Showing posts from 2006

a room with a view

photographs are a form of injustice to the place as i know it.

since you asked

Last night I dreamt about Oludeniz, the hotel I spent my childhood summers in. It is almost unbelievable, because my dad dropped me off with a car and I ran towards the garden bar that was once there, before they changed the garden area so many times; removed the bar, removed the swings, the ping-pong tables, added the swimming pool. Every summer we went there, I would find something had been altered but I would generally be the same, with my books and summer outfits and hopeless love stories.
But in my dream I ran towards the garden bar that was there when I was like 5, and started talking to this waiter -Ahmet abi- who was there through most of my childhood. But I was me -a grown up who can reach and lean over the bar- and he was somewhat older. I still called him Ahmet abi -something that suggests that he is older than me- but secretly wondered what what my older version was to him. I admit to always having had a thing for him, Ahmet the waiter.
And so, -late- in the morning I woke …
i can fly
but i want his wings.

i must be the 10918th girl in love that says it
but i can't help it.

imagine i was a singer in the sixties.

commute monologue

is that a walkman?
is there a walkman?
what can i say
the words destroy all meaning
there's only clichés
to get across this feeling

i know you don't think it makes sense
but i thank god everyday that you exist
and are in my life.

i don't know how sorrow finds me so easily.
am i hiding in the wrong places?

bday sequence



and so it ends- or is about to end.
my birthday, the expectation and the excitement of the attention, and the exhaustion that comes after.
the flowers, with so many colors and scents so strong, lilliums and roses.
words, wishes.
all beautiful and hopeful.

i am a nine.
i ran into Beth. we sat and talked and had coffee. updated each other. it was good to see her. she has one of the best voices i have ever heard. and she is a queen on the stage.

the string of balloons on the sea. still colorful as the day fades into an evening blue. i could rent a toy rifle for 5 shots and aim at them and maybe accidentally aim at the full moon. thinking it was one of the balloons as it hangs yellow over the sea.

silenced the ipod when walking through Bogazici. i wanted to hear birds and trees. yes, trees are louder in Fall.
you live by your choices-
so live by your choices.
my baby's the uncle of identical twin boys now.
Today's thanksgiving. I woke up to a beautiful day, some kind of light and breeze in the air, sunny but almost about to rain, "the autumn leaves" all around.
'tis autumn.
But yay, it's thanksgiving! I remember all the thanksgiving dinners I had, mostly with and through Deniz. All the good food and the warmth of what's foreign.
I'm at work in my thanksgiving dinner outfit. People comment. 'Your dress is wonderful'. I think what's wonderful is today. The day Jupiter steps into Sagittarius and the day I said to myself, 'embrace whatever is happening to you. It's happening to you for a reason. Be zen, like a falling stone, don't resist.' Thanksgiving day.


"Yine de 'ben' benim ve bunu seviyorum. Üc yil oncesi bana yabanci geliyor ama simdi, üc yil sonra da yadsinacak bir sey yok. Seni seviyorum Pelin, ve sen cok buyudun. Kendini cok iyi yetistirdin ama devam etmen gerekiyor. Kendini taniyorsun, insanlari da -sayilir-, en azindan durum eskisi kadar vahim degil. Ve yine kucuk bir cocuk gibisin, bu sefer buyumeye calismayan bir cocuk. Bu cok guzel cunku cocuklar buyumeye calisinca birer maskara oluyorlar. Artik oyle cocuklari sevmiyorum, hic sevmiyorum."
-journal entry, 29/11/96
"aşk bir tanedir. içinizdeki aşk tektir. başlar, kimi zaman uyur, kimi zaman uyanır. şimdiki aşkın varlığında öncekiler de yaşar, şimdikinin ateşiyle ötekiler de alevlenir tutuşur"
-semiha berksoy

one love, we get to share it

today ozlem and i went to the modern art museum, "istanbul modern". i was able pass as a student. that saved me enough money to buy an extra cappucino -short- at sbux.
they were featuring the venice biennial, and the only work i could actually enjoy was the video with the people pretending like they are dancing with someone in their arms or in somebody's arms. to "the look of love". it's interesting because ozlem had told me that was the one she liked the most out of my last gig's repertoire, and we went to the museum together, heard the song, listened in the dark and watched the video, all that.
sometimes i do that too. sting sings "until" and i waltz with my invisible lover. i used to imagine being so much in love with someone and waltzing to a perfect song, feeling the lyrics deep down. next time i dance with my imaginary lover, my partner will be doug, "my fiancé". and how much i am in love will be for real.
and i actually shopped a…
i have so many accounts and so many passwords. my brain must be showing special effort to keep all of them remembered.
aşk içinde yalan içinde
tek bir ayna binbir biçimde

friday evening

i am the only one who's left here. i reminded my boss of something we still need to do and he said, i'm sure you've got better things to do on a friday night. i feel like i don't. i can't think of any.


