AsI get older, I have become the person I was always meant to be. When I look into the mirror in the morning, I secretly wish I was young again. My long curly hair has disappeared. My youthful looks have faded into nothingness. Our relevance to society reduces as we age.
Yet within my brotherhood, I find friendships in the most unlikely places. We are no longer rivals — we nourish each other. We lean on each other. We share our anxieties and experiences openly. Perspective puts a different lens to help to be open.
I learned to breathe through the pain of my separations. It eased the anxiety and the uncertainty. Taking one day at a time helped me to step into the next moment. Life took care of itself, moment by moment. I moved on.
These dynamic changes propelled me to take a quantum leap, leaving a lifelong industry and moving to a new undiscovered industry. I got into a job that I had not done before. I reinvented myself, learning the ropes of content design and bringing my curiosity to another level. I moved away from my comfort zone. I met a whole set of creative designers.
Now, I live the best life, running a creative practice,s and managing an awesome team.
When Covid hit more than two years ago, I changed again. My team and I started working from home. With the change of lifestyle, I evolved. I did my team meetings and 1:1s walking in my beautifully landscaped neighbourhood. Thanks to my Apple watch, I walked 12 kilometres e. I saw an exercise physiologist and worked out every alternate day. As a result, I lost 3 kgs, which is 5% of my body weight. I changed my diet and learned to cook new varieties of food. I adopted wearing casual clothes, moving away from office attire. I upgraded my tech gear, from my Apple devices to the sound system. I subscribed to Apple Music, allowing me to listen to thousands of songs.
I befriended my neighbours and played table tennis with them on weekends, often beating a bunch of young thirty-something men. I learnt about human trafficking in Africa by watching a myriad of challenging movies on streaming services. I learned to draw on my iPad and rediscovered my love for artwork.
I started writing on medium and am pursuing it rigorously as a daily habit. It is therapeutic and self-soothing. I love it.
These gifts of self-contentment were the best gifts of Covid-induced change of lifestyle. So my stars aligned for me.
I imagine when I can travel again to various corners of the world and meet my brother and old friends, I grew up with. I imagine volunteering in Sri Lanka, in the education field or social sciences, encouraging creativity and reinvention.
I imagine myself waiting impatiently until my grandkids become teenagers to walk with them and share the joys of creativity and my own stories of reinvention.
Cyril Stanley A story of gratitude — Denzil recalls a friend who looked out for him in his budding years in Sri Lanka Denzil Jayasinghe 11 min read · Aug 27, 2022 1 Give us a bit of background on how you met Cyril. It was the seventies in the sleepy village of Dalugama , my ancestral hometown, some ten kilometres from Colombo. With their flared bell bottoms and Afro-style hair, it was easy to notice Cyril and his younger brother Edward. I’d bump into the duo in the neighbourhood as I walked home after a day at college. A casual hello greeting turned into a conversation and an evolving friendship with the duo at an age when making friends was effortless. However, it was Cyril who reached out to me first. What did the brothers look like? C yril was a younger version of Smokey Robinson and his brother, Edward, a junior Lionel Richie but darker. Both had curly hair, grown long, copying the Afro-American idols of the seventies. Smokey Robinson, Cyril Stanley lookalike Where did they
My experiences of rebellions How waves of violence in Sri Lanka broke a young man’s heart Warning — Distressing scenes described in this story. A YOUTH INSURRECTION DURING MY BOYHOOD 1971 — There was a strong student and youth socialist movement styled on the “Che Guevara” clique. Many poor, unemployed and underprivileged young people joined this movement. My two elder cousins, my father’s brother’s children, Sisira and Marie, were also in this rebel group. In their home. They replaced Jesus’s picture with that of Mao Zedong and Che Guevara. Both of them, teenagers, boldly spoke about a future socialist society. A society in which everyone was equal in Sri Lanka. Young as I was, it was a bit gibberish to me. In April 1971, the movement turned violent. The insurrection began when the rebels started attacking police stations. The Sri Lankan government responded by deploying armed forces with brutal force. Rebels cut power lines and blocked roads with trees in the countryside. Schools wer
Arya Sinhala This story is about the significance of this costume in my family and its cultural relevance. My father wore shirts and pants as any English-educated Sri Lankan male did back in the day. Everybody gave their children English names. I am named Denzil Bernard. A few years after I was born, in the 1950s, Sri Lanka was trying to assert its ethnic identity, a decade after it gained independence from Great Britain. A new prime minister, espousing an ethnocentric identity, came into power. Emulating Indian leaders’ post-independence direction, he gave up his Western attire, despite his Oxford education and wore the national dress, Arya Sinhala. Arya is an ethnic and cultural designation to which the Sinhala race makes claims. The cultural transformation started in my family. My sister, born four years after me, was named Rekha Flora. She had an ethnic name and a Western name. Occasionally my father donned the national dress. My father’s elder brother ultimately gave up his West
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