Waltzing with the fleeting

Article and photograph by Yasasi Malmeewala

Loneliness, strange feeling. Compelling at times. Is it real though? For now, let’s say, I’ve felt it. When I decided to up and move to a different country more than two years ago, I didn’t know it would hit this hard.

Today’s story isn’t about missing my family though. Obviously, I’ve missed home. Terribly, in fact. How could I not? My best days are with them, out on the verandah around 5:30 in the evening when we gather around. It would be just the four of us, with our cups filled with tea, sometimes with pieces of jaggery from visits to Delvita which is Appachchi’s ancestral home. Or when it was us four this one-time carpooling around Negombo, just wasting fuel, not getting out of the car to have a cup of coffee at least and ending up heading back to Kurunegala faster than you can say faster, like four introverts.

This loneliness is different. I’ve had time to battle with the idea of it for some time. And this time was sometimes spent writing poems that are now safely stored away on the notepad app on my phone. Normally, I would never dare share these little notes with anyone except family, but for the singular person who has reached this 16th line with a little interest in what I’m trying to say today, I’ll make an exception.

This was on a train ride after work, somewhere in April 2022:

I hate to think about love, ponder over it like some sad mistress because it ruins the point of less expectations It bursts that archaic hope in my heart of finding someone who fits the part

I’ve never loved a person; like how Elinor loved Edward or in more modern times, even amidst all the complications, how Anastasia loved Christian. But at the same time, never once in my life did I ever feel like I was missing out on something. I still remember the first guy who approached me to say they liked me, I was 12. But what I remember more vividly is the thing he said to one of my friends before he said anything to me. To my friend he went along the lines of, “Please don’t tell her now, she’ll actually slap me”. I never slapped him of course, but I hated to even be seated next to him, after his confession, in class at school. I just didn’t want the sweet romance that boy had in mind then.

Times have changed us. I’m not the girl I used to be, definitely not the girl a boy would think would slap them if they ever confessed their feelings to. I’ll never know why I cried; maybe I was scared. Earlier this year, after being away from the people I love, more than I had to, I started to feel like someone’s company may not be the worst thing that could happen. That was a little detour. Back to loneliness, yes.

Bhante say that everything we love will eventually leave us someday, and it’ll all become an illusion that was once cherished. And so is self. Having an understanding, even in a minute level, of this teaching has helped me navigate my emotions in ways I’ll forever be grateful for. But as an ordinary person, sometimes it’s hard to apply the reality of things as it is to things as sensitive as love. Yet, I see people who are in love, who talk about and understand these teachings and spread that.

So, I guess that also helps me to not forget that this can be done, that you can love, but also let go when it’s time in real life. Some things are meant to be, and some things aren’t. And this much I know, wherever you go, whomever you may meet, trying to take the best out of the situation you are in and being happy with what you have, will make you never feel like you are missing out on anything. Outside looking in, this may seem hard to do, but you can always try. Afterall, that’s what we all do. Trying, while waltzing with the fleeting.