I am writing this sitting on the steps. I have been waiting to tell you for so long. So, I am writing this letter instead. I know we like each other and see each other at school, but it feels like we don’t know each other yet. I feel we have not talked for ages. How are you? I always think of you when I am home and at school. I think a lot about when we went on holiday, how we smoked and walked among the tea bushes.
How about you? I know this is random, but I also think of Ramani. I wish Ramani looks at me the way I look at her. But instead, she gives me blank looks. When I think about it hurts, it hurts badly.
But you are so nice. When you hold my hand, it feels so good. You and I talked about all sorts of things, and I hope we continue that way. Not only during our holidays but every day.
I really want us to keep talking, going to movies and trips. And do more things together? What about you? Perhaps you think, “What is there left to talk about? I promise there are a lot more. I have many things to say. I hope you do too.
How about we meet after school tomorrow?
By the way, I fought with Rohan. Well, it was not really a fight. It was an argument over something he said. I was so angry; I did not want to look at him again. It was just a tiff. I have cooled down now. Is he jealous of me, about you? Or both of us? I won’t visit him at his house again. I was impressed with his big room and the comic books. I can do without them, anyway. I will not borrow his comics any more.
I have started wondering about the other boys in our school. I wish Ramani attend Good Shepherd. Then we can go home on the same bus. I hope nobody notices us together and nobody tells our ammas about us. Will the other boys in the school bus laugh at us if they see us together? What do you think? Do you like Ramani?
You might think, who is this Ramani? I showed her from a distance at our church feast. And you said she was pretty. Do you remember her now?
By the way, I keep looking at what you wrote on my autograph. Thank you for being my lifelong friend.
The other day, amma read one of your letters. It was my mistake, leaving it on my desk. She usually does not go through my stuff. But she never asked me anything after that.
This letter is already too long. I could keep on writing forever. I think you will read this and keep this letter in a secret place. I need to go to my next class. I just really wanted to talk.
Bye for now
Your friend
A letter to his best friend from a sixteen-year-old boy dated 1971.
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...
Demons and Devotion: A Family’s Pilgrimage Denzil Jayasinghe · “Demons and Devotion: A Pilgrimage to Tewatta” is a short story by Denzil Jayasinghe about a family’s pilgrimage to a holy site in Sri Lanka. The story follows Denzil, the eldest son, as he reluctantly accompanies his devout parents on this journey to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. Although initially sceptical, Denzil reflects on his childhood faith and his family's hardships. However, the pilgrimage turns unexpectedly when an encounter with a priest who claims a demon possesses Denzil creates tension and leaves him angry. T he air hung heavy with a solemnity that felt out of place for a silver wedding anniversary. Denzil’s father, whose pronouncements held the weight of scripture, declared, “We are going on a special trip to the holy place of Our Lady at Tewatta. This day, showing God’s blessings, will be a private event for our family.” On a recent arrival for a two-week holiday in Sri Lanka...
Comments
Post a Comment