By: John S. Morlu II, CPA
You came for the beaches.
You stayed for the smiles.
But what you didn’t expect… was the mirror.
Because Sri Lanka is not just a destination.
It’s a reflection — of who you are, what you fear, and what really matters.
No one leaves Sri Lanka the same.
Some leave with tattoos.
Others leave with stomach problems.
But all leave with something far more permanent: a shifted soul.
1. Time Slows Down — So You’re Forced to Look Inward
In the West, you race.
In Sri Lanka, you wait.
- Wait for the bus.
- Wait for the rain to stop.
- Wait for the monk to finish his prayer before your meeting begins.
At first, it’s frustrating.
But then… you notice things.
- A gecko on the ceiling.
- A coconut seller who whistles while he works.
- The fact that you don’t need to check your phone every 2 minutes.
Time stops rushing.
And you start arriving — not just in Sri Lanka, but in yourself.
You begin to ask different questions. Not “What’s next?” but “Why now?” Not “How fast?” but “How true?”
It turns out, the silence you feared was the conversation you needed.
2. Nature Isn’t a Backdrop — It’s a Character
The ocean doesn’t pose for your Instagram.
It crashes, spits, and pulls your ego out with the tide.
The jungle doesn’t entertain you.
It breathes over you like an old relative watching silently.
Even the sun here is a bit of a diva — blazing, unapologetic, and occasionally brutal.
Sri Lanka reminds you that you’re not the main character.
You’re just lucky to be in the scene.
Nature doesn’t ask for permission here. It humbles you. It disciplines you. It shows you who’s boss — gently, but firmly.
And somewhere along the way, you begin to love that discipline.
3. Meals Become Meditations
You stop eating on the go.
You sit.
You wait.
You listen to the sound of dahl being ladled.
You say “isthuthi” (thank you) not because it’s polite, but because you mean it.
In Sri Lanka, food is not a transaction — it’s a trust exchange.
Even a roadside tea feels like a sacred act.
And you leave every meal feeling like a guest, not a customer.
Eating becomes communion — not just with people, but with history. Each spice tells a story. Each grain of rice carries memory.
The table is where politics are paused and humanity begins.
4. You Walk Slower — and That’s a Good Thing
At some point, you stop power-walking like you’re escaping an emotional fire.
You stroll. You pause. You ask questions.
You become curious about the name of a flower.
You start waving back at strangers.
You remember what it’s like to live inside your own skin instead of rushing to escape it.
You begin to greet the street dog. To notice the way the fisherman ties his net. You begin to breathe without urgency.
It’s not laziness. It’s presence. And it’s revolutionary.
5. You Learn That Gentle ≠ Weak
You meet people who speak softly — but carry storms in their stories.
- A fisherman who survived a tsunami but still laughs like a child.
- A grandma who lost everything in a war but still welcomes you with jackfruit.
- A monk who hasn’t spoken in 30 years — and says more than any TED Talk ever could.
Sri Lankans teach you that strength isn’t noise.
It’s stillness.
It’s not assertiveness.
It’s acceptance.
It’s not showing up everywhere.
It’s showing up deeply where it matters.
And suddenly, you’re less impressed by loud people in meetings. You begin to admire the quiet one who keeps promises.
6. You Understand the Power of Reverence
In Sri Lanka, people bow a lot.
- To the Buddha.
- To their parents.
- To the land.
- To each other.
Not out of fear — but out of reverence.
That concept stays with you.
You start bowing too — maybe not physically, but emotionally.
You learn to lower your volume.
You learn to listen more.
You learn that reverence makes space for meaning.
And reverence creates responsibility. Once you respect the land, you stop littering. Once you respect time, you stop wasting it.
Once you respect yourself — you stop settling.
7. You Realize the World Is Both Big and Small
You meet someone who knows your cousin.
You find a random tea shop that plays your favorite 90s song.
You see a poster of Mandela next to one of Lord Shiva.
The world collapses into a coconut shell.
Everything feels familiar and foreign at the same time.
Like coming home to a place you’ve never been.
You begin to trust in synchronicity. That maybe you were meant to sit next to that stranger. That maybe the detour was the direction.
That maybe — just maybe — the universe speaks Sinhala too.
Final Thought: Leaving Isn’t the End — It’s the Beginning
You board your flight.
You look back one more time.
It’s just another airport.
Just another passport stamp.
But you know the truth:
- Something cracked open in you.
- Something slowed down.
- Something softened.
And now, wherever you go — you carry Sri Lanka with you.
In your pace.
In your presence.
In your quiet, knowing smile.
You don’t just remember Sri Lanka.
You return to it — every time you choose to live gently, honestly, and deeply.
The End (…or is it?)
About the Author
John is an entrepreneur, strategist, and founder of JS Morlu, LLC, a Virginia based CPA firm with multiple software ventures including www.FinovatePro.com, www.Recksoft.com and www.Fixaars.com . With operations spanning multiple countries, John is on a mission to build global infrastructure that empowers small businesses, entrepreneurs, and professionals to thrive in an increasingly competitive world. He believes in hard truths, smart execution, and the relentless pursuit of excellence. When he’s not writing or building, he’s challenging someone to a productivity contest—or inventing software that automates it.
