Wednesday 16 June 2010
Friday 2 October 2009
Leaving Home - Chapter 1: The Beginning
It's 5.15 pm , I'm 7 years old. Sitting outside in the veranda (an outside porch area) with my father in our somewhat huge house with 5 servant's back home in Sri Lanka.
What am I doing? My dad has challenged me to another game of Chess- which I only came to realise 10 years later I didn't win like I thought i did at that age..my dad let me win......
My dad.My hero.A man I admire and have come to admire more and more over the years as I have grown older.So much that I would kill anyone who ever hurt him ( literally)- physically or mentally. I remember a few years ago going to some intense 4 day coaching workshop by John Whitmore and they started it by asking this question going around the cirlce= Who's your hero?I was sitting at the end of the circle listening to everyone's answer's.Which included -Gandhi,Richard branson, then those who said our directors name's their area managers and people they directly report to who were also in the room.'Arselickers' I thought to myself in my head.If that's what you need to do to get promoted -well I'd rather never get promoted.It came to my turn - I said - My dad.
You need to remind me I'm going to keep doing this = you know,going of at tangents so let's get back to where we were-
So I was playing chess with my dad - all was calm and peaceful.We were quite well off,or comfortable with our lifestyle if that makes it sound more conservative.We lived in a nice house behind the beach,living a lavish life.And despite living in a third world country were fortunate enough to study in the equivalent to private school's in England, had chauffeurs and servants who cooked what I like to eat,took my shoes of and even played the right music that had to be played when I walked in the house after school.Not to mention being the only kid's who had her toys sent all the way from America.Remember I'm going back 25 years...Yes ok ok .I can hear you guys in my ears.Hey I am not denying it.Yes I was a spoilt brat..you know what I loved it- so don't care what you think.Life was near to perfect.A life where I couldnt have asked for anything more.My dream was simple.I wanted to get married have loads of kids and live happily ever after.Yes I know - not very original.But you know what .If you decide to feed your kids with the cinderella,beauty and the beast,snow white and such DVD's at such a young age .What do you expect. You hardly see thomas the tank engine or spongebob aspire to be a lawyer or a doctor climb up the career ladder and become an entrepreneur do you....exactly.....so what makes me any different...so I grew up waiting for my prince charming to find my glass slipper....
'Run Run'......we heard some neighbours scream as my dad stood up in a panic knocking the chess board of the table..
'They are here they are here'....( The sound of machine gun's followed and petrol bombs flew across burning cars and houses within seconds...)
I watched my dad and grabbed his arm,feeling scared,confused,lost and faint.My dad seemed to know exactly what was going on. I however didnt .He screamed allowed to the servant and my mother and sister,and I saw my cousins and uncles run across the street towards our house.My dad took me in one hand and ran to the back of the house where we had the servant quarters and entered one of their rooms.Everyone seemed to know exactly what to do as if they were waiting for such event to take place.My dad and his brother pushed a great big wardrobe that stood strong against the wall.Behind it ws a root of escape- a narrow hole.
One by one all the tamil women and children were passed across the wall to the neighbours house.They was too many people,and noise and activity going on that I started unknowingly getting pushed to the back of the queue.I stood by our gate looking outside to the streets.It was then I realised that life was not as straight forward as I thought it was going to be.I didnt know what we had done wrong?I didnt understand anything?Was I naughty?Are we bad people?......It was many years I learnt it was because I was Tamil and not sinhalese.Does that make me any less inferior or any less de valued as a human being?I don't know I am yet to answer that question 25 years later.....
'BANG' ..I experienced and heard the first gun shot.At that young age it was all too overwhelming I didnt understand they were loud noises.People i knew seemed to fall to the ground one by one screaming and they was red liquid pouring out of them.They was fire blazing above cars...I turned to look behind me ,they was still a queue of people jumping across the hole in the wall trying to get away.I noticed my dad had ordered our servants to pass all the small children over the wall to save time as we were all playing a game of life or death.A pull on my left leg made me turn back towards the street.It was my best friend 'Suganthi'..' Help me,help me,please dont leave me she cried as she fell to the floor as a gun shot hit her precisely.My body started shaking.It just dawned on me.Was I next?I reached over with my hand-
I heard my mum scream...as the gun shot was fired next my servant lifted me and threw me over the wall.I reached the otherside.with bruises and grazes..but I reached the otherside.In the game of 'Life or Death' I had been given another chance.
On the other side of the wall lived a very close and good friend of my father's.But his house was not to be attacked so he was safe and he was willing to take the risk of hiding us in his basement.
Why was he safe? Well I can check the dictionary and check to ensure i am politically correct before I write this...but to be blunt it was because he was sinhalese - and the srilankan army were only targeting the tamil houses.We were later told a muslim family had cooperated with the srilankan government and given them a list of all the tamil families living on the streets.
We were lucky and fortunate that five fingers are not the same and that my father had good friends.My father spoke both languages fluently- so they would not know he was tamil unless they checked his passport.
The other side of the hole was dark and grim and full of tension.The wife of my fathers friend had come to show us where we were to hide for an estimated time of an hour or less until everything had passed.Little did we know that we were going to spend the next 48 hours there.