the only person who is going to love you just as you are, with the legs not long enough, one breast alarmingly smaller, with the little jealousies, quirkiness and obsessions, the nails that never seem to look perfect enough and the invisibly blond eyelashes, is you. if you expect other people to do this for you or before you, you're wasting your time.




what kind of a sunday is this? i left the apartment only to buy some bread and i haven't moved anywhere since then. crispy cold outside, the after-snow sun. winter's absolute arrival threw everything out of their array. namely, my wardrobe, outdoorsy sundays, migrating birds.
and the stupid translation project. how can you translate this: "ne yaptı kıçımın beslemesi ha? öptü mü kızı ha? çabuk söyle!" (no no no, i won't repeat in public what it says) how can you express pure turkish rural mentality that revolves around morality, sexual oppression, manlyhood, hierarchy, in another language and culture? i don't know the answer, i did the basics on the translation and left the finishing touches to Mark, my British friend who knows too much.
but the stir-fry i cooked last night is worth mentioning. ingredients; (in order of appearance) olive oil, diced garlic and onion, an apple and half a quince (chopped), broccolis, shredded fresh ginger root, pineapple juice an…
"speak friend, and enter"


today is the kind of day i'm just kinda sulky. don't really want to smile if not absolutely necessary. my mind strays and i cannot get into the conversations going on around me. drank too much coffee. it's grey and rainy and maybe the winter that's come to stay accentuates the prevailing mood.
Sunday. Woke up all alone -pretty alone compared to the past week i spent with him-, stepped out to get some coffee beans ground at Starbucks, stopped by Paul's for bread, grabbed a Milliyet to get the sunday news, came back home, with the radio still on because i like it that way, that the door opens to funky radio Oxygen music. Then i put on Sia's album. Breakfast with Sia. Breakfast on my own- although heavenly what with the delicious Paul bread and olive oil, french press and good cheese, i wondered what he could be doing, thinking, looking at. New York skies from an airplane? Some gorgeous flight hostess with too much make-up on? While Sia sang, "Gone away, yesterday- today is a brand new day." Read the papers, became temporarily informed. Tried to digest the past week we spent together, all those sights and scents and sounds. Eating sea-mussels off a tray on Galata bridge. Watching the mosque above, watching my mind wander as the my two favorite guys in the wor…
"Feride, zannederim ki, artık çocukluğu bırakmak zamanı gelmiştir, dedi; şimdi senin yalnız teyzen değilim, annenim de... Buna pek memnun olduğumu söylemeğe lüzum yok değil mi? Sen, Kâmran için, huyunu bilmediğim herhangi bir yabancı kızdan çok daha iyisin. Yalnız... Yalnız biraz fazla havaisin. Çocuklukta bu, belki zararlı bir şey değildir. Fakat gitgide büyüyorsun. Büyüdükçe de elbette ağırlaşacaksın, akıllanacaksın. Mektebini bitirmene ve evlenmenize aşağı yukarı; dört sene var. Hayli uzun zaman. Böyle olmakla beraber sen, nişanlı bir kızsın. Ne demek istediğimi, bilmem anlatabiliyor musun? Ciddi ve ağırbaşlı olmalısın. Çocukluğa, yaramazlığa, inatçılığa artık nihayet vermelisin. Kâmran'ın ne kadar ince hisli ve nazik olduğunu biliyorsun."

everyday things

we want to talk about things. we want to talk about things that require no prior explanation. continuous things. things we've talked about before, say maybe yesterday.
so we talk about our job (a very everyday matter). our boyfriend (even trivial things about him- as long as the listeners are already filled in on the history). our ex-boyfriend (maybe in the lack of a current boyfriend, might prove useful). our family (perfect. family is family. not much history is required but it is indeed, a little boring). sales. winter coats. calories.
we don't like to start from the very beginning. that's exhausting. we want our listeners to be anywere from the middle to the open end of our history.
at least this much i can say for myself.


