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Blue Moon b Stamatisgr

Seeking means : to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal – Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

Early last October, I was given a glimpse of utopia. Tales of birth and lust and love intermingled with a complete release of the body and a bond formed with the universe. Tales of conversations between bodies and souls that seem to have known each other even before a meeting of the minds; tales that forever puncture the fabric of space & time. I have seen the possibilities that life can hold for me. I say this in the midst of some of the darkest days of my life because I know what is possible for me now. I wish I knew more. I long to. So that when the possibility of the potential for that kind of infinite joy comes within reach, I’ll know to grab onto it instantly and let it take me on the ride of my life. I thought I was having it this year and it startled me to realize it. But maybe what happened these past few months was merely meant to be the catalyst for it. I hadn’t realized or maybe I had just forgotten the fact that within the lost crevices of my soul, I could hold the potential for much more. Until then I had merely been mundane. I had foolishly come to terms with the fact that there could possibly be more for me than the decisions I had made or what I thought was a raw deal that life had decided to hand me. That I was just meant to endure much and come out stronger. And live to tell stories and be a tower of strength for others. I had completely lost the plot. Submitting to the naive expectations of the heart and the tales the world tends to tell you. No wonder I have constantly been so dissatisfied during what could have been the most joyous moments of my life.

Why listen to the likes of Jim Morrison (random example) and in my case Nick Drake these days, if we’re just going to put them on play & take off into a weed or drug induced stupor only to come out of it and go on with everyday as though what they saw and promised us about meant nothing? I told a friend recently that I thought the last big revolution of humankind already began and ended before our time. I saw a glimpse of its possibility during Lasantha’s funeral. But maybe that was merely a show of solidarity. I’m not saying the hippies had got it all worked out. But maybe they were onto something. Something that would have at least made the institution we’re so comfortable with worthwhile living in. There are far too many dissatisfied, restless souls in this world for you to disagree with me on that.

I don’t care who becomes the next president because of what he can do for the price of potatoes anymore. I don’t care if I have enough money to pay the rent and drink enough so that it temporarily numbs the constant pain that I have come to acknowledge is my life. These are all just means to survival that I have placed too much faith and hope in over the years. Necessary evils that beget more necessary evils. I’ve welcomed this way of living and kept it comfortably within me for too long now. It’s not about having an opinion about things or learning things and passing them on or living out mundane expectations. It’s not about learning some epic path to wisdom. It’s about what finding out what your own personal happiness is and where it lies. At the end of the day, if we’re not happy, then what’s the point of it all? It sounds like a simple enough statement, but it has been the furthest thing from my reach for far too long now.

I turned 30 a few days ago and I have come to realize that each one of those years have been a waste, save a few precious moments that most people would kill to have. Moments of complete clarity that I have swallowed back when they would surface. Maybe out of fear that the feeling won’t last, maybe out of some sickened desire to have those feelings dwell in a way of life that they weren’t meant for. Hearts break far too often and too many times have I seen a world full of saddened people without a reason to go on. And I have been those people during many junctures in my own life too many times to let it continue. I can’t, I won’t, I refuse to let the next 30 be defined by the same way meaningless existence.

On the night of the Blue Moon I sent a wish out into the great universe that has shown me the potential of myself when I am open to be a constant receptacle, receptive of anything and everything, come what may.

I have written too often about my own simplified philosophy of the missing sandwich. Aiyo! How wrong I have been to think of life in those terms. Of just one missing element that completes us. There is so much more to me and those I love to think of it in such belittling terms. I won’t close this blog down but I will stop blogging here. It will be kept open should I or another soul come by here someday it and find some solace or recognition in what I have written over the years. I am no longer the missing sandwich. This part of my journey is over. It is time to shed the old so that I have enough room to take in the new life, the real one I am meant to live.

I am not preaching or passing on because I sincerely have nothing of worth to tell you. I am just giving you my personal reasons for the decisions I am beginning to make for myself. If I leave you with anything, it will be a plea to find your own personal happy place and stay there. I haven’t found mine in its entirety yet, I have merely seen the potential for it, like I said. But having received a glimpse of it, how can I proceed without it now?

