Forms of Preservation

Why take a photo? 

Galle Face in the late morning. The beach draws tourists and local crowds, meaning that my photo-taking fears are briefly neutralized.

This is a question I’ve asked myself many times since arriving in Sri Lanka. Is it not enough to live and breathe the day-to-day without the compulsion to document it? This is part of why I felt compelled to leave social media prior to departure. Avoiding images from home would not only help me acclimate better, but also resist the temptation to brag, or, in lower moments, blow off steam about my newfound circumstances. Despite the privilege of my previous international experiences, life in Sri Lanka was still going to have its challenges.

I’ve explained in previous blogs that I am highly resistant to tourist kitsch, and do not wish to be associated with the factory-made knickknacks and short-term spiritual epiphanies that often accompany travelers who are discovering some place new. The affront to my reality is that I will physically stick out for the entirety of the time I am here, and I will be assumed to be transient. Perhaps I am convinced that by removing a phone or a camera from an interaction's equation, I am less likely to be perceived as not belonging. It's a silly insecurity, but one that I'm slowly getting over. Some days, it is even preferable to be treated like I am an idiot who knows nothing. Every day is an opportunity to learn that I know very little.

Today, a month into my prolonged island stay, I took a long walk, and I brought my camera along. It was a Sunday, and I figured I was less likely to disturb people who, on weekdays, would be just trying to make their living. There were mutliple checkpoints in my head, born from walks I’d taken without my camera, that called to me. The list in my mind recalled features I’d subconsciously come to love about the built environment. Though the still images I capture cannot convey the drone of the loudspeaker orating Buddhist prayers, the sweet smell of coconut-oil fried pastries, or the layer of sweat that clings to my shirt, they serve a future in which the scenery may have changed, but I can still relive these memories. And maybe, once I am old and gray, they may become part of the public domain that represents the evolution of Colombo street corners where I briefly identified as a regular. 

Writing is helpful, and I've collected my daily reflections in private collections. But I realize I am unpredictable with my energy during phone calls and text exchanges. When asked how things are going in real time, I take the technology for granted and skimp on the literary sentiments I evoke in my journals, even though there are many anecdotes I deem worthy of sharing.

I have commenced this blog to hold myself to account. I'm not providing a toolbox or set of guidelines to justify its existence. I am just making my world a little more accessible to people who love me but may be frustrated by my sometimes cryptic, perpetually aberrant sense of wanderlust.

In more general of reflections, I am happy. The very fact that I am taking long, meandering walks (despite the humidity) should suggest a smooth transition, and some positive growth in my relationship with time. I have never once been late to anything here, because there is no rush to arrive. Things happen as they will, on a whim, and I fill in the blanks. My daily rituals are much like those of any person occupying the profound-but-not-always-unpleasant loneliness of post-graduate life: cooking, cleaning and reading. I prepare curries nearly every evening, but maintain a loving fixation on the coconut oatmeal I’ve been working to perfect in the wee hours of the morning. Here is the current recipe:

Lydia’s Lanka Oats

Ingredients:

• Instant oats

• Water

• Dehydrated coconut milk

• Seeni or Kolikottu bananas

• Shredded coconut 

• Peanut powder (optional, for protein)

• Cloves

• Cardamom

• Cinnamon

• Salt

1. Use a small pot to infuse water with cloves and cardamom over a boil (as if making tea)

2. Once fragrant, remove the whole spices. Add dehydrated coconut milk to desired thickness (any other protein powder can also be added)

3. Slice bananas and add to milk. Add cinnamon.

4. Cover pot and wait for bananas to soften (I do not add sugar, so the longer they sit, the sweeter they get)

5. Add shredded coconut. Mix.

6. Add oats. Salt to desired taste.

7. No photos. Good porridge will seldom be photogenic. It should fill the void in your soul on a metaphysical level, not a visual one.

Not to be dramatic, but this oatmeal genuinely makes me excited to wake up in the morning. Sri Lankans have a sweet tooth, and most of the ready-made pastry items you will find at the store are infused with loads of sugar – so too is the tea, and juice, and the coffee. I miss home-brewed coffee, so I get an Americano as a treat (yes, I use that word to describe it) a few times a week. Otherwise, I drink a plain black tea – the most abundant and recognizable product of Ceylon, although cinnamon is also pretty high up there. 

The other tropical peculiarity I keep note of is the animals. I visited the Museum of Natural History a few weeks ago, and used the excursion as a way to familiarize myself with all the poisonous creatures I am living among. Evidently, the mosquito is the most dangerous, and I’ve had a few evenings of carelessness with bug spray come back to haunt me. I find that my feet are prime rib for those buggers. Fortunately, I can tolerate wearing socks.

Monkey on a roof, Madapatha.

Just around my accomodations, I’ve seen water monitors, bats, and cows. The cows sometimes cross the road and cause traffic to stop. I am not capable of quantifying the bird varieties I hear and see, although crows are the most visible. I saw a monkey hanging out on a roof a little further south. I almost got bit by a rabid dog on the street in the middle of town, and that put the fear of God in me, so I've been even more careful to pay attention to my non-human surroundings. I've developed a symbiosis with the flightless bugs who are drawn to my sink. Everyone needs a home. We're familia.

It's monsoon season, but not very intense as of yet. Some reports suggest that climate change is delaying the worst of the rains until later in the year. The one consistency is a gray sky. I find this comforting, knowing my track record with an unadulterated UV index. Umbrellas are used in cases of rain or shine. If I remember to carry one, I ought also to remember to look right then left when crossing the road. So far, no traffic incidents. I am a bold crosswalker, and as long as you monitor the weaving of the narrow tuk-tuks, the drivers will respect you. Crossing the road is sometimes the moment I feel most legitimized during the day. "Yes, I see you" say the cars. "Thank you" I think, and then I cross, and I am safe to cross another day.

Long-term epiphanies only. I am currently reading the original texts of Compte and I will not simplify this endeavor for my own convenience.

Thanks for reading. I'll try again soon.

-Lydia