Iwoke up on Wednesday morning feeling off, like something wasn’t right. I dragged myself to the breakfast table but couldn’t shake the feeling. It was like I was in someone else’s body. I munched on bread and jam and tried to ignore the feeling, but it stayed with me as I walked to school.
Once I got to school, I remembered why Wednesdays suck. We have Chemistry and Sinhala back to back, two of the most boring subjects ever. Seriously, who wants to learn about atoms and compounds when you could be reading, painting or drawing? The teachers don’t seem to get it. They made the schedule for themselves, not for us. I’m curious if Mr Chapman knows how much we hate Wednesdays.
Sitting in class, I couldn’t help but daydream about the perfect schedule. It would have a whole block for art and another for math. But that’s just wishful thinking. I love art, but it’s not a subject they teach in the science faculty where I study. So I have to do my art projects on the sly, usually when bored at the boarding house. It’s not fair.
But I’m serious about my art. I have a whole set of watercolours, acrylics, brushes, and a pad of white paper. Away from school, I was super excited to work on a sketch I had finished with my 2B pencil last week. Then disaster struck, and my artwork got ruined.
As I was painting, a kind of film formed over the top of my bluish-green and white paints. I tried to brush it away with water, but the colours started to bleed and dissolve. It was like the paints trapped underneath were trying to escape. My heart sank, and I felt gloomy.
Until last week, I had been working on a painting of the boarding house with its white walls, blue glass windows, and the coconut trees next to it. I had painstakingly painted the different colours of the surrounding garden. But now, it all seemed fake. It wasn’t anything real or meaningful. Then I chose to paint the De La Salle statue because it looked great, but what was the point?
Sitting there staring at my ruined painting, someone asked me what I was doing.
“Are you painting today?” they asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, feeling embarrassed.
“What are you painting?” they asked.
“Not really; I am trying to fix my drawing,” I said.
“Huh, show it to me when you finish.”
“Sure,” I muttered, feeling defeated.
I returned to my desk, trying not to spill water or attract more attention. I took out my sketch and started painting, trying to salvage what I could. It was going okay until I messed up again. This time, I accidentally painted over the statue. I groaned in frustration, feeling like a failure.
I put down my brush and sighed. It was just one of those days.
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...
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3 min read·Apr 12
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