Posted on

Art and Animals During COVID-19

“Art was what was truly permanent therefore what truly mattered. The rest was ‘but a spume of things / Upon a ghostly paradigm of things.’” Wendell Berry, What Are People For?

Wendell Berry’s lamentation is more poignant since the COVID-19 virus forced us into stultifying solitude. Confined to our homes, art viewing in galleries seem like a distant memory. Saskia Fernando Gallery in Colombo, Sri Lanka, fills this artless void with Art in Curfew. For their inaugural show, the gallery invited four Sri Lanka-based artists, Hashan Cooray, Pushpakanthan Pakkiyarajah, Fabienne Francotte, and Firi Rahman to create or curate a collection of work as a response to the forced hermitry. To enrich this virtual art experience, an open studio session on Instagram Live took place each Saturday, enabling the viewer a glimpse into each artist’s space, practice, and current projects.

It was through one of these open studio sessions that I discovered Firi Rahman. When I tuned into the Live session, Buddy, one of Firi’s parrots, greeted me with a loud squawk followed a succession of trills. During Firi’s walkthrough of his humble one-room abode that also dubs as his studio, we met the other creatures that live in his space. Besides Buddy, Firi is currently looking after other less vocal birds as well as a squirrel. Then Firi sat down and started to draw, using a Rotring pen with slow, circular motions to create the pattern of the dotted coat of a leopard. It’s a painstaking process, but the results are mesmerizing.

Left: Hornbill, 2018
Centre: Lemur, 2018
Right: Cougar, 2018
For inquiries: Saskia Fernando Gallery

In 2018, Firi made a series of pen-on-paper drawings depicting animals in urban settings. He was initially inspired by the four pet macaws that had fled their gilded cage inside the palace of the then Sri Lankan President Mahinda Rajapaksa. These bright, long-tailed birds are not native to Sri Lanka, and the elites had kept them as status symbols. On the other hand, Firi, a bird lover his whole life, has only kept birds to help them. He would free them as soon as they’re well or old enough to be on their own. The only ones he would keep are the ones that are born in captivity and would not survive independently in the wild. When he heard about the escaped macaws, he wondered where these birds would go in Colombo. As he started to imagine wild animals and what they would do in urban settings, he made a series of drawings. There is one of a hornbill sitting in a hefty, colonial-style wooden chair with its beak tilting in the air. He looks like a king summoning his subject for an announcement. Another drawing consists of two lemurs perched on the tiled roof of a house made of wood and corrugated iron. My favourite is the drawing of a cougar crouching on top of a dolly cart, looking down as if it regretted jumping onto the unstable surface in the first place. 

The cougar drawing reminded me of the puma that has been visiting the near-empty streets of the Chilean capital of Santiago. Since late March, the wild feline has been prowling the central district, looking disoriented and confused. It roamed through several private gardens and a school before it was tranquilized and sent to the wildlife officials. This adventurous puma is not the only animal venturing out of their homes. Since the advent of the COVID-19 virus, many creatures are found cruising the newly deserted cities around the world. In Paris, two bucks strolled down an empty road next to park cars. In Istanbul, dolphins frolicked in the Bosporus Strait that has recently become free of tankers, cargo ships, and tourist boats. In Adelaide, a kangaroo hopped around the heart of downtown in full strides.

I am envious that the animals are out and about in the world. Even the crows perched on the trees in my neighbrouhood are cawing to flaunt their freedom. It’s poetic justice—as the humans are under curfews or lockdown around the world, the wildlife is enjoying a quieter and cleaner world, reclaiming habitats that we once took away from them.

Before the pandemic, humans as a species devoured resources like bottomless pits. Our consumer society insisted that we needed more to be fitter, happier, and more productive. When I was having a bad day, I ate and drank my feelings while shopped online to buy joy. When the curfew started suddenly in Sri Lanka, I became trapped inside my home in a new country with no access to Amazon, Book Depository, or Etsy. I soon ran out of snacks and booze and no means of getting more. Then, I realized that the post services stopped, and I couldn’t order anything online. The first couple of weeks were miserable. But slowly and grudgingly, I realized that I don’t need nearly as much as I consumed.

In What are People For?, Berry quotes William Blake from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell: “No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings.” Berry responds with a quote of his own: “Only when our acts are empowered with more than bodily strength do we need to think of limits.”

