Caught in the Feed

In the space of just a few hours, we watched a personal situation become a public event. What began as a post or maybe even a comment spiraled into something far bigger. It became viral.

Not because it was packaged as a story, but because the internet made it one.

As I watched it unfold, I found myself less focused on the details and more on the pattern. One we’ve seen before.

The Pattern Feels Familiar

Someone shares something. It touches a nerve, emotionally, socially, politically. Within minutes, it spreads. Screenshots, memes, commentary, and eventually, media coverage. The pace is dizzying.

Before long, someone who didn’t choose to be public becomes a topic of discussion. Their life, choices, and relationships become viral material.

Media Doesn’t Pause, It Piles On

Once it crosses a certain threshold online, media entities join in. Sometimes to clarify, but often to capitalise.

It’s understandable, they’re operating in the same attention economy. But it still leaves a hollow feeling. Who protects the person at the centre of the story, especially when they never asked to be part of one?

A Person Isn’t a Headline

What gets shared online is rarely the full picture.

It’s a version of someone. A sliver. A snapshot. And yet we respond to it as if it’s the whole truth.

In those moments, the internet feels less like a network and more like a courtroom, one with no pause button.

Reflections Closer to Home

We see this play out in Sri Lanka too.

Sometimes it starts on Twitter or TikTok. Sometimes it begins in a WhatsApp group. A post goes viral, and the whole country feels like it’s weighing in.

There’s less distance here. Everyone seems to know someone. And the commentary feels more personal.

We talk a lot about the benefits of digital transformation, but not enough about the emotional and ethical consequences of being so connected.

No Judgment. Just Observation.

This isn’t a “take.” It’s not even an opinion piece, really.

It’s just a moment of reflection on how fast things move and how often we forget that people are at the centre of these viral moments.

Just because something can be shared doesn’t always mean it should be. There’s no moral here. No playbook. No lesson.

Just someone’s story being pulled apart in public and a quiet reminder that it could happen to any of us.

If nothing else, this moment reminded me to slow down.

To watch more than I react.

To hold space for the fact that behind every trending topic is a human being who didn’t ask for the trend.

#DigitalCulture #Privacy #MediaEthics #Leadership #TechAndSociety #ContentResponsibility

A Gentle Presence

You were never one

to take up space with noise 

instead, you moved quietly,

the kind of presence

that never needed announcing

to be felt.

In those early years

of first love and soft rebellions,

you hovered at the edges 

a gentle presence,

neither intrusive nor distant,

but always there.

Later, when life turned fragile,

as my father began his slow goodbye,

you showed up again 

checking in,

offering comfort in the simplest of ways.

A gentle presence

that asked for nothing in return.

You never tried to define your place

in anyone’s story,

but somehow,

you were part of mine 

woven through love, loss,

and quiet resilience.

And now,

as another voice from that generation fades,

I find myself mourning not just you,

but the vanishing art

of quiet care.

Rest softly, Uncle Prasanna.

You were part of the love stories,

the heartbreaks,

and the healing.

Always quietly,

but always there.

The Quiet After You

No one tells you

how loud a house can feel

when the voices that shaped your days

are no longer there.

It’s not just grief

it’s the loss of daily rituals,

of unspoken comfort,

of the steady rhythm of love

I never had to earn.

Dadda, Mama,

you were my home.

And for Aina,

you were his world.

Dada Seeya, the hero.

Mamaachi, the heart.

He carries you still,

we both do.

Now,

I live with a different kind of strength

quiet, persistent,

built from everything you poured into us.

Some days I ache.

Some days I stand taller.

But every day,

I carry you.

In how I love,

how I live,

how I remember.

For Mum & Dad ~ forever in our hearts, forever remembered. 

Ankle Deep In Memories

Oh Ankle, my Ankle 

(not the foot, not the knee,

but somewhere gloriously in between),

From the days you’d boom out “Dodo!”

and I’d come running,

wide-eyed, small,

thinking you knew everything.

In later years, how we’d laugh,

calling each other by joint and bone 

“Hello Knees!” you’d say,

“Yes Ankle!” I’d reply,

two creaky parts of life’s great machine,

held together by stories and tea.

Endless talks of “the good ole days”

when sweets were sweeter,

music had meaning,

and life spun slower on simpler wheels.

You, with that sly grin,

dry wit sharp as ever,

teaching me that humour

is sometimes the best kind of love.

Now, as you lie in quieter hours,

know that in my heart,

your voice still calls: “Dodo!”

And I’ll always answer

your mad “knees,”

still thinking of you, always. 

Some bonds are timeless 💜

The Quiet Goodbye

They mocked

the way they walked,

spoke,

loved.

The cruelty

was constant,

in corridors,

in comments,

in quiet glances

that screamed.

But they didn’t cry out.

They swallowed the shame,

wore silence

like armour

that cracked

slowly

every day.

No warnings.

No notes.

Just a moment

too heavy to carry.

An empty chair.

A message left on read.

A light

gone out

without a sound.

Now we mourn

what we never saw,

a quiet soul

crushed

beneath the weight

of a culture

that wears cruelty

like a trend,

and calls silence

strength.

The Mirage of Safety

I will never again

Let my vulnerability

Get the better of me

What felt safe

Was an illusion

A mirage

That disappeared

Just when

It started

Feeling like it

Was safe

The warmth I trusted

Turned cold in a blink

Words once soft

Now sting with silence

Promises dissolved

Like ink in rain

Leaving behind

A blank page

Where love once lived

Now I wear my strength

Like armor

Not to hide,

But to remind myself

That even softness

Deserves a shield

And trust

Must be earned

Not assumed