Adrija

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”
― Ira Glass

“We are educated Colombo Tamils. We must be careful and not attract
attention. You understand, no?’
You think of the lottery of birth and how everything else is
mythology, stories the ego tells itself to justify fortune or explain away
injustice. You wonder if you should hold your tongue.
‘Uncle, this country was inherited by arrack-swillers who sent their
children to British schools. Mostly Sinhala – but not all. What they all
were was Colombians. And being an English-speaking Colombian
exempts us from the rest of this country’s sufferings.’
‘I didn’t know there were Marxists left in this country,’ says Stanley,
giving you the fakest of smiles as he rises to leave.”
― Shehan Karunatilaka, The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida

“They burned everything. Everything I did. Everything I saw. All
gone.’
‘It takes more than photos to stop this train, putha. Leave your pity
party, brother. Think of why you were Down There. What was your
purpose? Was it just gambling and taking photos and squeezing cock?’
‘I was there to witness. That is all. All those sunrises and all those
massacres existed because I filmed them. Now, they are as dead as me.’
‘You can whine. Or you can work.”
― Shehan Karunatilaka, The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida

“..We were born in 1948. Do you believe in nakath?’
Any musician or sportsperson worth their sweat will tell you that
timing is all. Aside from believing in yakas and curses, Lankans also
believe in nakath, in the auspiciousness of time, extending Feng Shui to
the passing of moments. On Sinhala and Tamil New Year, if you face
west and light a lamp at 6.48 a.m., you will receive joy; if you face north
and spark up at 7.03 a.m., the sky will fall.
‘I don’t believe in nakath.’
‘How does 1948 sound to you? Auspicious or suspicious?’
...
‘You watch your mouth. Do you know which countries were born in
1948?’
The Benz halts in traffic, but there are winds in every direction. ‘If
this land is cursed, it is because of men like Wijeratne and Solomon Dias.
And because of those who protect them,’ you call out, emboldened by the
distance between the creature and you.
The creature yells out the names of five countries. And the Benz
disappears with the gargoyle on its hood. ‘I’ll be watching you,’ it snarls
and you see it no more. But the five names that it called out echo in your
ears. ‘Burma. Israel. North Korea. Apartheid South Africa. Sri Lanka. All
born in ’48.’
It doesn’t matter if Maali Almeida believes in nakath or not. Because
it appears that the universe most certainly does.”
― Shehan Karunatilaka, The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida