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.
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...
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 ...
Doctor Doctor Memories of medical care in my early years As a toddler, I contracted whooping cough, a deadly disease of that time. My mother went through a lot of anxiety until I got better. She was so pleased with the doctor who treated me that he became our family doctor. As a two-year-old, I don’t remember a thing about that trying time. It must have shaken my mother so much; she thought my survival was a miracle. She never failed to remind me of that fact growing up. At four years, I was operated on for hydrocele at Lady Ridgeway Children’s Hospital in Colombo. During my entire stay, my mother stayed with me at the hospital, sleeping nearby. I have great memories in the hospital, caring nurses and frequent visits from my grandfather, Lewis . I loved his visits, his fancy stories sitting on my bed. When the hospital discharged me after four days, my grandfather carried me to his car. Back home, I was not allowed to wear pants until I healed. That was embarrassing. The discharge...
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