Happy New Year everyone & I wish you all your personal epiphany in 2010, if you haven’t had it yet. Thank you for all you have done and been to me over the years. Thank you for stopping by here when you have. Thank you for becoming my friends and staying that way. You will always hold a place in my heart for that is the one part of me that is already infinite in its ability to welcome and embrace.

May all our dark days be erased, someday.

Goodbye.

I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep & suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life and not when I have come to die discover that I have not lived – Henry David Thoreau

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Fruit Salad

I can never write when I want to. I went home last night intending to write a story. When the words come, they’re when I least expect it. And even then, the burst of inspiration doesn’t last long and I have a strong urge to finish it up and never leave whatever I’m writing to get back to at a later date. Add to that, I never edit or review my work. This is probably why I’ll never be the kind of writer that I envisioned I would become someday.

So I realized that I hadn’t given you an update on the various goings on in my life since the move to the new house, which I highly doubt you’ll be interested in reading. I’m opting to shove it down your throat, none-the-less. 😉

The most important thing is that I miss Stitch & MoCuishle. It’s been over 2 weeks since I’ve seen them and my heart breaks so many times a day when I think of them. They used to be the last thing I saw when I went to sleep and the first thing that greeted me when I opened my eyes every morning. I need to bring them over to spend a night with me one day soon. There’s nothing like sinking your face into Stitch’s silky coat at the end of a long day.

The great Dharmasiri Bandaranayake seems to think quite a bit of me it seems. He invited a friend of mine and I to perform in a Sinhala play with him. A classic satire of his from the 70’s which he is remaking in November. Needless to say, it has been a very different experience. It’s almost a complete 180 from the English theatre I am used to. Hopefully I’ll be able to pull off the performance because it is an absolute honour to be invited into his fold and be cast in a role without an audition, merely based on one previous performance he managed to catch the video of.

In terms of work, my office has turned into a factory. I churn out ideas and copy as though I was making hoppers. As a result my output hasn’t been brilliant. Some ideas are good, some are ok and some are just downright shit. If I had the luxury of time to think about one campaign at a time, the situation would be quite different. As it stands I have 4 jobs in hand!

I opened a Twitter account in April and “tweeted” (is that what you call it?) once about Attia in Rome. I suddenly got the urge to tweet again and I’ve been on a roll since a few days ago. Nothing of substance there either. Some random things about a Snuffleupagus and others about work. Following the right people is the key I hear, so I’ve been finding people who inspire me which seems far more interesting that updating my own excrement. Stephen Fry has proved to be a very interesting follow I must say!

And then the beautiful Cinderella bestowed this award on me called loyal friend and reader and now I am to name five bloggers to give this same award to. So here goes…

RD, for finding the occasional bit of substance amidst my blogging madness and becoming a friend in the process.

Brandix, for inspiring me to become a blogger. This blog exists because he introduced me to it and it has become one of the best outlets for my twisted mind.

Dishi, for writing from her heart and speaking from her heart as a person and a blogger. Her writing moves me and so does she as a person.

St. Fallen for reading me from the point he became a blogger himself. And along the way, I’m really glad we’ve also become friends.

And finally to Gyppo, whose posts make me feel like I’m in a scene from Ground Beneath Her Feet. She writes the things in my head, only she puts them across better.

There are many more I would like to give these out to, but alas I am limited to only 5. To my chosen 5, go ahead and knock yourself out picking another 5 yourself! (That is if you want to, of course)

That’s it in the life and times of the missing sandwich. Besides finding my first grey hairs and going into a state of manic depression interspersed with the occasion bout of OCD.

I’m terribly sorry this post became such a mixed fruit salad of things. Enjoy the weekend y’all!

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Hi all! Just a quick post on behalf of RD (that dashing young lad from London) in case Gypsy hasn’t beaten me to it already. RD is in town as you know and would love to meet up with all of us. If you’re free this Friday night/evening, we’ll probably all meet at Barefoot I think. Please let me know if you’re in by way of a comment on my blog or Gyppo’s, we’ll get back to you with the final details via mail.