they say careful what you wish for. (and it's always said in the aftermath, how ironic)
this weekend, if there is something called ginger poisoning, i am a good candidate.
i put it in chicken soup,
fruit salad,
and in milk with cocoa and cinnamon.
there you go, zencephil.


i like ginger -zencefil-. it has a place in my life.
it's the restaurant that i have been able to find no alternatives to, in the past few years.
it's what makes me feel better when i get sick, what heals my vocal chords.
when i cook chinese it's what gives the flavor.
when i have sushi it's what cleanses my palate.
it's my dear friend Gencay's nickname, since high school, and he's still under the same nickname on my phone.
i like ginger.


evde pecetelere ya da otel kagitlarina yazilmis adresler gezerdi. ben orda orda turistlerle tanisirdim, nasil bir ingilizce konustugumdan emin degilim. adresler degisilirdi ve sonbahar sonu kisa yakin postadan birlikte cekildigimiz fotograflar gelirdi. yilbasinda kartlar. greetings from london. glückliches neues jahr. lyon diye bir sehir.
sonra ben kücükken iki büyük korkum vardi, gece saran ve de uykuya dalma konusunda bana zorluk cikaran. birincisi, atom bombasi. teyzemlerde gec saatlere kadar izledigimiz bir filmden sonra yerlesmis olan bu korku beni bir sure birakmadi ve ikinci korkum olan cehennem korkusunun yerini aldi bir sure. atom bombasindan nasil kacabilecegimi ciddi ciddi dusundugum bir zaman dilimi oldu. bu iki korkuyu nasil yendigimi hatirlamiyorum, ya da acaba yerlerini baska korkular mi aldi? dogustan bize verilmis belli bir korku kontenjanimiz mi var?
ama zaten 80lerde bir korku kültürü vardi. hep birseylerden korkardik, enflasyon, soguk savas, turgut ozal tarzi seyle…
Something tells me
I can trust in you
There's no pretense
In the things you do
So much water
Under this bridge
And I'm standing here
At the water's edge
Looking into your eyes
I'm crossing the river
To get to you
I'm crossing the river
Crossing the river

You have the longing
Of a broken heart
Shone your light in a room
That was frozen dark
Looking into your eyes
I'm crossing the river
To get to you
I'm crossing the river
And this time I'll make it through

With your faith and your arms open wide
I see you there on the other side
Crossing the river
Of fear and pride

There's no turning back I know
Come so far and I've got so far to go .

-crossing the river, the devlins

Live at Nardis

Kurt Elling under the dome of Aya Irini.
i have no idea what this means:
"everything that happens once can never happen again. but everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time."
it's an arab proverb. they really are weird people.
like unfolding a paper and some force folds further as you do


This 2.5 metersquare island that i find myself more comfortable, more in place, peaceful and 'myself' than anywhere else in the world. my bed.
-saturday night listening to music and reading my book like a teenager

while he's asleep.
"Such luck to be alive, she thought, and took the train back, humanly invisible in her roomy seat, where she smoked a cigarette and looked forward to being home - home alone, surrounded by all the things and textures that make you familiar, once again, to yourself."

ars longa, vita brevis

A good work of art, music, literature is one you cannot consume and put away. That's why you keep going back to it, not being able to get enough, you go back for more and try to solve the mystery. You try to understand what makes it so good, so compelling and perfect, but you can never quite figure out the ingredients and are left with the only option- read it once again, listen to it 10 times more, look at it for another half hour. That's when they become a part of you; and you're richer.


in my coffee cup there is a lion
big and strong
and a figure on top.
as if to reflect the arrival
of the big and strong lion in my life.
take out the dots in löwe and cut the w in half
and you get love.

it gets frustrating sometimes

i guess in business life, or maybe in life in general, whatever you do, it all comes down to "it's never good enough" or "it could have been better". therefore?

check out my live performance

the song is "Comes Love"
i have one more that i will post tomorrow, hopefully.


oh and, my gig. yes, it went perfectly well. with no rehearsals. am i slowly becoming a professional jazz musician/procrasinator?


i am lucky. very lucky. to have survived the incident. a motorcycle guy grabbing my bag and trying to speed away with it. the pull throwing me to the ground. my disbelief in the fact that i can be attacked and robbed urging me to hold on to my bag. me demanding an exception, fighting for an exception. and getting it. no injuries except the purple knees, no loss. i figure out i am strong, stronger than i think. or luckier. but none of this takes away the feeling of being violated, victimized, handled. he and i held the two ends of the same bag, my bag, and pulled with all our strength. he and i shared a moment. i hate this feeling.


