Ihave been in the air from Heathrow to Tokyofor fourteen hours. I am now in a hotel on the 42nd floor in Tokyo. I had a short sleep in this tiny room. I did not sleep enough. Perhaps the jet lag. The service on the British Airways flight was great, but I am tired after a gruelling fourteen-hour flight.
The Ritz Carlton is where the company, the bank I work for, put me up. I must catch another eight-hour flight to Sydney in less than 48 hours. Finally, I will see my kids after nearly two weeks of travel to Dubai, London and Tokyo.
I have been assigned a room on the top floor of the hotel. From the window, I can see a park. I can see a beautifully landscaped garden and a lake. I want to visit the park and absorb the Japanese landscape before I leave.
I have a full-on work day today. I’d better prepare for breakfast soon and get to the office early. I hope I will finish early and get to the park before dawn.
Everything is tiny. The lifts, passageways, beds, and bathrooms. It will take me a while to get used to small spaces. Living in Australia has made me used to big spaces, huge cars, wide car parks, everything big. Everything oversized. I am good with tiny spaces. I am not complaining. I should not be ‘space-hungry’.
I am hungry, hungry for food. I head to the restaurant, 20 floors down. I pick the Japanese breakfast, rice, soup and grilled fish instead of the brown bread, butter and jam I am used to. In Rome, do as the Romans do. But, instead of Japanese green tea on offer, I order milk tea. I have trouble speaking to the waiter, for they know no English and me no Japanese. But, I got to have my tea how I am used to. Otherwise, I’d get a headache and fall apart. I thank the server, ‘Arigato’, and head back to my tiny room.
I pack my work bag, folders, files and my laptop. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the room shakes; the bed, the desk, the bedside table, the lampstand and the carpeted floor. The pen and paper fall onto the floor. I panic. What is going on?
I feel the room and the whole building move, move slowly. This way and that way. Will I see my kids again? That is my first thought. I looked at my Nokia phone. Should I call home in case I go home in a casket? Should I run down the street?
I peep into the bathroom. There too, everything is shaking. I feel the ground move.
Then, I remember what I learned in school about Japan and its frequent earthquakes. I am stressed. I started thinking. DO NOT PANIC! I told myself multiple times.
I begin to calm down. I remember that Japanese skyscrapers have to be able to move. They are built to dance as the ground shifts beneath them. The buildings are engineered to withstand earthquakes. I should be safe.
I cool down.
Two minutes later, everything become normal. The movements stop. The building calms down. A hotel worker knocks on my door and says something in Japanese, which I assume ‘It is OK to move — it is safe’. I can hear the lift door opening and closing again, the chime of it.
I exit the room and walk to my work. Everything seems normal to everyone on the streets. People are on the move as if nothing happened. The Japanese are used to the grill.
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 ...
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...
Shattered Innocence A story of a needle Denzil Jayasinghe · “Shattered Innocence. A Story of a Needle” by Denzil Jayasinghe is a short story told from the perspective of a lad who discovers their father injecting insulin . This discovery shatters his innocence as he grapples with the reality of his father’s diabetes and the fear and uncertainty it brings. The story explores themes of family, responsibility, and the challenges of facing difficult realities. T he pre-dawn light filtered through the window, casting a pale glow over a scene that shattered my world. We were lost in the quiet routine of getting ready — me for the apprenticeship, my siblings for school, and my father for his work. I wandered into my parents’ room, searching for the familiar black comb. What I found wasn’t the comb but a sight that froze me in my tracks. Father, stripped down to his white undies, his usually strong face creased with worry, was doing something… di...
3 min read·Mar 13
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