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City of Lost Children by YagaK

City of Lost Children by YagaK

Hello blogosphere, says I sheepishly. I went missing, true to mt blog title and I have no clue how to find my way back. But Cerno reminded me that this place, right here is where I belong. There’s so much I’ve wanted to blog about over the past few weeks but the words are finding themselves more and more difficult to come out. Work’s been a bitch. But that’s supposed to be good thing for the likes of me who goes and gets myself into way too much drama. The escapes to paradise have been eye openers in so many ways though and sitting myself down on the beach is when the inspiration starts to flow. So many words, so many vivid pictures in my head

Last night I was at rehearsals for a play I’m acting in and for a while now I haven’t been able to get into this very intense scene. And then I closed my eyes and was asked to go into my happy place, my happy moment and I realized that even that one perfect moment of mine was in Una. It was one of those mind-blowing, gone too soon kinda moments. But even though the moment’s lost, I can literally feel every single emotion when I want to. And that can be frightening. Especially for a somewhat lost soul like myself.

I feel like I’m at the fringes of this place called home. Like a voyeur, looking in but I can’t find the doorway. I turned my back and went off looking for the doorway to a thousand churches a while ago and didn’t realize that all I needed to do was turn my back around and come home. And now it seems too late. Like a blind man, I’ve been feeling my way around, but there’s no door to be found. Just walls and windows. Walls keeping me out, windows letting me peep in and see what I have lost. I said “People Always Leave” in my last post and I never realized though that in a way, I’m the one who left this time.

So much for the glory of the adventurer huh?

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character_atiaofthejulii

Ever read Patrick Fernando’s poignant and aptly worded poem titled “The Fisherman Mourned by his Wife?” It’s one of those pieces that I have always been extremely fond of because of its realistic look at Sri Lankan marriage and relationships. 

The line “let us confess” starts off an information flow that really tugs at the heart. I have this tendency to quote from pieces of literature that have moved me, to help me to come to my point, like in the case with this poem. The last 24 hours in the Sri Lankan blogsphere have been more than strange. It’s easy to say that I was victimized by another blogger, as was my friend and fellow blogger, Jade. But to call ourselves victims is so passé isn’t it? After all, don’t victims generally crawl into holes and stay there until it’s safe to come back out and play again? 

I was saving the Patrick Fernando quote for another post which I wrote a long time ago and was waiting for the right time to post. I read it yesterday and I realized the need for it had passed so it may never see the light of day I guess. Sad, since I think it was one of my best written pieces. Never ye mind that. I have a few things to say and I’ll get right to the point now, since the last few lines were totally off it – 

The story goes a little something like this: 

Jade wrote a beautiful post about me that I was more that merely touched about. Passionately Patient jumped on the bandwagon and wrote a post herself about how that post and some others that I have written have revealed so much about us and made it seem quite strange because the information seemed warped. Both Jade and I commented, giving her the facts and asked her to please edit or remove the post in question. She did and I thanked her for it. Moments later another post appeared on her blog containing two short stories. I hadn’t really had the time to read them and another blogger who did gave me a call and asked me to later on in the evening. Reading them, I realized that one of them contained the advertising industry’s warped, gossipy version of what happened to me a year ago. It was how anyone on the outside who didn’t know my story would have looked at it. 

I have 2 things to tell both Jade and PP based on what I’ve written in the above paragraph and the repercussions of it. Here they are : 

Jade. It’s your philosophies in life that people should adopt, not mine. If I’m a tigress, you’re a firebrand. You’ve got more balls than most men I know and I am proud and honoured to know you. You’re an amazing writer, a talented woman, with great taste in everything including your friends 😉  You’re never afraid to speak your mind and when I shush up and give in sometimes, you remind me of why I shouldn’t. These have resulted in epic blow-ups between the two of us which have brought us much closer as a result and I think the reason is a lack of betrayal. We’ll shoot our mouths off about our opinions of each other shamelessly, but that comes from really knowing one another, which I highly doubt other people have the liberty to do, simply because they don’t know us. Really knowing someone takes a lot more than reading their blog or listening to industry gossip after all. You’re one of the people who helped me to come out of my shell and live a little, which I’m more than exercising now. For that and more I thank you with all my heart. 

