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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.

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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.

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“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.

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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.

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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.

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Okay, I’ve got (another) Master’s Degree. Now what?

Left: Masters of Library and Information Studies, 2008
Right: Masters of Fine Art in Writing, 2019

When I showed my counselor two side-by-side pictures of me, one on graduation day in 2008 when I earned my Master’s degree in Library and Information Studies, and the other taken 11 years later, when I completed my Masters of Fine Arts in Writing, she pointed to the one of my younger self and asked, “What were her hopes and dreams?”

I replied without hesitation. “To work as an academic librarian at the University of British Columbia (UBC) or my alma mater, Simon Fraser University (SFU). The plan is to have my university eventually support me in earning my doctorate in communications or a related field. In the future, I want to be a selfless educator who help troubled kids not only academically but also humanely, like my mentor Roman had done.”

However, my hopes and dreams were dashed, and the plan derailed when I realized 2008 was a terrible year to finish grad school. With the looming financial crisis, it was impossible for a new graduate like me to find library work in BC, let alone in Canada or the US. To stay afloat, I wrote invoices for a plumbing company, barely making enough to pay rent. Four months after graduation, when the Dean of Libraries at Zayed University in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, offered me the Reference and Instruction Librarian position, I leaped on the opportunity. I left behind a boyfriend, my friends, and a fully furnished apartment. I promised myself that I would return home after one year.

Eleven years later, I am still abroad. Though Vancouver will always be home in my heart, I’ve settled in Hong Kong for the last seven years. I’ve almost forgotten about my Ph.D. dream and instead, earned two more master’s degrees. From 2008 to 2017, I no longer strived to be a professor–instead, as a librarian, I taught classes on research skills and creating citations in different styles. I was tired of teaching the same boring classes and worn out by the politics of wherever I worked.

In the summer of 2017, started to transit from a career in librarianship to one in writing. After ten years of libraries, I found the work uninspiring. I started taking e-Learning classes at SCAD, and after a couple of writing courses, I decided to pursue writing full-time. I wanted to tell unique stories, document the vastness of the human condition, and connect with readers and other writers around the globe. During my studies, I explored different writing careers. I thought about becoming an editor for a literary magazine or be the founder of my own publication. Then I applied for numerous jobs as editors and staff writers. At some point, I even considered looking for work as a copywriter. However, there was always a nagging voice inside my head: I didn’t want any of these jobs.

For the last two years, as I sat at my desk working on freelance projects, writing my thesis (a collection of memoir-essays titled In the Shadow of the Middle Kingdom), and applying for writing jobs, I started to miss the community aspect of librarianship. Freelance writing is a lonely job and I began to miss having colleagues and students around me. I miss building collections and organizing events. I miss making a difference in people’s information literacy and reading habits. I also recognized, that as long as I am at the mercy of my clients, I may not have the mental and emotional bandwidth to pursue my own writing projects. At the same time, I also came to the conclusion that I would earn more working as a librarian than as a junior editor or writer in the publishing/media world. That’s when I decided that working at the library and writing on the side would be the best option for me.

I didn’t know as a 25-year-old that hopes and dreams could change. Back then, I couldn’t imagine being anything but an academic librarian and eventually becoming a professor. I didn’t anticipate that 11 years later that I would be able to look back not only to my 25-year-old self but go back even further–to revisit the hopes and dreams of my 22-year-old self. Back then, I wanted to be a writer but I never articulated this thought beyond my journal because I thought my aspiration was not practical or feasible. Through a lot of soul searching in the last couple of years, I started to take my 22-year-old self more seriously and gave her the space to hope and dream. Today, as a 36-year-old, I’ve gathered all of my hopes and dreams and begin to execute them: To write, to be paid to write, and eventually become a writing professor in a university.

Zadie Smith at SCAD Show in Atlanta, Winter 2018.

In addition to Roman, who I have admired and respected since meeting him as a troubled 19-year-old undergraduate student, my role model is Zadie Smith. I had the pleasure of meeting her in Atlanta when she was touring for her collection of essays, Feel Free. Her talk was engaging and afterward, she chatted with every single person who lined up to have their books signed. I want to be like Zadie Smith, a gracious and genuine individual, an accomplished writer, an admired professor, and an inspiration to many. As for my plan? I am going back to the library. At the end of this month, I will be the Library Manager at Discovery College, where I hope to mentor students, organize fun and educational events, and help the next generation to be critical and independent thinkers. After work and on school holidays, I will write, I will edit, I will submit my essays and stories far and wide. I know it’s a tough road ahead, but I welcome the challenges with open arms.

Now, I know that I am strong enough to be the kind of writer I want to be, on my own terms and chosen path. It took a long time to get here, but I sincerely hope that I can be an inspiration to those of you who have hopes and dreams that you’re afraid to pursue. I have been fortunate to have resources and opportunities, but without the soul searching and hard work along the way, I couldn’t have been where I am today. For those of you aspiring writers, artists, designers, and creative types, I want to tell you (as an older recent graduate): Hope and dreams can change and plans can divert. But I urge you to follow your heart, create (and update) your plan, and always be your best self.