She took us down the stairs and told us to be quite as she locked the door behind us.My dad reassured my mother and stayed above with his friend.It was dark and crowded as we all squatted on the floor silently - well everyone except for me and my older sister.We followed each other into a corner following the noise with the wall. Finding a small narrow dark corridor where the noise seemed louder we crawled across one behind the other..we could see some light ahead and at that age we were intrigued to know what was going on. My mother assuming we were sitting with her in the dark was also kept busy holding tighly our younger sister who was born only a few months prior to this day.
We reached the end of the narrow corridor only to find out it was a dead end and the light was coming from a 2 griddle bars that looked onto the main street.Desperate for some air and some rest,we both fell flat on the ground to get our breath back.Noticing only then ,that this gave us a view onto the street.Not clear.But enough to give us a picture of reality.We watched mother's and children alike get shot in front of us.We watched houses and cars being burnt and shed to nothing.We saw men in uniform marching speaking to the neighbours who stood by the gate including my dad and his friend to confirm they had the right to live- because they were sinhalese.
I never realised it was possible at that young age to wish I was something or someone else.I felt anger and hatred as the memory of my best friend grabbing my leg kept passing by me.I wanted that toy the men in uniform was holding so I can play the game of 'Life or death' with them.
I wanted to make them have red liquid pour out of them I wanted them to fall to the ground and fall asleep in silence like they had done to my friend.
At the age of 7 ,I didnt know that toy I wanted was an AK47 rifle.At the age of 7 I didn't know I had replaced my dream of owning a glass slipper to owning an AK47 instead.My older sister watched my heart race and my breath getting louder as she shrugged and falsed me to crawl back to our mother.
Here we sat for the next 48 hours...............................................................
It's late and I'm going to bed I'll be back tomorrow if you want to know what happened next.
What am I doing? My dad has challenged me to another game of Chess- which I only came to realise 10 years later I didn't win like I thought i did at that age..my dad let me win......
My dad.My hero.A man I admire and have come to admire more and more over the years as I have grown older.So much that I would kill anyone who ever hurt him ( literally)- physically or mentally. I remember a few years ago going to some intense 4 day coaching workshop by John Whitmore and they started it by asking this question going around the cirlce= Who's your hero?I was sitting at the end of the circle listening to everyone's answer's.Which included -Gandhi,Richard branson, then those who said our directors name's their area managers and people they directly report to who were also in the room.'Arselickers' I thought to myself in my head.If that's what you need to do to get promoted -well I'd rather never get promoted.It came to my turn - I said - My dad.
You need to remind me I'm going to keep doing this = you know,going of at tangents so let's get back to where we were-
So I was playing chess with my dad - all was calm and peaceful.We were quite well off,or comfortable with our lifestyle if that makes it sound more conservative.We lived in a nice house behind the beach,living a lavish life.And despite living in a third world country were fortunate enough to study in the equivalent to private school's in England, had chauffeurs and servants who cooked what I like to eat,took my shoes of and even played the right music that had to be played when I walked in the house after school.Not to mention being the only kid's who had her toys sent all the way from America.Remember I'm going back 25 years...Yes ok ok .I can hear you guys in my ears.Hey I am not denying it.Yes I was a spoilt brat..you know what I loved it- so don't care what you think.Life was near to perfect.A life where I couldnt have asked for anything more.My dream was simple.I wanted to get married have loads of kids and live happily ever after.Yes I know - not very original.But you know what .If you decide to feed your kids with the cinderella,beauty and the beast,snow white and such DVD's at such a young age .What do you expect. You hardly see thomas the tank engine or spongebob aspire to be a lawyer or a doctor climb up the career ladder and become an entrepreneur do you....exactly.....so what makes me any different...so I grew up waiting for my prince charming to find my glass slipper....
'Run Run'......we heard some neighbours scream as my dad stood up in a panic knocking the chess board of the table..
'They are here they are here'....( The sound of machine gun's followed and petrol bombs flew across burning cars and houses within seconds...)
I watched my dad and grabbed his arm,feeling scared,confused,lost and faint.My dad seemed to know exactly what was going on. I however didnt .He screamed allowed to the servant and my mother and sister,and I saw my cousins and uncles run across the street towards our house.My dad took me in one hand and ran to the back of the house where we had the servant quarters and entered one of their rooms.Everyone seemed to know exactly what to do as if they were waiting for such event to take place.My dad and his brother pushed a great big wardrobe that stood strong against the wall.Behind it ws a root of escape- a narrow hole.
One by one all the tamil women and children were passed across the wall to the neighbours house.They was too many people,and noise and activity going on that I started unknowingly getting pushed to the back of the queue.I stood by our gate looking outside to the streets.It was then I realised that life was not as straight forward as I thought it was going to be.I didnt know what we had done wrong?I didnt understand anything?Was I naughty?Are we bad people?......It was many years I learnt it was because I was Tamil and not sinhalese.Does that make me any less inferior or any less de valued as a human being?I don't know I am yet to answer that question 25 years later.....
