Itried to ignore my feelings but eventually got bored of reading and thinking, so I leaned against my bed and created space between me and the cupboard. I crept under the bed and pulled a centrefold hidden under the mattress.
The centrefold had become creased from being folded and squished under the weight of the mattress. The naked model in the picture was lying down and seemed really into something. I rubbed my eyes to relax and couldn’t stop staring at her seductive image. Every day after school, I lay on my bed and stared at her. It felt like we had a personal connection and felt super intimate.
I pulled down my pants. I could see myself in the mirror. I grabbed mine firmly and moved my hand back and forth fast until I came on my hand and the ground. I quickly wiped everything with my sarong that lay near me. I did that quickly before anyone could see what I was up to.
Even though the tension was gone, I felt guilty. When I put away my sarong, I realised that I had been thinking about Ruth and Ramani while doing it and felt ashamed of myself for thinking about them like that.
‘What would God think of me now? I am no longer worthy of his care. What would happen if I died tonight? Will I burn in hell?’
Suddenly, I heard some noises from the kitchen, like pots and pans clanging and coconuts being grated. I peeked through the curtains but didn’t see anyone. So, I decided to look out the window and see what was happening. I hid my sarong under the bed, hoping it would dry out by the night when I would wear it to sleep. I smelt like bleach. My hand was sticky, and I needed to wash it. I exited the house from the front door and walked up to the water well.
I pulled a bucket of water, drank half of it, and washed my hands with the remainder. I leaned against the wall at the water well. I purged my lungs of air and decided I was the worst person on the face of the planet.
‘The only one who abuses himself. The one who defies God. A vulgar boy. Why am I like that? Why does God give me this temptation to wank?’
‘Why do I do this thing every day? Will I become thinner? Will they suspect my bad habit?’
‘Will I be less of a man? Will I be able to get married one day?’
‘I won’t do this again. Today is the last day; I am an idiot to fall into this temptation, this dreadful sin, my daily sin. I don’t have self-control.’
I felt helpless. I was no longer in charge of my body. My tummy was hurting, billowing a sound. I closed my eyes and waited for this feeling to go away. I heard my mother calling me. I remained silent, for I could not move.
The more I was like, “I’m not doing that again,” the more it seemed like there was no way I could actually stick to it.
‘Why am I so weak? Why don’t I love my God and stay away from these things?’
‘I don’t want to confess to the priest. That is impossible. How can I ask God to forgive me?’
‘Father, forgive me’ was my plea to my God.
I slipped back home without anyone noticing. I rechecked the room to ensure that my soiled sarong was out of sight, hidden under my bed.
It was getting dark. I hoped I would not fall into my temptation again that night.
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 ...
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 ...
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...
3 min read·Feb 28
Comments
Post a Comment