"You spend your whole adult life trying to remain aloof when dealing with the opposite sex. You try playing the games and subscribing to theories of 'correct' times to call or when and how to go about meeting people.

Then one day it all goes out the window and you connect with someone and you can't picture what the years ahead will be like without them. You put yourself out on a limb and expose yourself."

sorry about the copyrights. it is just so true.
it surprises me how loaded with emotion and resenment and contradiction i am, everytime i try and put it out in the open. they say the best way is to talk about it. i cannot talk about it. it just touches too deep and hurts too much everytime. only i am allowed to go that deep.
all growns-up.
my life, mine, my own.


it's friday.
fridays are good.
although usually i'm in no hurry to leave my office, i like knowing that the sequence of workdays is followed by two free days, that there is a cycle and the cycle includes a freer version of me.
in the freer version i get to be in or out during daytime. the choice is mine.
self-expression through creativity and love

finding nemo

while risking exposing a weakness, i think it's interesting that i had written the same kind of lament a few times, upon different disappointments. the search for love can be draining. below paragraphs contain despair, but i believe, by sharing the desperation, i acknowledge having left all behind.

"there are no words to describe how tired i am of being illusioned and disillusioned my men, by the promise of love, my my own imagination. i'm only human. i have needs. i want to love somebody and be loved in return. i am willing to compromise. i am 'hot jazz singer who's graduated from the best school in turkey'*. i'm looking for 'someone of the gentle kind'. i am fun. but i'm not having fun."
*derin said this, not me

"since i'm 13 i'm trying to love someone. and be loved in return. i'm 25. and i'm tired. i may act like i have energy left to spend on love affairs, but i don't. sometimes i stop and think for a moment, look…


Last night, delving into my previous diary, i found some things that i wrote. Here's one:

"Abla siz yeni misiniz?"
-the little dirty local boy we saw at the little dusty bakkal

It's kinda funny how the locals look at us, since hardly anyone in the warmth of their homes would consider this reasonable what we're doing, traveling off-season. But here we are, freezing in our room at night, sleeping head and torso under three blankets, sight-walking the streets people normally use as the way home. Having a simit-olives-almonds-dried apricots on a bench by the sea. Finding the perfect place to have dinner after desperately wandering the dark and windy streets, and again, freezing in our room that used to be an office space for the French Consulate once upon a time when there had been a French Consulate in Ayvalik, for whatever that was.
I'm enjoying the place and I feel like the seablue is feeding me, I feel liberated somehow, but I keep comparing it to Fethiye and k…

bebek apartment

an apartment building in Bebek, that i found worth photographing some 4 years ago.

my weekend

So friday i get out of work, exhausted. my uncle kept insisting on having dinner with me, which i knew would be all about my new job and responsibilities and career potentials, and his love life which drags me into a dark grey hopelessness about the future in general. when i'm that tired physically and mentally, all i want to do is go home, eat the crappy dinner i made myself sitting crossed-legged. and the first question i encountered when i met him was, 'where do you see yourself in the business world as of now?' Great, here we go. but the food in Zencefil* was good, as usual.
Saturday i woke up kind of under the weather. Played the BBC sessions of The Beatles on my stereo, something that reminds me of high school and how naive we were. But also something that cheers me up, entertains me the way British people would be entertained in the 60s. Young voices of Mccartney and Lennon come through the stereo as if they are singing for me:
so please don't ever change/no don…
aklima ozel derse yurudugum gunler geldi. arada bir yerde, ne evde ders calisiyorum ne de yabanci bir evde ders dinliyorum- ama yine de ikisiyle de alakali bir sey yapiyorum. ozel derse gidiyorum- yoldayim. bogazici hayaline beni goturecek olan ne varsa yapiyorum. ogretmeni dinlerken bazen uykum geliyor ve sadece gozlerimi acik tutmaya calisiyorum. bazen ogretmen bana bir soru soruyor ve benim dogru cevap vermem lazim, ogretmenin benim umit vaat ettigimi dusunmesi lazim. garip bir baski altinda hissediyorum. bazen de, zaten hersey cok kolay, benden akillisi yok, hemen cevap veriyorum: turevini alirim.