These quotes reminded me of the differences between humans and animals. The escaped macaws freed themselves with their bodily strength. On the other hand, humans have insatiable desires beyond our physical needs, and we haven’t had the opportunity to contemplate our limits until we are cooped up inside with nothing but our thoughts. Many of us didn’t want to face this reality–but the pandemic has certainly forced it upon me. For me (as a privileged person who was able to work from home), I feel like this pandemic has given me a clean slate because it drove me to confront the way I worked, played, and consumed. Now that we are slowly emerging from a strict curfew, I feel like I have become more resilient both in body and in mind. I am ready to tackle this new normal while feeling fitter, happier, and more productive–this time, without succumbing to the endless distractions and the unquenchable desire to consume.

Posted on

Sivan’s Thoughts: Cooking and food during the COVID-19 Curfew

Sunday, Day 16 of the curfew. The Woman pulls out a bottle from the wine fridge and declares to The Man. “Well, Punk, it looks like this is our last one.”

The Woman pops the cork and pours two generous glasses. They head out of the door for their daily ritual of watching the sunset from our rooftop.

When they come back into the flat, The Woman looks around in the freezer and pulls out the mullet roe, also known as the Taiwanese caviar. I’ve heard The Man claim that it tastes a bit like cheese, but meatier and more complex than the dairy variety. While that doesn’t sound very appealing to a peacock like me, it’s The Man’s favorite snack–he had discovered it during his first Chinese New Year in Taiwan. Since then, his mother-in-law packs a few vacuum-sealed pieces into their suitcases after their new year visit. That’s nice of her!

“Let’s have this with our last bottle of wine,” The Woman says holding up the leaf-shaped caviar.

The mother-in-law (The Woman’s mother) standing before the Chinese New Year’s spread she had prepared. The arrows point to the caviar, gently fried with Taiwanese rice wine and paired with fresh apples and green onion.

As The Man fries the caviar with Taiwanese rice wine, The Woman watches and sips on her wine. She looks thoughtful. “I think drying out for a few weeks, maybe even a month–it will be good for us,” she says. (I’m not convinced.) While they’ll adapt to a dry lockdown, I hope a semblance of normality returns to our home soon–and that includes a steady, non-rationed flow of wine.

Once the caviar is ready, The Man brings it to the coffee table. They relish it with their last glass of wine while binge-watching Ozark.

Monday, Day 17 of the curfew. The Woman is doing grocery shopping via WhatsApp messages and phone calls. They’ve been receiving shipments of cured meats and cheeses, but fresh produce has been harder to find. I catch snippets of her conversation as The Cat struts off to the balcony.

“Yes, 2 chickens and 20 eggs please.”

“Do you have any garlic? 500 grams please.”

Throughout the day, she goes downstairs and brings bags of groceries into the flat. Finally, the chicken and egg delivery arrives in the evening. She squeals as she tenderly puts down a bag of 20 eggs. “Look, Punk, we finally have eggs! Isn’t it funny that it’s easier to get chorizo these days than eggs?”

The Man unwraps the chicken from its bag. “Wow, that chicken looks weird without skin,” The Woman says, watching The Man cut up the skinless pink carcass with two legs and wings.

“Yeah, I think it’s common for the butcher in this part of the world to do this. It’s easier to skin the chicken than to pluck out all the feathers.” The Man says.

“Well, I guess we are not having roast chicken for a while, huh.”

“I am going to make a stew,” The Man says.

The spice cabinet (left) with spices and sauces from all over the world. The stash of Old Bay on the top shelf. The stew (right), made with whatever ingredients and spices available in the flat.

Once the stew is ready, I watch as The Man and The Woman have multiple helpings. It is tomato-based with chicken, British-style sausages, okra, and Italian rice. It’s seasoned with Old Bay and red pepper powder. I’ve learned that Old Bay is a staple in our household. The Man had brought it from his hometown, Madison, IN (in the U.S.) to Wan Chai, Hong Kong. When they moved here, they brought it with them to Mount Lavinia, Sri Lanka.

Tuesday, Day 18 of the curfew. The Woman wakes up with a scratchy throat. Her nose is stuffed-up and she’s lethargic. “Hey, Punk,” she says to The Man. “Do you think it’s possible to catch the Coronavirus just from interacting with the people who have been delivering food to us?”

“Probably not, Punk Bunny. But you should wear a mask when you meet them next time.”

The Woman finds some cold medicine and swallows a pill with water. She feels sluggish and sick all day yet she manages to work in front of her laptop and do her exercises too. I wish I could help her feel better. At night, she takes a different pill, a pink one. “Well, I can’t get drunk but at least I can have cold medicine with Codeine…”

The Woman goes to bed, leaving The Man with me in the living room. He watches YouTube clips on cooking and motorcycles. Before midnight, he turns off the lights and joins The Woman in the bedroom.

