in a wretched institute. His unconditional love and allowing me to enjoy my boyhood beyond that point helped heaps in my recovery. Also, I had a great buddy, my best mate, Ajit. He lovingly looked after me, showering his unique kindness and acceptance.
I had another episode that made me stronger. It was a near-death experience on the road. I nearly had a head-on crash with a jeep while riding my boy’s bicycle in my neighbourhood. I escaped by a whisker. It gave me the fright of my life. That incident gave me further impetus to live like I had a second chance.
I became stronger. I liked being true to myself. I changed rapidly. I slowly became an expert in fitting in. I developed an ability to be friends with many friends in school and my home village. That was an early lesson in diversity. My friends in school and college were from a city-suburban background. My friends from my home village were generally village kids. My city friends spoke English. We watched English movies, read English novels and magazines and listened to Western pop music. My friends from my home village and neighbourhood were village kids with a village mindset. They did not speak English and were not exposed to Western culture. It was a great experience in diversity early on. I became authentic in my approach to fitting in.
One thing leads to the other.
I was hungry for friendships. In that process, I was open to things I did not know. I learned new things. I accepted them from wherever they came.
Through these great learnings, I became borderless. I did not regard where a person was from, what village, what school, what ethnicity, what religion, what background. I learned them in my budding years in Sri Lanka as a teenager.
I opened to the wider universe. The world became my oyster. I became a global citizen. A nomad that is open to new connections and discoveries.
Even today, I try to hold onto that quality. My friends are genuine. They sincerely love people, which extends to a lovely camaraderie between friends.
A Child of Curiosity How inherent inquisitiveness became a key driver in learning experiences. Denzil Jayasinghe · B orn in the mid-20th century, I am a product of the post-World War II era. My parents, who were teenagers when the war commenced, married in the 1950s. As a representative of the baby boomer generation, I was born under the astrological sign of Capricorn, the tenth sign of the zodiac. My birth took place at Zoysa Nursing Home, a renowned institution in Colombo, Sri Lanka, around 5 in the morning. Sri Lanka, known for its tropical climate, is a beautiful island nation south of India. This climate appealed to me, and I sought similar weather in my twenties, spending them in Dubai, where the winter resembles an Australian summer. Raised by religious parents, I held them in deep affection. However, the church teachings posed a paradox for a young mind, instructing one to love God more than one’s parents. I initially adhered to the Ten Commandments and other societal norms in ...
Shattered Innocence A story of a needle Denzil Jayasinghe · “Shattered Innocence. A Story of a Needle” by Denzil Jayasinghe is a short story told from the perspective of a lad who discovers their father injecting insulin . This discovery shatters his innocence as he grapples with the reality of his father’s diabetes and the fear and uncertainty it brings. The story explores themes of family, responsibility, and the challenges of facing difficult realities. T he pre-dawn light filtered through the window, casting a pale glow over a scene that shattered my world. We were lost in the quiet routine of getting ready — me for the apprenticeship, my siblings for school, and my father for his work. I wandered into my parents’ room, searching for the familiar black comb. What I found wasn’t the comb but a sight that froze me in my tracks. Father, stripped down to his white undies, his usually strong face creased with worry, was doing something… di...
The Man with the Bicycle A Godfather Without English Denzil Jayasinghe 5 min read So this fellow, Wijetunga, arrived one humid afternoon in Warakanatte – a name given by the government, clipped from some dusty file in a distant ministry, and pinned onto our village like a misfitting badge. He came not with fanfare, but with the tiredness of a man who had travelled not just across provinces but across unspoken expectations. The new Grama Sevaka – government-appointed village functionary, dispenser of forms and permits, arbitrator of neighbourly disputes, and authoriser of rice ration books. He hailed from Enderamulla, a place that stirred vague murmurs among the older women in our family – whispers of ancestral ties, of some great-uncle’s cousin’s child from that neighbouring village. But no one invited him for tea. No one mentioned him at the dinner table as anything more than “the new man in the office.” Despite the murmurs, he remained a stranger- neither embraced nor excluded-...
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