'BANG' ..I experienced and heard the first gun shot.At that young age it was all too overwhelming I didnt understand they were loud noises.People i knew seemed to fall to the ground one by one screaming and they was red liquid pouring out of them.They was fire blazing above cars...I turned to look behind me ,they was still a queue of people jumping across the hole in the wall trying to get away.I noticed my dad had ordered our servants to pass all the small children over the wall to save time as we were all playing a game of life or death.A pull on my left leg made me turn back towards the street.It was my best friend 'Suganthi'..' Help me,help me,please dont leave me she cried as she fell to the floor as a gun shot hit her precisely.My body started shaking.It just dawned on me.Was I next?I reached over with my hand-
I heard my mum scream...as the gun shot was fired next my servant lifted me and threw me over the wall.I reached the otherside.with bruises and grazes..but I reached the otherside.In the game of 'Life or Death' I had been given another chance.
On the other side of the wall lived a very close and good friend of my father's.But his house was not to be attacked so he was safe and he was willing to take the risk of hiding us in his basement.
Why was he safe? Well I can check the dictionary and check to ensure i am politically correct before I write this...but to be blunt it was because he was sinhalese - and the srilankan army were only targeting the tamil houses.We were later told a muslim family had cooperated with the srilankan government and given them a list of all the tamil families living on the streets.
We were lucky and fortunate that five fingers are not the same and that my father had good friends.My father spoke both languages fluently- so they would not know he was tamil unless they checked his passport.
The other side of the hole was dark and grim and full of tension.The wife of my fathers friend had come to show us where we were to hide for an estimated time of an hour or less until everything had passed.Little did we know that we were going to spend the next 48 hours there.
She took us down the stairs and told us to be quite as she locked the door behind us.My dad reassured my mother and stayed above with his friend.It was dark and crowded as we all squatted on the floor silently - well everyone except for me and my older sister.We followed each other into a corner following the noise with the wall. Finding a small narrow dark corridor where the noise seemed louder we crawled across one behind the other..we could see some light ahead and at that age we were intrigued to know what was going on. My mother assuming we were sitting with her in the dark was also kept busy holding tighly our younger sister who was born only a few months prior to this day.
We reached the end of the narrow corridor only to find out it was a dead end and the light was coming from a 2 griddle bars that looked onto the main street.Desperate for some air and some rest,we both fell flat on the ground to get our breath back.Noticing only then ,that this gave us a view onto the street.Not clear.But enough to give us a picture of reality.We watched mother's and children alike get shot in front of us.We watched houses and cars being burnt and shed to nothing.We saw men in uniform marching speaking to the neighbours who stood by the gate including my dad and his friend to confirm they had the right to live- because they were sinhalese.
I never realised it was possible at that young age to wish I was something or someone else.I felt anger and hatred as the memory of my best friend grabbing my leg kept passing by me.I wanted that toy the men in uniform was holding so I can play the game of 'Life or death' with them.
I wanted to make them have red liquid pour out of them I wanted them to fall to the ground and fall asleep in silence like they had done to my friend.
At the age of 7 ,I didnt know that toy I wanted was an AK47 rifle.At the age of 7 I didn't know I had replaced my dream of owning a glass slipper to owning an AK47 instead.My older sister watched my heart race and my breath getting louder as she shrugged and falsed me to crawl back to our mother.
Here we sat for the next 48 hours...............................................................
It's late and I'm going to bed I'll be back tomorrow if you want to know what happened next.
The First truth - Why Am I Writing A Blog
Hi Strangers,
So here I am.Finally convinced my self to tell the world what they don't want to hear - The Truth
Why ?Well I figured after so many years I don't give a shit if you agree, disagree, want to read it, don't want to read it...it's up to you... but you know what I'm going to tell you about it anyway
For those of you who want to carry on living in lala land where all is fruitful I suggest you close this site now and never enter it again.
This is my beginning to a lot of truth about a lot of things that could get alot of people including myself in trouble. Today is the beginning of unleashing what we deny,what we prefer to pretend we haven't seen:
So here I am.Finally convinced my self to tell the world what they don't want to hear - The Truth
Why ?Well I figured after so many years I don't give a shit if you agree, disagree, want to read it, don't want to read it...it's up to you... but you know what I'm going to tell you about it anyway
For those of you who want to carry on living in lala land where all is fruitful I suggest you close this site now and never enter it again.
This is my beginning to a lot of truth about a lot of things that could get alot of people including myself in trouble. Today is the beginning of unleashing what we deny,what we prefer to pretend we haven't seen:
- Leaving home
- Getting married
- Getting Divorced
- In denial
- Recovering
- Pilgrimage
- Restaurant Nightmare's ( Explores an operators 12 year career growth in the hospitality industry...what you don't read about in the newspapers
- Travelling alone
- Abuse
- The real truth uncovered behind chat rooms - before and after
- Love- what's that?
- Material Girl In a material world
- Why The - Don't F*** With Me Image
- Aftermath Of The Tsunami In Sri Lanka - ( The photos & The truth From my own eyes )
So now you know what I'm going to write .....a taste of whats to come I guess.
The truth - first hand from me
So take some time to think about it and then I'll see you when Your ready.......
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