I feel a little abandoned, especially since The Cat hasn’t been coming around for visits. She has been social distancing with her family since way before this COVID-19 curfew. To my dismay, I have been left alone on my loyal perch. Since she has discovered the great balcony, she’d rather spend time with her new friends, such as the yappy squirrels and the obnoxious crows who live on the mango tree next to our balcony. At night, she hangs out with the fruit bats, who flap around their mighty wings around our home. Such is my life during these hard-ish times. This is Sivan, reporting from Mount Lavinia, Sri Lanka.

Inspired and edited by Mohini Khadaria.

Posted on

Sivan’s Thoughts: Groceries, alcohol, and sunsets during the COVID-19 Curfew

My name is Sivan. I will be reporting from Mount Lavinia, Sri Lanka on indoor life under the COVID-19 curfew.

I am Sivan, an antique peacock reporting from Mount Lavinia, Sri Lanka. If you are new here, be sure to check out the last post: “My Life and Hardish Times” by Sivan.

It’s Friday and The Man is sitting at the dining table giving a class online. Earlier in the day, The Man and The Woman had a discussion about the curfew that will start at 6 p.m. and end at 6 a.m. At around 4:30 p.m., The Woman comes out of the study. She takes a piece of paper and scrawls in large letters “The curfew starts at 6 p.m. tonight and ends at 6 a.m. on MONDAY MORNING.”

The Man looks away from the screen and shrugs as if saying, “What do you want me to do about it?”

The Woman scribbles again and holds up the paper for The Man to see. “Stop teaching. We need to go to the grocery store NOW.”

They grab a few shopping bags and head out the door. I hope that they will accomplish what they ventured out to do. Shortly after they leave, they’re back. Empty-handed. Apparently the shop had already closed.

It’s Saturday. The Woman goes into the kitchen to see how much liquor is left. There was only 1/3 of a bottle of gin. Meanwhile, The Man is falling asleep on the couch. “You drank all our gin,” she scowls. “The curfew has been extended until Tuesday and when it gets lifted, the liquor stores won’t be open.”

The Man doesn’t say anything. He is asleep on the couch.

It’s Tuesday morning and the curfew is lifted. At 7:30 a.m., their friends Rebecca and Conrad come by the flat to go grocery shopping with The Man and The Woman. Rebecca and Conrad are their new friends that live down the street. Due to social distancing, they don’t greet each other with a hug and a kiss like they normally do. They just smile at each other. “I can’t believe I am excited to go grocery shopping,” The Woman says.

Less than an hour later, The Man comes home with Conrad to fill up water bottles. Based on their conversation, it seems that the queue at the grocery store snaked around the whole block and down the street. In order to prepare to stand in line under the hot sun for the whole morning, they came back to get more water.

The tail end of a 4.5-hour long queue.

Then, a couple of hours later, The Woman comes home. She leads a large, bald, white man into the flat. He is carrying a box. Before he leaves, he opens the box to show The Woman the content: 12 bottles of wine. She leaves the house shortly again.

Two hours later, The Man and The Woman come home with their groceries. The Woman showed The Man the box. “We should be okay for a while,” she says. “Perhaps when the curfew lifts again on Friday, we can order some of the cheaper stuff so we don’t drink all the good stuff,” she chuckles.

But then they find out that the curfew will not be lifted on Friday after all. There is no word on when the curfew will be lifted again. The 12 bottles of wine will have to last indefinitely. Good thing I don’t drink!

The stunning sunset over the Indian Ocean.

The lack of alcohol indefinitely is a bleak thought that disturbs them. But they decide to make the best of it. They fill two glasses with wine and head up to the rooftop to enjoy the sunset over the Indian Ocean. They have enough groceries and wine to last them for a while, and at least they have each other. And to top it off, they are stuck in the beautiful Mount Lavinia with the best guard peacock in the world. And The Cat’s here too.

Inspired and edited by Mohini Khadaria.

Posted on

“My Life and Hard-ish Times” by Sivan

My name is Sivan. Some of you may know me already–I belong to The Man, The Woman, and The Cat, pictured below. This portrait was our family’s New Year’s greeting, and as you can see, The Cat hadn’t quite warmed up to me, yet.

The Man, The Woman, The Cat. And me.

I came from a Hindu temple in Jaffna, northern Sri Lanka. When the temple was renovating several years ago, they sold me to a dealer. I ended up in an antique store in Galle, which is a fort that was built by the Portuguese in 1588 and later expanded and fortified by the Dutch in the 17th century. Nowadays, it’s recognized as one of the remarkable cultural and architectural wonders of Sri Lanka. It is a tourist hotspot that attracts a constant flow of people from all over the world.

