I ate a man.
I hate three wheelers with loud music. I need soothing not the devil’s hooting.
I do know though. To soothe is hard work. To foment beauty when it’s barely even visible is hard work. To progress through a level in a game that you didn’t even like but paid sixty bucks for is hard work. To accumulate enough courage to push in a society where being settled is the norm is hard work. To try to escape the smell of death when passing by a hospital that means death to you is hard work. To try is hard work. To live is hard work.
But we live. We try. We escape the smell of death when we pass by that one hospital that makes us feel like shit. We try to push through a society that values slacking off and finding the easy way out. We bought the game so we end up thinking “well might as well just play it”. We foment our own version of beauty in the scars and the holes of our faces. We soothe ourselves soothing an imaginary notion that it will be okay someday.
For we forever fovēre.
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We stir up. We smell that dust. We try and we fail. We clean up. We make a rust. What else in hell would we do instead anyway? Starting a rose garden on the Hikkaduwa beach? Designing an Assassins Creed like game with some Nimalizio Sauditore climbing up the walls of the Temple of the Tooth? And get beheaded the next day?
Brother, be not afraid. For I will show you the wae.
Clasp my hands and grab my throat. Fill me up and make them watch. Shove those trash down my throat. I ain’t no Djokovic but default my court. I am not the second child but I sure ain’t second in pile. Take me down, take that sword and cut my head and make those jokes.
But I ain’t no child hero or a legendary tale in Sri Lankan folklore, am I? I ain’t no child let alone a hero.
So,
I ate the tuk driver. I showed him the wae. Now where’s my fucking statue?
