Dearest Readers,
We so often travel the wrong path, not for lack of direction, but simply because it is the most worn. There is comfort in chaos when it's familiar. And yet, the wrong turns offer the right kind of comedy, do they not?
Case in point: our ever-eloquent, ever-elusive master of shade and summit climbing, RW, recently proclaimed, “Johann and I do the same thing. We go to the summit and come back down.” One climbs with crampons, the other with campaigns. One trains for years, the other simply watches others fall and calls it strategy. It's giving passive-aggressive peak performance, and honestly, we’re entertained.
Meanwhile, in Colombo, justice seems to have taken a sponsored vacation. The reason we haven’t found Sewwandi yet, I guess, lies within our ever-efficient failed system. Two eyewitnesses, when asked to identify the main suspect in a fatal shooting, shrugged. Quite literally. Can we blame them? The system rarely backs the witnesses, so why should they back it? If I were in their shoes, I too would’ve sung, “I can’t see, I’m bliiiiiind.”
And now to Mr. Archchuna, who delivered a revelation worthy of a Bond villain. Prabhakaran’s containers. Explosive indeed, though sadly lacking evidence. Still, I can’t judge. I'm strong on my ex storing a nuclear bomb, but I don’t have evidence either.
Miss Anudi’s Anuradhapura “experience” felt as authentic as a Colombo café’s take on village rice. Despite her own beauty and grace, the campaign around her was peak performance art, Ruwanwelisaya edits that felt more like a foreign documentary than local pride. Authenticity? Misplaced. Feminine empowerment? Packaged by a very white and very patriarchal lens. But lest you think this is a takedown, know that the criticism lies with the machinery, not the muse.
And now, to international heartbreak. The X breakup. Truly the world war no one saw coming. I was certain they had Melania’s blessing. I expected love. I got trauma. Mr. Trump appears to be suffering from a terrible case of hurt feelings. He and Elon have been playing political ping pong with X drama, deleted Epstein tweets, and dreams of a Big Beautiful Bill uniting them once more. Stranger things have happened. Like that one-time Sri Lanka ran out of salt.
Meanwhile, in lighter affairs, Kylie is in her confessional era and I must say, I love this for her. Nara Smith, domestic goddess of the digital age, is also preparing to bake baby number four from scratch. Naturally.
As for the rest of you, some are flying to Italy, some to Goa, and others straight to rock bottom. Bon voyage.
Until next time,
Yours in scandal, satire, and sensibility,
The Writer