there was a full moon over bebek and the top floor balcony seemed to welcome us with our anniversary presents, worn-out selves, textured past; with its loose-cover white sofa. we tried not to spill any of the food on our skirts. after all we were 20 years older now. that many years have passed since the day i went over i said,
can i sit here?
it's just so typical me.
then they shot fireworks somewhere distant. we watched and said, they're celebrating with us. the fireworks were for us. the colorful lambs from denizli. the kaleidoscopic souls.
the fireworks are for us.

even the most ordinary moment at home

is deep in color
and peace.

notice the fish in the cup


in the morning

early in the morning, earlier than usual, stepped out unintentionally. wintery day, first one of them. drizzly; and these -y's can go endlessly. no rush, you can get to work in your own sweet time. gives you time to take notice of the world. the morning that's, sort of, -almost- emptied of its crowds and traffic. gives time to stop at starbucks and grab a short cappuccino.
then you walk out of the coffee shop with an extremely hot beverage in your hand -caution-, and see the lights, the only lights left from the night before. the green one says, 'yes, lady, you can cross the street if you hurry a little bit', but the red -rude- one interrupts and says 'i'm sorry, you're gonna have to wait'.
"red light, grey morning, it's quiet- there's no one around. just a bang and a clatter as an angel runs to ground." -stay-
by the time i get to work the daylike feeling has definitely settled in and the office is empty, 'you're still half an …
the two skinny girls venturing across the lagoon for the stones.


years ago, back when we used to spend our vacations in oludeniz, my sister and i, two skinny little girls, our dad on the lead, we would rent canoes from our hotel and paddle to the other end of the lagoon, a pebble beach. the hotel beach was fine sand, good for sandcastling but we would miss the stones, we wanted what we didn't have. so we would paddle on to 'kum'burnu -kum means sand in turkish, but 'cape sand is not sandy at all-, park our canoes and start collecting pretty stones as if they were treasure. our canoes loaded with hundred little stones, each selected with utmost care, we would paddle back to our hotel. taken to our room, those stones would lose their sheen. after the polish of the water and the glint in the sun is gone, stones were stones not jewels. i would still take back some of them home with me. my mom would not let me keep them in a bowl full of water, saying they would gather moss. well, maybe, yes. still, i wanted back the thrill of the instan…
not ready to lie. not ready to tell the truth. that's when you avoid.

my office

A few weeks later, I find myself back in an office, this time a different one. I look around and see the pics that I brought here, 3 pics that remind me of and represent the things I love in life (the sea and the shore across in Bebek, Sena's painting on the wall of my apartment and the suitcase I place my tiny TV on, and the dinner table from the Swedish Midsummer day). To my side, there is an old postcard that says 'Istanbul Bogazici Bebek' on it. I have a water bottle that is the light green of my eyes. My Altoids box, my coffee cup. It's the first time I bring my belongings with me to an office- first time I bring myself in a way. Does this mean this is me, here? Not hundred percent maybe, but it's a hint of the person I am, that I bring here with me so that I don't get lost within the corridors of a financial corporation. In the end, it all comes down to the fact that we do what we gotta do.

-thanks baby, for the inspiration.
you might barely know any of the people but when it's music and dancing everyone's connected, equal, one.
i had the weirdest dream. there was a baby boy, and he was saying he was in love with me, that he thought about me all the time. i also dreamt that someone who used to be dear to me was killed, and i was there. i kept telling everyone he was dead, to register the shock, and i cried all night but i simply couldn't deal with it, woke up crying.
but i'm happy. the vacation is still in there.

carved into stone



my relationship with stones goes back to a long time ago. it was my first time in ephesus.
i like doing portraits. capturing 'real' moments. sincerity.
"Mars, the god of war, has been left exhausted by their lovemaking, and while he rests, a group of playful fauns make off with his lance and armour. Naked and asleep, he is entirely vulnerable, while Venus retains both her clothes and her composure. The message is that love is stronger than war, and it is conveyed with a delightful sense of humor and sophistication."
Young, Claire, Ed. Myths & Legends, National Gallery, London 2005.
Sandro Boticelli, Venus and Mars, about 1485.