The Man and The Woman had moved to Sri Lanka in December. They treated themselves to a trip to Galle right after Christmas as a quick getaway from the city. They stepped into the antique store close to their hotel before they returned to Colombo. It was The Woman who found me first. Even though The Man was interested in a different peacock, he gave in to his wife’s choice (smart man). While I might be seemingly invaluable, The Man made a deal with the shopkeeper and paid the rupees to take me home with them.

Since then, The Man placed me on top of a tall blue bookcase, which is the highest point in the flat. Perfect for a royal peacock like me. The Woman spent the whole afternoon looking up “popular Sri Lankan boy names” to come up with one that suited me best. During the first week, The Cat sulked from the corner and gave me weird looks. But eventually, she succumbed to my charms and visited me often.

Since I perch facing the front door, no one can enter or leave the flat without my detection. In a way, I am a guard peacock to ensure that no unsavory characters come into my home. I don’t approve of some of the delivery people who bring The Man and The Woman furniture for our home–they sometimes walk into the flat with their shoes on. Very. Uncool. The Cat also seems to detest all delivery people–she would run and hide as soon as she heard or smelled them.

Besides the delivery people, The Man and The Woman keep a fascinating company. They’ve made some wonderful local friends. There are Saeeda and Eranda, a couple of young, local creatives in Colombo.

Stunning heirloom jewellery from Sour Metal by Saeeda Deen.

Saeeda runs two jewelry brands. Sour Metal repurposes vintage jewelry and Sri Lankan heirlooms. Samsara specializes in silver and rough stone jewelry. If that wasn’t enticing enough, both companies practice sustainability all the while embracing Sri Lankan roots and natural resources. I feel like I’d make for a perfect ambassador for Saeeda’s two brands.

Eranda works in management/HR but has other pursuits such as selling beard oil and helping his wife expand her businesses. The Man had fixed them beef tacos. They were delicious. Throughout the night, they drank cocktails and talked about jewelry, culture, and the future of design in Sri Lanka. I quietly observed from the top of the bookcase.

The Fabulous Fabienne Francotte, on the opening night of her show in Colombo, “I Don’t Know But I Remember.”

 Fabienne Francotte, a Belgium-born artist and her husband, Tung Lai, the former EU Ambassador to Sri Lanka and the Maldives, also visited our home. The Man fixed our guests dinner, starting with cured meats, cheese, and bread, followed by a thick pumpkin soup. For the entrée, The Man served his world-famous Bolognese, made with the recipe he got from his Italian-American uncle. Throughout the night, they laughed and discussed everything from their travels to literature to art. The two women spoke about collaborating on a project. I also couldn’t help but notice that between the four of them, they drank five bottles of wine. This is something they can’t do anymore during the COVID-19 curfew, but that’s a story for a different time.

Up until recently, The Man and The Woman went out during the day–leaving me and The Cat to our own devices. However, for the last couple of weeks, they’ve been at home all day watching the news. I have been hearing about this COVID-19 business, which sounds terrible and is bringing the world to a halt. Now it seems that they will be home all day, all night, for the foreseeable future. I suppose it is up to me, their guard peacock, Sivan, to document all that’s happening in the flat during this difficult time.

Stay tuned.

Inspired and edited by Mohini Khadaria.

Posted on

Pictures from Pre-Lockdown Sri Lanka

In an attempt to control the spread of the COVID 19, the Sri Lankan government imposed a strict island-wide curfew on Friday, March 20th from 6 pm until 6 am on Tuesday, March 24. Though the official curfew only started two days ago, Derek and I been working from home since Monday. During the workweek, our jobs are keeping us busy. This weekend, we have been productive with creative projects. Derek has started Aod MasterChat Podcast series. I have been working on several short stories and developing a business plan for a jewellery business. Reach out to me if you are interested in hearing about my projects.

Since we have been spending a lot of time on our phones, I found some pictures I took during our day trip to Colombo last weekend when we visited the Colombo National Museum and the National Museum of Natural History. Here are some highlights.

The beautiful colonial building that houses the National Museum of Colombo.

As a part of the research for my jewellery brand, I’ve always wanted to visit the National Museum of Colombo for its collection of Kandyan jewellery from the 18th and 19th centuries. Kandy was the last remaining Ceylon kingdom that finally succumbed to British control in 1815. Kandyan jewellery is renowned for its intricate craftsmanship–the most iconic pieces consist of curvy filigree motifs made of gold plated silver.

Kandyan jewellery from the 18th century.
Kandyan hairpins, earrings, and brooches from the 18th and 19th centuries.
The agasthi maalaya, made of orange agate beads and gold or silver, is one of the 27 pieces of bridal jewellery Kandyan brides wear on her wedding day.
It wasn’t just the women who had all the jewellery–these hefty bracelets were worn by Kandyan noblemen.

