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Sujan Dexter Jayasinghe

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8 months ago
From the same school halls to the same office walls Ananda ➡️ PayMedia #ananda #battleofthemaroons2026 #BOM #paymedia #bigmatchvibes
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Posted On: February 26th 2026, 02:09 pm
From the same school halls to the same office walls
Ananda ➡️ PayMedia

#ananda #battleofthemaroons2026 #BOM #paymedia #bigmatchvibes

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We still have THREE teams left with zeros in the loss column 👀
״החתן יתום מאמא, אין אורחים בעזרת נשים״: אורחת ביקשה ״מי שבאזור ויכולה לבוא לשמח בחתונה חרדית בבני ברק״: האירוע מתרחש כעת באולמי ארמונות חן והאורחת ביקשה אישור מהאמא לקרוא לאורחות למלא את עזרת הנשים.
10 years ago today my little brother took his own life. Davis was a kind, smart and gentle person who hid his pain very well. We will never truly know all he was battling. I wish, as his big sister, that I could have taken that pain away from him. That will forever hurt, no matter how many years go by. It’s been a decade of guilt, regret, anger and sadness for our family but it has also been a decade of life, love and happiness. There have been countless joyful moments that I wish he were a part of. We treat the time we have together with more care. We are more empathetic and cling to the happy memories. I know he wouldn’t want us to linger in the sadness. There will always be the Katie I was before my brother’s death…and the Katie I am because of my brother’s death. It changed me in ways I can’t fully express with words. We are all stronger than we realized. It feels like a lifetime since we’ve heard his voice or given him a hug but somehow the pain and trauma of it all lives very close to the surface at all times, so that’s why a full decade doesn’t seem possible. I think about Davis every day and we miss him very much. I wish he could have met all his nephews and I wish he could see how amazing his niece is. The last time I saw my brother was at Ava’s first birthday party. Five days later, he was gone. He’d be 35 now. Would he have a wife? Babies? The what ifs will drown you in sorrow if you let them, but I know he wouldn’t want that for us. Instead we choose to celebrate the life he lived and the time we had with him. Tonight we gathered as a family, we laughed, cried, ate messy wings and drank pitchers of beer…because we know it would make him smile. ❤️
📍 Copy->Paste x2 📍 . . . #igrinavoliata #twins #brother #sister
Sending 𝐁𝐈𝐆 birthday wishes to the 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖! 🎂 Happy Birthday, Maxi! ❤️ #PunjabKings
Contemporary literature is dying.  If you’ve been following me for a while, you’ll know that my favorite (somewhat cheeky) claim is that contemporary literature sucks, and, in many ways, it does. Ben Lerner is an emotionless hack, Ottessa Moshfegh’s writing has no soul, and Sally Rooney never graduated from kindergarten. Even sadder is the fact that these writers represent the supposed upper echelon of literary prowess—as BookTok romantasy girls will often remind us, it only goes downhill from there. But unlike most writers who make up the contemporary literary establishment, I am not a nihilist but an optimist—I believe in the power of humanity, and this (admittedly) naive outlook has convinced me time and time again that these writers deserve a chance. That is why I’ve actually subjected myself to literary abominations such as The Topeka School, My Year of Rest and Relaxation, and Normal People, among others: every time I dive into these novels, I hope to stumble on a gem that might restore my faith in the contemporary literary milieu.  That’s why this past weekend, I really tried to give Anne Carson a chance.  Unless you live under a rock, you’ve probably heard by now that this past Thursday, Canadian poet Anne Carson took home the Nobel Prize in Literature. Before the big news, I’d only ever read If Not, Winter—Carson’s translations of the poems of Sappho—so I went into our newest Nobel laureate’s work with an open mind—and trust me, I really wanted to like her. Her Wikipedia page, for one, paints her as a serious literary scholar—versed in the likes of Homer, Euripides, Sophocles, Emily Dickinson, and Franz Kafka—and in a recent viral interview with The New Yorker, Carson even states that she doesn’t read contemporary novels—she reads old books.  For a moment, I thought I’d found a kindred spirit in the literary world—or, at least, a rare anomaly: a classically educated writer who desires to preserve rather than to destroy the literary tradition—but after reading dozens and dozens of Carson’s poems, I was not merely disappointed but downright devastated. Carson’s poems are really, really bad. Continue reading on my Substack.
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