This is a Buddhist Country, oi!
June 9, 2009
Warning: This post contains graphic violence and hate. I assure you, there will be blood.
I wait in line patiently at the gas station for my turn, and all of a sudden this orange buggy car comes from the other side and grabs my place. The retarded pump boy doesn’t give a shit and tries to pump petrol.
I screech my horn showing my rage and when the car doesn’t seem to budge, I jump off and walk towards the buggy. I was ready for a fight. I saw three men/boys from where I was standing and I reminded myself that I’ve fought a larger crowd.
But when I come near the car, I see a robe. A monk happens to be there so my initial rage is subdued to some extent. But the anger in my voice clearly showing I yell out that I was here first.
“Ithin thamuse mokkada karrana kiyaane,” the monk growls back. So what do you want us to do?
“Car eka passata ganna,” I scream back. Take the car back.
“Meka bouddha ratak oi!” The monk growls. This is a Buddhist Country oi!
Great, the fucker played the sinhala-buddhist card.
By now a couple of three wheeler guys were watching this. And I knew the truth behind what the monk said. If I wanted a fight, I’d had to fight not only the spineless bastards in the buggy, but also the rest of the crowd who was watching. My unoccupied car was also at risk.
So I backed down, and went in search of another gas station. But my mind was not still. My heart was racing. My blood pressure must’ve sky rocketed. I was not only angry at the stupid monk. I was angry at myself.
I was angry at living in a country like this where individual liberty is compromised for the sake of the pleasure of the majority. I was angry at not ridiculing the banal sinhala-buddhists more often and their lame pathetic excuse for a livelihood. I was angry at letting myself be educated in a sinhala-fucking-buddhist school, and never questioning their absurdities. I was angry of the fact that my father and mother were born buddhists and they didn’t have the guts to do anything about the senseless extremism that they put up with everyday.
I went home, and took out my sandbag. And I let all hell loose. With every roundhouse kick I crushed the monk’s skull in my head. With every punch I broke his rib cage over and over again. With every back-roundhouse kick I dislocated his fucking jaw and disfigured his bloody face. With every elbow, I broke his ear drum and with every kneekick I slammed his groin up his arse.
I killed him in my head. With my bare hands. Not once, not twice but thousands of times over. Everytime using a technique bloodier and gruesome than the last.
The blood ozzing through my knuckles, I sat there for a while and I waited for my mind to clear.
And suddenely I felt free.
I understood that if my brain and body was in the same pathetic circumstances of the above stupid monk, I would’ve done the same. I realized that my rage was directed at myself in another life. And rather than becoming a part of the solution, I was becoming a part of the problem.
I have what it takes to breakaway. Not only from this hell-hole of a country, but also from my own anger. Not only do I have the power and independence to escape the bounds of my race and religion but I also have the intelligence to destroy the memes that try to take control of my mind.
I felt Joy. Compassion. And oneness with nature.