Domestication

Having Abi around as my only close Sri Lankan girlfriend means that we can have a heartier laugh over some of the more ridiculous elements of our culture than I could with, say, Alby. Since we're considered to be of "marriageable" age these days we find older, more meddlesome friends of our parents seeing the need to make comments on our varying levels of "domestication." As Abi puts it, they make it sound like we're feral beasts who've only just barely managed to be paper trained or something.

Cleaning is really not my forte, not that I'll never do it, I just don't derive the same pleasure from it as Alby does. If I'm mucking around in the kitchen I'll clean up after myself, but my room? An absolute nightmare, something akin to my locker in high school. However clutter in my living spaces drive me bonkers. I'm sort of like Monica but instead of a closet I've got a bedroom. I've been meaning to purge it out for sometime now and since we had a new cleaning service coming in this afternoon I figured that now would be as good a time as any. One thing I never take into consideration is my ability to get easily distracted. I start finding things, old clothes to try on, books which get skimmed through, sweetly scribbled handwritten notes on pieces of random paper...you know, the things that'll totally make me sit down and take a closer look.

It all started innocently enough. I swear.


I was told to run down to the basement and make sure none of Oliver's toys were on the floor before the cleaning ladies came. That's when I caught sight of one of Lokku Mammah's blue Barefoot shirts in a garbage bag. Aiya had claimed that shirt a few years ago and I was surprised to see it in the give-away pile that he had put together just before he moved. So I ran upstairs and tried to figure out a way that I could wear said shirt without looking like a tool. That was really the beginning of the end. I coupled it with my favourite pin-stripped vest and one of my grandfather's ties.

I love that shade of blue.


While rummaging through my scarf/tie rack looking for Papa's tie I came across this little tie. It belongs to one of my most favourite shirts of all time, which surprise, surprise I'm now way too fat to even poke a finger into. I practically lived in that shirt when I was working in Colombo. The stripes and the white take me right back to all of that. Note the absolute squalor in the background. (And apparently, I was told, my hair looks FAKE in the above? I know right? How dare he etc.)


Guys, remember when I was totally obsessed with the Beastie Boys? Oh. Wait. That's right I still am. I bought this hat right around the time "To The Five Boroughs" came out. It was my homage to them. This was the hat I was wearing when I failed my driver's test for the 3rd time, it was around Thanksgiving too. On a side note, if it was possible to hug Paul's Boutique I think I would. Also, Adam Horowitz? I'm totally single and available (age means nothing). Call me!


One of my favourite people in the world totally misjudged me and gave me a black and beige organza sari from Singapore. I love her to bits but not enough to even attempt rocking it. The sari went to Ammi but I held on to the blouse piece which has alternatively been on my bed and also used as a scarf. It is surprisingly warm and makes me giggle at the stupendous lapse of judgement.


This penchant for scarves of all sizes is like a filthy drug. I'm going to end up a toothless junkie because of it. Last summer in Colombo the bossman and I made a quick dash to Cotton Collection to pick out a shirt for some fuddy duddy meeting he was attending the following day. This little scarf was by the cash register for 100 Rs so he grabbed it for me. On our way out to the parking lot we were promptly shoved into a random saivar kade because the road was closed off for some minister. So we sat there and drank cups of ginger tea, shot the breeze and managed to leave without cholera. If I recall correctly this was the lovely workmate's favourite colour and he ended up designing the cover page of a report to match it. Perhaps that'll be my only real legacy in Sri Lanka.


The TinyLittleFascist used to always make fun of me because I had a tendency to wear something akin to a hijab when scampering around Colombo in tuktuks. The thing is my hair was a dirt magnet and it just made more sense to keep it covered up to avoid all the nastiness that would otherwise get trapped in it. I was immensely amused when I came home last summer and found that someone who had recently visited the Middle East decided it would be a great idea to give my Christian Fundamentalist mother an Islamic head dress. Fun times indeed people! I clearly wear it as a neck scarf and not a head one.


Really? Does the significance of this beret really need to be explained? If I need to spell it out then you don't deserve to know. However I will give you this, I've had it since I was in high school.


The very first vintage sweater I ever bought at Courage My Love. I think I shelled out 10 dollars for this beauty when I was in grade 9. Surprisingly enough it still fits but only because it's snug in all the right places. Trust me though, it could've gone either way. There's potential there for it to have looked horrific.


Most of the things that meant the most to my grandfather when he died went to my uncles and Thathi, which is totally fair. Aiya of course got the best stuff out of all the grandkids. I grabbed on to precious little that I could get hold of, mostly ties and scarves that the others weren't interested in. The above is actually a cummerbund which his bestfriend Carlyle brought back to him after a trip to London sometime in the early 1950s. It's starting to get a bit chillier out these days and I'm head over heels for the pattern on the cummerbund I figured that I'd start wearing it as an ascot in the fall instead of just using it as a cinch. Apparently it works? Both are cheating I know. Shh.


Again, I totally found this while rummaging. This is one of my favourite ties, I picked it up for 25 cents at the open Saturday market along la Rue Mariste in Dakar. Clothes and other items which people from the developed world hoping would go to needy people in Africa oftentimes ended up at the market for sale instead. I bought this tie along with 3 others, they were the first items I ever price-bargained for in Senegal. The rush of being able to haggle successfully in French? If there's any French speakers out there, you know what I'm talking about.

So it's now just after 2:40 AM my room still looks like the closet threw up and I'm left with the choice of just shoving my clothes off of the bed and onto the the other pile of clothes on the floor, sleeping on top of them, or just heading to the guest room to sleep tonight.

Choices.