Two sides of the same coin

3 min read·Just now

Mymother was her parents’ second child, and my father was his parents’ second and last. I stayed in my father’s family home for the first four years. Next to us, my uncle and his family, with three children, shared the same ancestral land in a detached home. We grew up embracing nature and the sounds of vehicles, with the number one road, in Sri Lanka, Colombo-Kandy Road, as our witness. Our front yard became a lake of splashing fun when the rain poured. Once, a storm brought us a gift from the heavens: a fish that landed on our lawn.

But we didn’t stay there forever. We moved to a house that belonged to my mother’s mother. It stood on a vast land, far from the dusty road that led to it. A bamboo gate welcomed us in. A water well greeted us at the front, and a toilet bid us farewell at the back, away from the house. We had a garden of wonders, with coconut and fruit trees, coffee plants and more. A separate kitchen was my sanctuary, where I watched my grandma cook. I had many friends from the nearby houses, the local kids who went to the local school by day.

Soon after we moved in, my sister came into the world, and four years later, my brother. Our house grew with us, adding four new rooms. It was the largest house in our street then. The whole garden had a magic scent, blending trees and nature. Birds visited us to feast on the ripe fruits. The aromas of jackfruit, guava and canistel filled the air. It was truly beautiful and green.

Our land ended where the paddy field began. And beyond that, the Catholic cemetery lay. When I had nothing to do, I wandered to the edge of our land and watched the burials from a distance, with the mournful bands playing their horns. Their sounds were sad and solemn, with a touch of faith.

Our house was always open to our relatives from both sides. We shared meals and beds with aunties and uncles, grand uncles and grand aunties without second thoughts.

My parents were like two sides of a coin: different yet complementary. They valued hard work and education and taught me to do the same. They both followed their faith deeply and showed me how to live by it. They both cared for their community and inspired me to be generous. They both loved me unconditionally and encouraged me to pursue my dreams. They both lived simply and appreciated what they had.

But they also had their personalities and preferences. My father was a social butterfly, always chatting and laughing with people. My mother was quiet, always serious and focused on her tasks. My father was a political activist, always passionate and vocal about his views. My mother was a political bystander, always indifferent and silent about hers. My father was a visionary, always imagining and creating new possibilities. My mother was a realist, always planning and executing practical solutions. My father tended the garden on weekends, wearing only a sarong up to his knees, while my mother worked in the kitchen.

My father’s charisma helped him to make friends and influence people. My mother’s stability helped her to manage problems and maintain order. Together, they balanced each other out and made a great team.