Voice of truth..

On my way to work, from the subway window, you could see a cemetery. I watch it every time. The stone above the ground, the green grass. A while back, cherry blossoms bloomed. I pass by it, watching it in the same way life passes us. I dont fear. There are two willow trees. They say that spirits live in willow trees. I dont mind. Willow trees are beautiful. 

I remember when I came back to Sri Lanka from Thailand. The warm, humid dust clung on to my skin just as I got out of the airport, and the drive back to home. Looking at the unkept road, the odd advertisement boards above, the messy electrical wires alongside the road. I cannot forget the feeling, of revulsion, pity, and shame -not for myself but for the pathetic land which called itself a country. Because all its misery was self made. And it was what was normal. It wasnt until you got out of it and placed yourself in a different environment that you could see for yourself. And many people didnt, for they had no opportunity to go out and see for themselves.