Archive for About myself

An example of Singhalese mentality

Since I was born in Colombo and had Singhalese friends from early childhood, I had seen both sides of the coin in the Sri Lankan War.

 

I used to love Colombo as a child, and then 1983 (Ethnic riots) happened. To make a long story short, my family went to settle in Northern Sri Lanka. It was the best time of my life and then it was taken away from me. The war started and intensified in the North. Many atrocities happened and my family had to move back to Colombo.

 

I remember how naively I voted for Chandrika Kumarutunga when I first turned 18 and got voting rights, trusting her to deliver peace – Instead, a beloved cousin and her father were blown to pieces in one of many many aerial attacks by Sri lankan air force, in the intensified war under her regime. How naïve I was in hoping that a Sinhalese government would deliver peace to the Tamils.

  

 

 Later on, I dared to tell a Singhalese (a university mate) in Colombo about the many Tamils deaths – including my loved ones – due to aerial bombings. (You see, Tamils living among the Singhalese in the South, are tight lipped when it comes to these things. Most of them have to maintain silence if they want to safegard their lives)

 

 

“Our forces don’t bomb civilians” The Singhalese guy (almost a friend) said firmly.

 

“But” I protested “But…my cousin died. She came from a poor family, studied hard and had just entered university. She died”

 

“No No… that wouldn’t have happened” he said again icily and changed the topic.

 

Now, how can one deal with people like that? 

 

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My place

Childhood home in Chavakachcheri

Childhood home in Chavakachcheri

 

Welcome. First, let me tell you why I started this blog. I want to tell you the story of “my place”. You see, I have an aching and unrealised dream – it’s a dream about going back to my place.

See the house pointed by the red letters? This was/is my place.

 

See how some of the houses have red roofs and some do not have any?

 

That’s because of a war. A civil war. I might even call it a war for independence.

My house has a crater in the middle from an artillery shell – which looked like an indoor swimming pool I remember someone telling me jokingly. Who cares about property when I had lost loved ones and a most precious thing – freedom to live in my place?

Yet I am very very lucky. I’ll explain why later.

 

My place is in a town called Chavakachcheri in the Jaffna peninsula in Northern Sri Lanka. It is currently under the control of the Sri Lankan Army. They say it is a liberated area. For me, it’s occupied territory.

 

I can’t go back.

You might ask me why? Why not?

 

It’s because if I go back and start talking about my rights or what had happened there or some of the things that I had seen there (me being the passionate open mouth type), I will promptly be abducted by a “white van” or “men in motorbikes”, tortured, killed and my body “burnt beyond recognition”.

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