I enjoyed looking at the jewellery but I wish there was more information about the actual pieces (besides the small label that says ’18th-19th century jewellery from Kandy’). I also would have liked to know about the craftsmen who made the jewellery and the people who wore them. Despite my disappointment, Derek and I were pleasantly surprised that the museum has substantial holdings on other artifacts, such as religious sculptures, remnants of buildings and plaques, weapons dating back thousands of years (they had clubs, arrows, etc.), and daily objects such as vases and glassware. Though we were delighted with our visit, we had to leave after a couple of hours– the charming colonial-style building had no air conditioning and we were soaked through.

As we were exiting the compound, we walked by the National Museum of Natural History. An enthusiastic Sri Lankan man stopped us in our tracks and cajoled us to visit his museum. Derek and I shrugged and followed him inside.

It was another old building with no air-conditioning. The man explained that the Natual History Museum opened in 1986–and from the looks of it, it has not been updated since. The walls have not been painted and the badly taxidermied animals of birds, rodents, and mammals looked like they could be put to rest for the second time. We would have dismissed the whole museum if it weren’t for its original hand-painted signs scattered throughout the building. Walking through the space was like going through a time capsule–I guess that’s one of the perks for under-funded museums.

Sri Lanka has three official languages: Sinhala, Tamil, and English. Some of the signs include all three:

For many other signs, however, there are only in Sinhalese and English, plus the Binomial Nomenclature derived from Latin:

Derek and I are totally in awe as we hadn’t visited a museum that still has handpainted illustrations and labels. After looking at every exhibit in the building, we tipped our over-eager guide and went in search of lunch.

We found a Korean restaurant that served authentic bibimbap and kimchi soup. They were delicious and we were so happy. We haven’t had Korean food since leaving Hong Kong in mid-December of 2019. It was such a treat to our already fantastic Saturday.

Well, folks, it will be a while before Derek and I will enjoy another excursion in Sri Lanka. It’s a strange world we are living in these days. Take care of yourself and each other–we will have some tough times ahead.

Posted on

Postcard #2

Dear Hong Kong, February 2020 (#2)
I have been scrolling through photos of you my friends have posted on social media. For the past month, an eerie silence has engulfed you, suffocating your usual boisterous ways. Your lonely sidewalks, deserted public spaces, and shuttered storefronts are stark reminders of the COVID-19 virus. Your skyline is as magnificent as ever, but I can’t help but notice the absence of smog–a run on the Central Promenade would be pleasant.
When I left you, I thought I was done with you. I never thought I’d feel the tightening of my chest seeing you on social media. I mourn the city of my memories, your seedy streets where I have lost and found myself. You’re a shell of your former self, quiet and still. I hope you’re simply hiding under the abandoned masks and will come out to play soon. I miss you. Love, Kayo

Posted on

Dear Hong Kong #1

Dear Hong Kong, February 2020
Surgical masks, toilet papers, and hand sanitizers are flying off the shelves as you hoard everything in sight. I know that the coronavirus is scary and uncertain, but this panic buying makes you seem hysterical and rapacious. Now that I’ve been away from you and don’t have to queue for hours to buy toilet papers, I can assess the situation in a more detached way. Instead of closing the crossings to the Mainland, the government is keeping them open to appease the Central government. The Central government, meanwhile, has been more interested in maintaining its reputation than to informing and protecting its citizens–as if it has not learned from the 2002/03 SARS epidemic. After nearly a year of lies and deception, you witness another failing of the government and betrayal from Beijing at the start of 2020. I understand that your avariciousness for daily supplies is not just a sign of selfishness or greed, but a symptom of trauma. I hear you, Hong Kong.
Love, Kayo

Posted on

Colombo 101

“Roads? Where we are going, we don’t need roads.” Photo by Derek Black.

Derek and I love our new country of Sri Lanka. A gem of an island, Sri Lanka is full of natural beauty and an abundance of resources. Having said that, moving to a new place is always challenging, no matter how beautiful the land and how kind its people. Below are three mottos that describe our experience in our new home.

If something makes too much sense, it’s probably wrong.

Derek and I thought it would be nice to take a train down to the historic Galle Fort for a mini getaway. We love the idea of travelling by train, and since we live close to Mount Lavinia station, we walked to the station to buy tickets for the next day. When we got there, the man behind the counter told us that we could only purchase tickets on the day we were travelling.

