The word has a fairly ambiguous meaning in my vocabulary. I'm ethnically Sri Lankan, was born in Vienna, but have never felt happier than when in New York. If I was forced to put down a definition I'd say "where I am going, but never where I am." Home - it definitely has a restless connotation for me.
I'm spending such a short time in Sri Lanka this December, a mere nine days, but it only took a couple of hours after I landed to be woken up to the reality of life here. I'm not sure how many people in New York can expect to find a jeep loaded with fully-uniformed, fully-armed soldiers parked in their garage. I would upload a photo, but I've been warned by several people that soldiers are camera-shy and trigger-happy.
The hardest bullets to dodge are the ones I see coming. The moment of recognition deteriorates into hypnotic fascination before my body expresses a desire to move. Then, BAM. I'm hit. There is blood everywhere. I clumsily grasp at tissues, attending to the crimson mess that my fatal wound is spluttering before I dare admit feeling pain. I've lost so much blood that there is no feeling left.
I suppose there are no easy bullets to dodge, but ignorance serves me better than anticipation. I tend to bring these things upon myself.
My childhood fascination with black sand is what gives this blog its name. Instead of building castles with it, six year-old Suri would collect the stuff into little plastic buckets with a glorified ice cream scoop and refine black sand in process similar to panning for gold. The result was a titanium-iron oxide called Ilmenite - much to my father's disappointment, that is the last time I cared about anything remotely related to chemistry.
I'm studying Journalism in New York and have made a hobby out of photography (with my super sexy 12M Canon Rebel xSi). The fusion of the two is what you'll find here, with the odd rant.