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by Aditha Dissanayake

The time now is seven in the evening. Election Day. An island wide curfew is in full force.

I sit in front of the computer, staring at the screen. I have still got only the headline for my story. My assignment is Election Day. My problem - acute writer's block.

This is uncommon. This should not be. For today happens to be the day I cast my vote for the first time in life. Yet, as fate would have it, on this day of overwhelming historical importance, for myself as well as the country, I find I am "wordless". For, polling takes place peacefully at my polling station and nothing worth reporting, happens.

Yet the day for me had begun at an unusual hour. At two in the morning I had woken up to toss and turn in bed and to philosophize about the day ahead.

Today I will cast my vote. For the first time in my life I know the meaning of belonging - of being a citizen of Sri Lanka - of being a responsible adult with the ability to decide who should govern my country. I see my vote as my voice. It is a reflection of my political opinions, it gives me a sense of power.

By seven ten, I am there, at my polling station, waiting in front of a classroom at Kathiganahinna Vidyalaya, with my polling card in my hand. I watch a woman step inside the classroom. "Rankeththa ge Susila Chandrani Karunathilake" a lady officer shouts from a list in her hand. The queue moves slowly. Police officers seated or standing, with rifles in their hands stare at the voters with indifference. Everyone is silent. Solemn. Even the leaves on the mango trees seem to be holding their breath.

Soon it's my turn. I tremble when the lady shouts my full name at the top of her voice. I am on display. Anyone can accuse me for not being Aditha .... Dissanayake. No one does. I move on to the next desk where a middle-aged gentleman holds my hand gingerly in his and paints my finger. I am given a ballot sheet. I hide myself behind a box, and draw a cross on it, as thick as a piece of firewood, with the pencil on the desk. Then I experience a moment of panic. I fail to recall a single number of the candidates for whom I should cast my preferential votes. How could my memory go blank so suddenly? Finally, just as I decide to give up, the numbers flash across my mind, one after the other in quick succession. Relieved, I draw more crosses, fold the paper into a square and stuff it into the chocolate coloured box on a chair. "The country's future will be decided by this piece of paper" I tell myself to add momentum to the occasion and to inflate its importance.

As I walk out of the polling station, I recall Winston Churchill's words "In our parliamentary system of elections where governments are elected and voted out of power the biggest role is played by a small man who walks in to a small cage and places a small cross with a small pencil in a small box." Today I was that small man who played a big role by casting my vote.

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Copyright 2001 The Associated Newspapers of Ceylon Ltd.
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