The following day, we arrived at the station at 7:50 am for a train departing at 8:35 am. With two pink second-class tickets in hand, we sat down on a bench near the platform. We watched many trains went by, and each time the conductor shook his head no; it wasn’t our train. At almost 9:00 am, the conductor shouted, go go go as a train was nearing the station. We picked up our bag and ran. As the train pulled into the station, our mouths dropped–the train was jam-packed. Not only were the cars full, but there were also more passengers hanging off the railings at the entrances of every car. Defeated, we walked back to the station. The conductor looked at us, “Why didn’t you get on the train?”

“It was full, and we couldn’t get on,” Derek said.

The conductor smiled and gave us the sideway nod as he took away our pink tickets.

We thought that it made sense for us to get on the train since we had tickets, but that wasn’t the case. Lesson learned: If something makes too much sense, it’s probably wrong. We did eventually make it to Galle. We found a man who offered us a ride. After negotiating down from USD 100 to USD 50, we got a car. The car wasn’t fast enough for the highway, so we stuck to the local roads and three bumpy hours later, we finally made it.

Beautiful sunset in Galle.

If something seems too easy, you will probably need to go back. 

After eating out for weeks, Derek wanted to start cooking again. He went to the gas station one day and bought a tank of gas. Since the attached store was closed, he couldn’t get the tubing that would connect the tank to the stove. The following weekend, he went back and bought the attachment we needed. He realized when he got home that before he can start cooking, we still needed to source a metal fitting to connect the tubing to the stove. He searched the hardware stores in our neighbourhood, walked up and down in the heat for a whole afternoon, and found none. The next day, I enlisted the help of the local people working in our building. While Derek was still at work, I showed the man a picture of the fitting. He took me to two hardware shops nearby, and neither had what I was looking for. Derek happened to get home when I got back. The man got in the tuk tuk with Derek to continue the hunt. After travelling to the next neighbourhood and stopping in many stores, Derek finally found the right accessory.

That day, we learned another valuable lesson: If something seems too easy, you’ll probably need to go back. This applies to many situations, like opening a bank account (which we haven’t) and getting a resident visa (which I still don’t have).

Time is relative, but not related to the clock.

On a Friday morning, our relocation agent told Derek to go to the customs office at 11:30 am to inspect our shipment from Hong Kong and pay the duty. Derek showed up on time and sat in a waiting room. After waiting for an hour or so, he asked when he would meet the customs agent. The man at reception answered 1:00 pm. When Derek asked again an hour later, he was told 2:30 pm. Then, 3:30 pm came and went, and Derek still sat in the same room. At one point, the relocation agent appeared and told Derek to discreetly bribe the guys unloading the boxes, which he did. At 4:30, Derek was finally summoned into a room. After seeing our wine fridge (and being disappointed that it was a small one) and opening some boxes (he puzzled over our SodaStream), the customs agent demanded a USD 800 duty. Derek managed to persuade him to let us have our things for USD 400. After the negotiation, Derek finally left the customs office and made it home at 7:30 pm. Our boxes arrived at 10:00 pm. 

Dewey Punk Pickles is inspecting our shipment from Hong Kong.

The workings of the “Island Time” is mysterious–it could be one hour after the agreed-upon time or five hours–we just never know. We tell ourselves, time is relative, but not related to the clock as soothsaying any time we are waiting for anything. For instance, our new fridge was supposed to be delivered before noon the next day. It wasn’t. We called the store around 12:30 pm, and the shopkeeper said that it would arrive before 4:00 pm. It showed up at 6:30 pm. Hey, at least we have our stuff and a fridge now, which makes our new life in Sri Lanka more comfortable.

Derek and I love Sri Lanka, but some days, the country does kick our butts. The three mottos help us understand the workings of our new city. When things don’t go our way, they help us realize our misaligned expectations. At least we can laugh over our amusingly confusing misadventures over a bottle of Rockland Dry Gin.

Edited by Mohini Khadaria.

Posted on

The Lovely Mount Lavinia

In December 2019, Derek and I packed up our flat in Hong Kong and moved to Sri Lanka. Our goal is to find a new home close to the beach where we can enjoy a slower pace of life and more room to stretch. Mount Lavinia, a suburb about 10 km south of Colombo, ticked all our boxes. The neighbourhood is famous for its “golden mile”–a pristine public beach popular with locals and tourists alike. We then found a brand-new two-bedroom flat that is a five-minute walk from the beach. So far, we are loving our quieter existence in Mount Lavinia.

The “Golden Mile” of Mount Lavinia–a five-minute walk from our flat.