PP. You don’t know me & thanks to your repeatedly off opinions of me, I will now disregard your existence entirely. I don’t care who you are, I have done nothing to hurt you and yet you opted to write 2 posts tarnishing me. It’s alright. You’re entitled to freedom of speech and I’m entitled to ignore you. I will say one thing to you before I do though, the base of your story may have been true, but the poor helpless little girl you seemed to have pegged me as doesn’t exist. She never did. If I can take the beating your story said I did and still smile, bring it on. You don’t scare me, no one does. I’m not too worried about anonymity. The reason I blog as themissingsandwich is because the title comes from a philosophy I believe in. Everyone knows who I am. I’ve been tarnished in the papers, by other bloggers, had my life ripped apart and I am still standing. Living. Flourishing. Laughing. No one can bring me down, honey. “Remember : far better than you have sworn to do the same. Go look for them now” (Attia of the Julii)

That being said. Hasn’t there been enough drama on Kottu this year to last us all a lifetime? Enough na?

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In relation to the latest drama on kottu, I thought I’d add my 2 cents worth. 

Did anyone watch Merlin? The one with Sam Neil playing the title character? The whole thing was based on the concept of the old ways ending and a new, Christian era coming into reign. The old ways, as they were, were ones where people believed in magic and dragons and ofcourse wizards like Merlin. But it was infact he who realized that it had no real holding in a time when change was needed.

The very last line in the movie was ‘there will be no more magic’ and with that, he turned his back and walked away from Mab, Queen of the old ways. Everyone in turn also walked away and she began to disintegrate into nothingness. I was not too thrilled with the end of the age of magic, but the movie had a valid point, which to date I have carried with me. 

The point was the fact that if you don’t believe in something, it ceases to exist. 

Now I’m not trying to be high and mighty here. If I was, I wouldn’t have stated the source of my apparent wisdom. 😉 

But why do we bother to read blog posts that upset us? Stop reading them, stop commenting, stop reacting and the perpetrator will cease to affect you.

thekillromeoproject said it perfectly when he commented on the blog post in question. Some people are just not decent enough to be considered human. So why bother giving them the time of day?

And then, some others handle situations with aplomb and humour who we will continue to read, simply because they have more class and decency and also because they make for a damn good read.   

It’s just a sad situation when you are not able to laugh even when the joke is on you. If you can laugh at others, you can bloody well learn to laugh at yourself, especially when the joke has no malicious or vicious intent behind it. If you can’t, then you’re smaller than a Montessori child. You can huff and puff all you want, but you can’t blow this blogosphere down. 

Isn’t as simple as that?

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The lights are unusually dim on kottu today as RD makes his way to the entrance. He is about to click and enter the Sri Lankan blogsphere. Suddenly he pauses, his finger just shy of the key. Muffled giggles can be heard from somewhere beyond his screen. A sudden, loud ‘shhhhh’ is then heard, from a familiar voice, probably Cerno’s, after which there is silence again.

RD scratches his head in confusion and for the umpteenth time that week wondered why he didn’t have more hair to scratch. He was getting on in years. Add to that the 3 years of blog wisdom he has been pouring out and he might just be hitting close to 73 now. Young nubile girls only fall at his feet in his dreams anymore, save a random gypsy once in a way… and even there the offer is not for tantric sex, but for marriage which means he’ll come home to curlers and a face mask every evening. He shudders.

Breaking out of his daydream, or to put it more eloquently… daymare, he debates for a split second before clicking into kottu.

It’s pitch dark. He hears a strange sound which reminds makes him feel like he’s inside a Steven King novel and is about to turn around and head for the hills. Then suddenly the lights come on and the familiar pink header of kottu returns. But instead of a bunch of blog posts, all his favourite bloggers jump out of the screen, perch themselves on his laptop (promptly crumbling it into a useless heap) and scream “HAPPY BLOG BIRTHDAY RD!!!”

He blinks. Shakes his head vigorously like a dog after a bath and looks again. He wasn’t imagining it. This ridiculous bunch of nincompoops had finally discovered his true identity. His Friday the 13th nightmare had actually come true. They did remember to bring enough booze with them though. Thank goodness for that.

 On a lighter note, happy birthday RD from all of us to you. It’s thanks to you and your blog that has kept most of us bloggers on a high note even on their worst days. Your blog provides so much inspiration, rib-tickling humour and a wealth of knowledge for everyone here. We’ve taken a unanimous vote and you’re the blogger of the decade. Now get up, pour yourself a drink in the left bottom corner of your screen where Brandix & Cerno are mixing Mojitos & Long Islands and toast all of us lovely people who love you so much. 

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