Small Things

I remember the day of our selection interview, 25th February, 2010. It's been a long time since. Sitting in front of a large panel of people, I opted for MBBS. I remember the excitement and satisfaction when I saw MBBS written beside my name and putting my signature on that piece of paper. and the exclamation of joy when I learned I would be placed in Sri Lanka. People are sometimes forced to choose their courses, sometimes in accordance to their parents' wishes, sometimes in accordance to their situation in life and some students take whatever opportunity provides them. It was not so for me. In fact my mother clearly expressed her worries and skepticism about me taking medicine. I met many people from the very profession and all of them advised me against it. Dad, though he favored me taking medicine, told me that he was fine with whatever I chose as a career path. Though I knew this may not be the profession for me, for it requires much hand-skills and people-to-people in

I am scared that when am dead and gone no one will remember me, that not a single person will have a single decent memory of me to keep my existence alive. Forget about after death, people have forgotten me even when am alive breathing, talking and creating nuisance. Am trying to find myself. I was this very outspoken person and realizing that I regretted those outspoken acts of boldness too much, I chose to take the back seat, listen and observe but then I felt like that it is not me and I will soon be forgotten this way. So I decided to be bold again. No, I still regretted those acts of boldness. These internal conflicts of mind never seems to find any end. This is my life, my story but am either playing the role of an antagonist or am hidden in the backstage. I may not remember myself,  who else will?! I have always failed to leave an impression upon people's heart, that, I guess, will never change. But it makes me really sad to know that my existence will end with me, be