Before British colonialism, Mount Lavinia was known as “Galkissa,” named after the rocky mounds in the area. However, the name of the town changed in 1805, when the Governor-General, Sir Thomas Maitland, used the postal address “Mt. Lavinia, Ceylon” for a letter to the British Secretary of State. Legends claim that the name “Mount Lavinia” originates from a romance between Sir Maitland, and Lovinia, a local dancing girl.


In 1805, Sir Thomas Maitland arrived on the island of Ceylon, as Sri Lanka was known at the time, to take up his new post as the Governor-General. During a welcoming party held in his honour, Lovinia, a lovely dancer, caught his eye. However, since it was inappropriate for an unmarried British officer to be seen liaising with a low-caste dancing girl, the love-struck Sir Maitland devised a clever plan to meet with the object of his affection. He built a secret tunnel to smuggle the lovely Lovina from the well on her father’s property to the wine cellar of his mansion, the “Mount Lavinia Home.”


Alas, the unbending social convention eventually caught up with the lovers. In 1811, the British Foreign Office sent Sir Maitland a “routine transfer” to Malta. He had no choice but to obey. Brokenhearted, he left his lovely Lovinia behind in Ceylon. Years later, he died in Malta alone– he had never forgotten his lovely Lovinia.

Lady Lovinia at Mount Lavinia Hotel.


In 1920, the secret tunnel was sealed. Lovinia’s humble village that surrounded the Governor’s mansion turned into the captivating neighbourhood of Mount Lavinia we know today. The General’s mansion was eventually converted to Mount Lavinia Hotel, welcoming guests to enjoy its old-world colonial charm. To this day, the hotel bears traces of the romantic legacy between Sir Maitland and his Lovinia. At the entrance of the Mount Lavinia Hotel, a statue of a beautiful young woman stands in the middle of the water fountain, as if waiting for her lover to return.

Posted on

The New Normal in Hong Kong

One of the exits of Wan Chai station was on fire on September 29, 2019.

Several oversea friends and family members have been getting in touch after watching media reports of the unrest in Hong Kong. After speaking to many, I see that despite their best intentions, there is a lack of understanding of the political situation in Hong Kong. Honestly, I have been rattled by what’s been happening in the city I’ve called home for the last seven years. My mother has been warning me not to write anything political in these turbulent times, but I can’t help myself (sorry Mama). I have decided to write a personal account of what’s been happening here. I hope to provide some information alongside my personal anecdotes.

Leading up to National Day on October 1, while mainland China was gearing up to celebrate the 70th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic of China, the violence in Hong Kong escalated. Thousands of Hong Kongers marched and chanted on the major thoroughfares throughout the city, some vandalized public properties, set barricades on fire, and trashed storefronts. The raptors, which are the tactical unit of the Hong Kong Police Force (HKPF), would eventually storm out from their hiding places and start throwing tear gas canisters, bean bag rounds, and rolling out the anti-riot vehicle spewing blue water. Many Hong Kongers, most of them young, were arrested. Tension peaked on National Day–the streets were the most violent I’ve seen in the recent months. It hit close to home too. There were tear gas canisters fired on my street and Derek and I had a painful time trying to get home.

A member of the raptor surveying the protest. Photography by @an_american_in_china.

Just when the situation couldn’t seem to get any worse, hell broke loose shortly after Carrie Lam, the Chief Executive of Hong Kong, announced the anti-mask law on Friday, October 4th, 2019. The protests and the accompanying violence intensified. For the first time since I’ve lived in Hong Kong, and probably for the first time in recent Hong Kong history, the MTR Corporation shut down all MTR services. This whole weekend has been a virtual lockdown–with the paralysis of the public transportation system, many malls and stores have shuttered and the usually bustling city of Hong Kong seems like a ghost town.

What happened to the free-wheeling city of Hong Kong? To get the story straight, I need to go back to 1984, when the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland (U.K.) signed the Sino British Joint Declaration in Beijing. This declaration laid out the stipulation of the then British Hong Kong’s return to China on July 1, 1997. At this time, both the U.K. and the PRC agreed that Hong Kong will fall under the constitutional principle of “one country, two systems” and the socialist system of PRC would not be practised in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR) for a period of 50 years. Based on this agreement, Hong Kong maintains its capitalist system and its currency. Its way of life would remain unchanged until 2047.

Graphic design by Derek Matthew Auxier Black.

Under this “one country, two systems,” Hong Kong is supposed to have a great level of autonomy. Hong Kong is to operate under the Basic Law, the constitution of the HKSAR and national law of the People’s Republic of China. Furthermore, Hong Kong’s legal, legislative, and judicial systems are separate from those in the PRC and the rights to freedom of speech and assembly remain. Furthermore, the Basic Law also stipulates that Hong Kong will have universal suffrage by 2017, allowing its citizens to elect their own Chief Executive.

