📝 Writing Models — by Category

My best friend is Kavindi. We have shared a bench since Grade 1. She is quiet and kind — the first to lend a pencil and the last to laugh at a mistake. When I broke my leg last March, she carried my bag for two whole months without ever complaining. I am lucky to have her.

My class teacher is Mr. Fernando. He is in his late forties, of medium height and average build, with a clean-shaven face and short grey hair. He is patient, friendly and hard-working. Even when we make the same mistake again and again, he never loses his temper. I am lucky to be in his class.

My favourite traditional food is string hoppers with kiri hodi and lunu miris. The steamed strands of rice flour are soft, the milky gravy is fragrant with turmeric, and the chilli sambol gives it a fiery wake-up call. It is a hand-rolled, hand-eaten meal — and the easiest reason to wake up on a Sunday.

My school is just two kilometres from home, but the walk is full of small adventures. First, I cross the wooden bridge over the canal where small fish dart in the morning sun. Then I turn left at the bo tree and walk past the busy bakery. Finally, I climb the gentle hill and reach the gate just before the bell.

Last August my brother and I took the early Ella-bound train from Maradana. For seven hours we rolled past misty tea estates and through narrow stone tunnels. The famous Nine-Arches Bridge appeared at exactly the right moment — the morning sun lit up its stones and a blue train was crossing it. I will never forget that view.

Reading is the cheapest holiday I will ever take. For 50 rupees and an old library card I can dive a coral reef, climb the Himalayas or listen to a murder mystery on the foggy English moor. It teaches me languages, history and strangers' kindness. Best of all, no one can tell me to put it down.

My favourite sport is cricket. Nothing about it is fast at first glance — a batsman can stand there for an hour with no run, and yet a quiet attacking shot can travel a hundred metres in a second. Cricket teaches patience and sudden courage in the same afternoon. That is why I love it.

English opens doors that no other subject can. Two-thirds of all websites, most airport signs and every international job interview use it as a common language. A Sri Lankan student who speaks English clearly can work anywhere in the world, and even at home they earn the respect of customers and bosses. That is why I practise it daily.

Trees give us almost everything we need. They give us oxygen to breathe, shade on hot days, fruit to eat and wood to build with. Their roots hold the soil together so rain does not wash it away. Without trees the air would be hot, dirty and silent. That is why trees are our truest friends.

On weekends, I spend my free time on three things — books, family and the cricket bat. I read at least one English novel a month, usually before lunch when the house is quiet. In the afternoons, my brother and I play street cricket with the boys next door. Evenings belong to my grandmother and her stories.

My grandmother is the most interesting person I know. She is eighty-two but still walks two kilometres before breakfast. She remembers every cricket match Sri Lanka has played since independence and can recite Tamil poetry by heart. What I love most is her laugh — it fills the whole house and makes even my shy little brother smile.

The little book that changed me was Charlotte's Web. I bought it at a stall in Pettah for forty rupees. By the end I was sniffling for a spider, of all creatures. What it taught me was simple: kindness can come from the smallest places. Every time I help a younger student now, I think of Charlotte.

I refuse a polythene bag at every shop now because I have seen one too many in the Kelani river. A single bag takes a thousand years to break down — long enough to outlive my great-great-grandchildren. I carry a cloth bag in my school bag. Two seconds at the counter; two seconds for the planet.

For me success is not the gold medal at the end. It is the half-hour every morning when I sit at my desk and choose my book over my phone. If I do that for a whole year, the exam will simply confirm what I already know about myself. Real success is the quiet daily 'yes' to the work that matters.

My morning routine begins at 5.30 with a glass of warm water and twenty minutes of past papers. After a quick shower, I help Amma make string hoppers and pack two for the road. I leave home at 6.45, walking to school with my best friend. I reach class with a clear head and ten minutes to spare.

The most beautiful place I have ever visited is the Galle Fort. The Dutch built the ramparts in the 17th century, and four hundred years later you can still walk along them at sunset. The waves crash thirty metres below, the air smells of frangipani, and a hundred lanterns slowly come on in the cobblestone streets behind you.

We should plant more trees because they are the cheapest air-conditioner and the most beautiful sponge. Each grown tree pulls 20 kg of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere every year. Their roots stop the soil from sliding into rivers during the monsoon. One sapling at every home would change a town in a decade.

My mother runs our family, her tailoring shop and the temple Sunday school — and she is never short with anyone. She wakes at five, cooks breakfast, irons three uniforms, opens the shop by eight and is back home by six with hot kanji and patience. She is proof that strength looks quiet from the outside.

Discipline at school is not a cage — it is the railing on a staircase. When the lessons begin on time, when phones are off in class, when prefects walk a clean lobby, even shy students can concentrate. Without discipline, the brightest mind has nothing to grip. With it, even an average mind climbs steadily upward.

From January, I follow a quiet four-hour daily plan: one hour of past papers before school, two hours of revision after dinner, and one hour of reading a non-textbook English book before bed. Sunday afternoons are strictly free. No phone after 9 p.m. Eight months and three weeks of this — and the trophy is mine.

I dream of being a paediatrician because biology has been my favourite subject since the day Mrs. Wijesinghe explained the human heart with two halves of a cricket ball. I am also the eldest of three children; my little brother brings every bump and every fever to me first. I am already half-trained, I think.

The most useful interview tip I have learnt is to prepare a thirty-second story about your biggest weakness — and end it with what you are doing about it. 'I am impatient, sir, so this year I have started reading one page of a Sinhala novel each evening.' Interviewers reward honesty plus effort, every time.

Fast food tastes good for two minutes and harms us for two decades. A single fried-chicken meal contains the salt and oil our body needs in a whole day. Repeated weekly, it leads to obesity, diabetes and high blood pressure by our thirties. The kade rice-and-curry costs less and gives twice the energy.

Kindness is the only quality I know that doubles itself. The boy who picks up a stranger's dropped book may inspire two onlookers to do the same that afternoon. Brain scans show we feel happier seeing kindness than receiving it. So the smallest gesture — a smile, a held door — is the cheapest revolution we can start.

My worst habit is scrolling Instagram in bed before I sleep. By 11.30 I have lost an hour and gained no real friendship. From this month I am leaving my phone in the kitchen at 9.00 p.m. and reading two pages of a book before bed. Small change, big difference — that is the bet I am making.