Like all great thrillers, this story started with a scream.
It was 3 AM. I was on the toilet scrolling through my Medium statistics when a few big numbers jumped out at me. An old article had reached a thousand views in less than two weeks.
I get 20 to 30 views per article on average so you can imagine my shock.
How did this happen?
Was I finally recognized as a top writer?
Had I finally been blessed with Medium’s coveted C-word?
I had to get to the bottom of this. So as soon as I wiped my…
Who am I?
A question I have struggled with from the moment I realized I was a single soul floating in an infinite space with billions of beautiful souls behind me, billions alongside me, and billions more before me. (A line inspired by the movie “Soul”)
If you break down my name literally in my mother tongue, Sinhalese, it means Gold (Kasun), Noble (Udara), and Descended from brave lions (Ranasinghe). In reality, I’m more of a hibernating brown bear trying to find his place in a big and confusing world.
You can also call me a 25-year-old university graduate living…
Oh how, oh why, oh where is what’s mine,
In search of what’s lost, rusted, divine,
I plead, please! Just show me a sign,
Flashing lights, distractions, a dozen, a dime.
Let’s make some music! A small boy chimes,
Like the good old days, devoid of deadlines,
I stare at the keys, no music, no rhyme,
Just the tick tick tick of ruthless time.
Maybe it’s me, drowning in malaise and slime,
Or maybe it’s the burden of neglecting my crime,
Confessions leave a bitter taste, stings like lime,
On open wounds, I left behind.
From mountains to…
I came. I cooked. I failed.
I cooked again. Then conquered!
I have always had a complicated relationship with fudge. We have gone on many dates in the past, but they always end in delicious disasters. I don’t know if it’s me or her. We couldn't make it work no matter how many times we tried.
Was I too blind, unable to see the signs of her discomfort?
Was I too impatient, wanting to move to the next stage of our relationship before she had settled?
Was I too scared, turning off the heat when her emotions started to boil…
This is not a poem with a message profound,
Just a little rant related to an irritating rat that ran around,
Skittering, scampering, and scrambling on the table it clowned,
Knocked over my mug, leaving the handle shattered, unbound.
Necessity is the mother of invention.
A fast-approaching expiry date is the drunk stepmother of cookie conundrums.
One must never rush baking. It is a delicate balance of preparation, practice, and patience. Unfortunately, someone lacked all of the above during his latest baking session. This resulted in weird cookies that were too big for their britches and filled with a soggy interior. What led to such a catastrophe and what happened mere moments from disaster?
Join me, dear reader, as we ask the hard questions and dissect how a so-called baker failed at baking cookies.
Bang! The thunder crackles as the midnight sky sang,
Boom! The windows slam screaming out from the room,
Poof! Goes the fuse, smoke rising to the roof,
Boo! Comes the ghosts while I’m blind in the loo.
Bump! My toes hit the door, cursing loudly I jump,
Ow! My scream is swallowed as pain tightens up my brow,
Click! I hit the switch, no lights, my middle finger I flick,
Grrr! I growl accursed words, stumbling to the bedroom in a blur.
Thud! My body falls on the bedsheets, nice and snug,
Numbers don’t lie. But, people do.
If we try hard enough, we can shape numbers to fit our own point of view.
During the past year, we have all been intimately familiar with graphs flashing across our screens. Be it COVID-19, the recent election results, or the massive meme stock fiasco, graphs have become part and parcel with the media we consume. But, how trustworthy are these visual tools and how easily can they be manipulated to fit the desired narrative? I’m glad you asked.
Join me, dear reader, as we look at a few ways graphs can be misleading…
There is nothing quite like hooking up with an old flame.
You see her from afar in her Sunday best. You recognize the subtle details like the cute dimples that pinch her cheek, how her smile favors the left side a wee bit, and the way her hair cascades down her back with flowers weaved in between. Then, you reminisce. You think about the times you’ve had, the memories you’ve made, and the way she kissed your lips on the first date. It is bliss.
That is exactly how I felt a few days ago when I did a speech…
The pinpricks that sting your fingertips as you sew,
The desperate cry of the poor little stubbed toe,
The words unsaid and the words that hit home,
When you ask for help and the answer is no.
Smothered in silence, the little things will grow,
Feasting on joy, leaving me buried in snow,
A patchwork of pain that they’ll hardly know,
Death by a thousand cuts, ushered in slow.
A few words from a boy that listened to too many punk rock songs this afternoon. It amazes me how music can lift us up from a bad situation…