In 2014, the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress (NPCSC) of 31 August 2014 prescribed a selective pre-screening of candidates for the 2017 election of Hong Kong’s chief executive. This led to the umbrella movement that lasted 79 days. Various groups set up barricades in the central district of Hong Kong and camped out in tents to protest against the decision. Sadly, this movement did not achieve universal suffrage and most of the leaders and organizers have been arrested since. However, it sparked a new generation of politically-minded protestors concerned about their future and freedom.

The major event to ignite the recent protests is when Carrie Lam proposed the extradition bill in early 2019 as a response to a gruesome murder that took place in Taiwan. If passed, it would have allowed Hong Kong to surrender fugitives to be extradited to other countries it does not have agreements with, including Taiwan, Macau, and mainland China. There isn’t an inherent problem to extradite a murderer from Hong Kong to Taiwan, both countries have functioning courts. However, the prospect of being trialled in mainland China is terrifying–its courts have a dubious track record for respecting human rights and have a 99.9% conviction rate. This bill opens up the possibility that anyone Beijing deems unsavoury, such as activists, journalists, or even business executives, could face the opaque justice system in mainland China. This is why Hong Kongers started protesting.

The first anti-extradition bill protest I participated in 2019 was at Victoria Park on June 4, 2020, a peaceful sit-in that coincided with the 30th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square Massacre. The Hong Kong government ignored people’s peaceful requests to scrap the bill, and they continued to do in the subsequent protests. Over the next several months, the protests have escalated. During the early summer, the protests in my neighbourhood of Wan Chai were orderly. People, young and old, families with their strollers marched and chanted along Hennesy Road, one of the major roads connecting Victoria Park to the government buildings in Central. There was a sense of optimism in the air, the people of Hong Kong hoped that Carrie Lam would hear them.

However, Carrie Lam not only ignores the peaceful protests, but she also condemns them and calls them rioters. She’s been hiding behind the shield of the HKPF, using them as sticks to strike the protestors who are merely practicing their rights as outlined in the Basic Law. Over the course of several months, many people have been hurt by the police and the reputation of the HKPF has fallen to an all-time low as the Hong Kong people no longer trust the police. People are enraged. All they wanted was the scrapping of an unjust law. Carrie Lam, under the “one country, two systems,” should have the power to do so. But she dragged her feet and refused to do so. Until it is too late.

After months of protests, it is clear that Carrie Lam has no autonomy to govern Hong Kong. What has been suspected all along is true: The “one country, two systems’ principle is a sham; Carrie Lam is merely a puppet of the Communist Party of China. The mood in the protests has taken a turn. After months of not being heard, and knowing that they will probably never be heard, the young protestors are losing patience and are starting to resort to violence. In early September, Carrie Lam did formally withdraw the extradition bill–but it seems to be too little, too late. Now Hong Kongers have five demands and unless they are all met, they are going to continue to protest. Can you blame them? If this was my only home and my future is at stake, I’d be out there protesting with them too.

Protesters in Wan Chai.

Chaotic weekends have become the new normal in Hong Kong. The public transportation of Hong Kong has been paralyzed. What used to be normal, like meeting friends outside of one’s district, has become a challenge. Many shops and malls have been closed, along with movie theatres, restaurants, and other types of entertainment, forcing many inside all weekend. Having said that, the unrest does not threaten my physical well-being. To me, this whole situation is more of a mind fuck than anything else. One day, the city is seemingly trashed and burning, but overnight, the diligent city workers clean up the city and repair damaged properties to allow people to return to work in the morning. The next day, it is business as usual, and all traces of the unrest, besides a few graffiti here and there, have been erased. I feel like I live in parallel universes, and my mind can’t reconcile the two realities.

Many people in Hong Kong, locals and expatriates alike, have been impacted by the recent turmoil. While many are supportive of the young people of Hong Kong, others are dismayed by the loss of income and the inconveniences brought on by the closure of roads and disruption of the public transportation system. I’ve also experienced frustration and anxiety, but I don’t lose sight of the fact that I, as an expat living in this great city, can choose to leave. On the other hand, the people who are out protesting are fighting for their freedom in the only home they have.

Despite my anxiety, I can’t help but to be proud: Hong Kongers are the only people in this world who are openly defying China right now. (Yes, the Uyghurs and the Taiwanese have been defying China too, but not in this in-your-face kind of way– these are topics for another post for a different day). I don’t know how long they will last and how much impact they can make, but I admire the resilience of the Hong Kong people. Add oil, Hong Kong!

If you have any comments or questions, please post them below.