The Days… are they completely gone?

The salty wind blows upon my face and I stand there staring at the calm of the ocean, recalling the days when we had to go to school in coloured head scarves in order to hide identity. The days when we had months of vacation only because it was not safe enough to be in school. The days when we were so afraid to leave home because of not being sure of getting back home in one piece. The days when we used to be so scared when a loved one was getting late to get back. The days when we were so scared to be outside home after the clock crossed 6pm. The enormous risk that we took in making trips out of Colombo is almost unspeakable of. The days when we were awaken in the middle of the night to the belief that the entire city was being burnt down. The fear of the unknown and the unpredictable height of crime, misery, death and pain. The days when even the lighting of crackers sometimes seemed like the blasting of a bombs. There was almost nothing to think about or wish for.

When people told me about the 83 riots – the dead bodies in rivers, the vehicles been burnt with people inside them - it seemed to be like something that could only happen in movies but I soon realised that I was wrong. It was more than believable, it was visual. I remember the nights when I used to wake up to the scary images of finding the head of a dead body. I would recall happenings from the newspapers and television.

Right here, right now, I’m actually wondering whether those days are really gone or - like the conversion of energy from one form to another - have they only changed to some from physical and mental trauma to some nameless feelings that lingers in our heads and heart making them heavy with the feeling of nothingness….

Lord, give us a future, save us!