Myparents never sat me down to share stories of their growing up. They spared me the hard stories of their lost childhoods and the sacrifices they made as kids in a world much harsher than I grew up.
They put themselves on the line so the next generation could have a good life. I benefit from their sacrifices, blood, tears and sweat.
I want to go back in time and sit beside my mother, who had just lost her mother to mental illness. I want to know how she dared to take abuse from her sick mother. I want to know how she dealt without a mother's love at such a tender age. How she managed that large household, made of brick, without electricity, surrounded by acres of paddy fields? I want to know what she cooked for her father and siblings. I want to record how she ran the house without a mother. I want to know how she protected her younger sister. I want to sit with the teenage version of my mother and ask about her dreams. I want to know how she dealt with moving homes and schools at short notice. I want to know how she studied after finishing the housework. I want to know how she supported her single father. I want to know how she felt when visiting her sick mother at the mental asylum. I want to know how my mother helped her orphaned cousins living in her household. Is that her secret to leadership?
I want to go back in time and sit with my father, fifteen years old, who had just lost his father. How did he deal with it? Did he miss his father? Did he cry when his father’s coffin was lowered to the ground? I want to know when he decided to help his widowed mother. What time did he get up in the morning to help his mother run her shop? What was it like to distribute food orders in the morning for his mother? Did he enjoy serving customers and measuring groceries in the afternoons? How did he study under a kerosene lamp at night? Did he miss his father’s loving touch when he slept alone at night? What did he feel carrying his shoes in his school bag and wearing them at the school entrance to save wear and tear? What did he feel about walking that long distance to school every day? Did his bare feet hurt as he stepped on the pebbles? How did my father help his orphaned cousin? What was it like to be a kid during WW2? What was it like being poor?
I want to know what they laughed about with friends and cousins. What did they do to relax? Did they not get a chance to relax?
I want to make a home movie with my father and mother when both were kids and in their teenage years, when their young bodies and were hard at work paying in blood and sweat.
By some fate, the year 1942 was significant to both my parents. In that year, my father, fifteen, lost his father. In the same year, my mother, eight, lost her mother to mental illness. Traumatic events for two young kids. Though two unrelated events, that year defined their lives and mine.
I wish I had unsettled them. I wish I had pried them about their childhood, like opening a closed door. I wish I had found a small opening. I wish I pushed my head inside and witnessed their childhood. My parents had an entire life before me, which I wish I had experienced.
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 ...
Packing lists An addiction to packing lists Denzil Jayasinghe 3 min read·Nov 6, 2022 My fascination with packing lists started when I was young. Eventually, it became a life-long habit, a kind of addiction. When I enrolled at the Christian brothers’ formative school at eleven, a packing list was given to my parents. 2 School shorts 2 School shirts, white 2 Baniyans, aka vests 4 Pairs of white socks 1 Sarong 2 Casual shirts 2 Casual shorts 2 Handkerchiefs 1 Toothbrush 1 Comb 1 Bedsheet 2 Pillowcases 1 Pair of black shoes 1 Pair of canvas sports shoes My parents went into fast gear to assemble the packing list. My father started from the bottom of the list, the shoes. He took me by bus to Colombo to P G Martins, a shoemaker. We came out of that shoe store with DS-branded black and Shinwa-branded canvas shoes. Also bought was a Ford suitcase, in shiny sky-blue colour. Mother bought vests and socks from Velona, a garment outlet run by one of our relations, Aunty Helen. A trip to a ta...
Neville at the Edge Denzil Jayasinghe 3 min read · 10 hours ago In the lazy, sun-dappled days at St. Joseph’s Novitiate, where the beach seemed to hum with the scent of jasmine and the distant promise of monsoon clouds, there was a little haven we boys held dear — the Milk Bar. It was a humble shack just beyond the school’s creaky gates, its tin roof glinting under the noon sun, its wooden counter cluttered with frothy glasses of Milo, bottles of sweet vanilla milk, and a jumble of pencils and dog-eared notebooks for forgetful lads like us. To us, De La Salle boys, it wasn’t just a shop. It was a sanctuary, where the weight of prayers and the Brother-Superior’s stern frowns dissolved into the clink of coins and the soft buzz of our chatter. Neville was always there, a gangly boy with limbs that seemed to outgrow him, as if they belonged to a taller shadow. His parents had sent him to the Novitiate dreaming he’d don a Christian Brother’s collar, but Neville, with his twice-failed ...
3 min read·Sep 27, 2022
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