The public page makes one clear offer: give me Ali Sabry's National List seat and let me run the government. Everything else on the page is secondary to that blunt statement of ambition.

Music and half-hidden detours give way to the real public work: a visit to HNB, warnings about hardware risk, irritation at delays and weak local execution, and the growing conviction that the script is still the cleanest...

A page of birds, mythic role-casting, chainsaw jokes, and military satire hardens into a political argument that Sri Lanka now needs outside pressure, financial supervision, and accountability instead of more excuses.

What begins with There Will Be Blood and stray Twitter sightings turns into a practical question about whether the diary should become YouTube entertainment, or whether writing alone is still the right medium for the project.

The visible page is only one blunt political declaration: President Gotabaya Rajapaksa is cast as a warrior king fighting for justice, speedy trials, and fair outcomes, and the whole day rests on that single endorsement.

Jotted quick notes on Henry VIII and Freemasonry, then played Lady Gaga’s “Eh, Eh.” Later watched Shiba Inu clips and melted

Coffee memories from UK dorm rooms returned, including mouldy pods and favorite machines. A Hilton stay ended exhausted, then joy landed on Udhantha & Yuki’s menu

Coffee-machine nostalgia and Singapore tutoring credits got tied to black coffee and “Starstruck.” Bourdain-in-Ireland clips sparked a full Irish breakfast obsession, then Thai green curry meal-prep plans took over

New Year's Day is dominated by transcript backlog from the early-December video logs: anger over Priyantha Kumara's murder, Harsha and Seylan complaints, people-you-may-know reconnaissance, security-firm bragging, and a lot...

As I grapple with my identity amidst family turmoil, I seek to understand the deeper connections that bind us together.

From nostalgic music to painful realizations, today was a rollercoaster of emotions as I grappled with betrayal and the weight of my past.

The page starts with Buddhist enthusiasm and dreams, then widens into food runs, England longing, moon-landing inspiration, and a self-correction on Muslims: I keep trying to separate real friendships from lazy anger and...

The day moves from pausing Masonic meetings during Covid and admiring Amanda Gorman's Biden poem into a clearer statement of what this journal is for: a record, an alibi, and a place to process Sri Lanka's war trauma while...

Mirtazapine, embassy security, bank ambition, family trust, and the need to be number one all lock together here into a harder question of control: who protects me, who follows me, and how high I can force the ceiling.

The day starts with website redesign, a letter to Babette Rothschild, and mercy toward a former employee, then widens into Richard de Zoysa, Premadasa, ETI, Deepa, and the argument that Sri Lanka keeps rewarding betrayal,...

I spent the day between race-and-state thinking, vivid food dreams, and a real medication crisis, with the page showing how easily policy grandiosity and physical fragility were sitting side by side.

I spent the day in a real-time swing between hate, correction, relapse, and moral panic, with the page showing me arguing against my worst impulses even while still inside them.

I treated the day like a cleanup operation on people, audiences, and identity, with blocking, sorting, and self-presentation becoming a way of regaining control.

I let the day escalate into fantasies about controlling the media, striking back, and deciding who deserves mercy, then kept wobbling between aggression and attempts to pull myself back.

I wrote this day in a blur of heat, insomnia, food obsession, drug talk, and Trump-era self-mythology, with the whole thing reading like overstimulation trying to pass for momentum.

Halloween brought scattered shout-outs, vivid Mirtazapine dreams, tech and industrial ambition, nostalgia about stores and Sean Connery, and the sense that the month was closing in a strange mix of exhaustion, sadness, and...

The public record is sparse here, which leaves the day feeling more like a held-back page than a fully narrated one, with the omission itself becoming part of the mood.

I stayed in year-review mode, sharpening the self-critique around Covid, Mirtazapine, weakness, ambition, and what 2020 had actually done to me instead of what I once hoped it would be.

The day was dominated by an islandwide power cut, retention worries, hiring, and messy internal deal politics, with me trying to hold the company together while recalculating loyalty, commissions, and who still mattered.

I closed the day with Aitken and Dialog pressure, low-battery frustration, family strain, cake jokes, old-video laughter, and the feeling that work, memory, and self-control were all still hanging together by improvisation.

SIERRA follow-ups, blocked momentum, cold anger, and shutdown stress gave the day a hot edge, with me trying to keep deals alive while resenting how slow and resistant everyone else felt.

Rejecting CEO and CMO hopefuls set off a much uglier day of contempt, rage, family-name politics, and private hatred, even while I kept telling myself I was just protecting the company early.

Rejection, job filtering, food memory, Mirtazapine, and stalled outreach made this day feel tougher than it looked, with me trying to stay polished while feeling the pivot resist me.

Ron’s silence and the waiting around SIERRA got under my skin, and the day became a mix of virus anxiety, comfort food, family worry, and the private fear that business delay was turning personal.

I started with bank outreach and practical execution, but the emotional tone underneath was still survival, distrust, and the need to keep tightening my position.