The little boy hiccupped once again, and again, and again. His mother had been trying to help him overcome his hiccups for hours. She had exhausted every remedy, forcing him to drink water, holding his breath, back-patting, and even tickling. Unfortunately, nothing worked.
“I wish I could find a way to make your hiccups vanish,” the mother expressed with a hint of frustration.
The little boy simply smiled. Despite the annoyance caused by his persistent hiccups, he remained a content child, undisturbed by the inconvenience. Without any effort from him, he made a strange and novel sound. He was thrilled by what he heard.
The mother took solace in her son’s cheerful disposition, even though he was physically uncomfortable.
And so, the mother persistently experimented with various remedies to alleviate her son’s hiccups. She exhausted all known methods and even ventured into uncharted territory. Yet, none of her attempts yielded the desired outcome.
In the midst of the hiccup ordeal, the boy’s grandmother joined the effort, gently patting his back in an attempt to bring relief. Regrettably, her efforts also proved futile.
Finally, after a week of relentless trials, the mother and grandmother succumbed to exhaustion. The mother grew increasingly concerned about her son’s well-being.
“I’m at a loss for what else to do,” she confided to her husband. “I’m beginning to fear that these hiccups will never subside.”
The husband offered his support, comforting his wife with a gentle pat on the back. “Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I’m certain the hiccups will eventually fade away.”
A sense of relief washed over the mother as she acknowledged her husband’s perspective. She realised she needed to relax and cherish her son’s presence, even amidst the hiccup-induced interruptions.
Consequently, the rest of the day unfolded with the son engaging in games with his siblings, laughing, and enjoying life to the fullest. Despite the persistent hiccups, he relished every moment, attentively listening to his grandmother’s captivating stories and assisting her in the kitchen.
The following day, the little boy awoke to find his hiccups miraculously absent. Overjoyed, he darted to his grandmother to share the good news. His grandmother patted him on his back.
Then he ran to his mother.
“Mother, my hiccups are gone!” he exclaimed gleefully.
The mother’s face lit up with a radiant smile. She was profoundly grateful that her son was finally free from the irritating hiccups that had plagued him.
And the little boy beamed with happiness, knowing his family loved him.
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...
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 ...
2 min read·2 days ago
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