turkish men

at the bazaar where they sell fruits and veggies, bread and clothes and whatnot,
where i drove grandpa -minaluscu we call each other, yes he invents words, it runs in the family-
there are all kinds of men, old, young, fat, slim- sitting around, selling their stuff.
there are all kinds of men who lust after anyone out-of-the-ordinary
who give you their case-specific, intense looks. after all, isn't it all they have, from where they sit, the power of the gaze is your weapon.
a young, dark-skinned one-
an older, fat one with a white moustache, you look like a sea-lion mister.
i go around carrying plastic bags filled with peaches, apricots
with a mini-skirt not so right for the occasion.
the reason is, and i thought about this;
i don't really care. all those men, sit there and staring is all they can do- the capacity to act is limited to that.
my legs, i use them to walk and sit and swim.

if anyone can get any tangible benefit out of looking at my legs,
well, i guess we call them turkish me…
i started taking photographs again. suddenly, the world takes on a 'photographable' character. i frame everything within my view. the blue tiles of the marina restroom. Gulin's shoulders. own body parts that can be 'self-portrait'ed. garden furniture. dad's nikon, my old friend. welcome back.


Sometimes I see something so moving I know I'm not supposed to linger. See it and leave. If you stay too long, you wear out the wordless shock. Love it and trust it and leave.

-Don DeLillo, Underworld


Pepe said it's all black night by the sea but I felt a walk could do us good so we went. Full moon is out tonight. It wasn't just the dark sea, a dusk-like feeling when you go out there. We walked and walked. Kids flying fake fireworks. There was live music somewhere, some girl's beautiful voice and two guitars. Walked back. Sat on chaise-longues. Looked up unawares. Caught a falling star, we both did but Gulo missed. My first time this summer.
"This summer".

holiday project

we're putting on Little Red Riding Hood with Deren and Doruk. Most likely i'll play Grandma.
turning over a new leaf
after all, this IS a new leaf.
looking at me all clean and white.
don't look back in anger or sadness or in regret or compassion.
don't look back at all.
learn from orpheus's mistake,
and your own mistakes too.
i can't seem to recall anythinganyway,
[other than 'the city' and what i love about it]
right now, from where i stand looking,
sit writing,
lay sleeping,
it's stark white and blank.
waiting to be filled with
days of laughter, colors, music, dancing, new places.
eurydice stands waiting. [alive]


our next door neighbor has two kids, a 4 year-old girl and a 3 year-old boy, deren and doruk. this morning, post-swimming, pre-breakfast, combing my hair on the lawn, i walk over to their balcony with my red comb in my hand. talking about drying your hair in the sun and hair color getting lighter in the sun, i end up washing my hair with camomile water they had from before, deren and doruk get involved too. we all wash ourselves in camomile water, we sit on the grass, first combing then messing up hairs. deren and i have big hair now. fussy hair all over, i say i look like a lion, and we start imitating lions, rocking heads, roaring, showing claws. deren and doruk love approaching dangerously close to me, pushing me to the ground with threatening claws, throwing their little bodies on top of me, all three of us losing ourselves in the moment. the ecstatic state of imitating lions on the lawn.


Still, we human beings are intricately wired to suffer when we have been rejected by a loved one, and for good evolutionary reasons. I believe romantic love is one of three primary mating drives. The sex drive evolved to enable our ancestors to seek intercourse with any remotely appropriate individual. Romantic love developed to enable our forebears to focus their attention on preferred partners, thereby conserving precious mating time and energy. And long term attachment evolved to motivate mates to rear their babies as a team. So falling in love is one of the most important (and powerful) things we do; it profoundly affects our social and genetic future.
As a result, we are built to suffer terribly when love fails-- first to protest the departure and try to win the beloved back, and later to give up utterly, dust ourselves off and redirect our energy to fall in love again. We are likely to find evidence of any combination of these myriad motivations and emotions as we examine the rej…

life here

the original plan was to move back to denizli, say goodbye to my life in istanbul and write on about how i will miss it, what i loved so much about it, and in a few weeks, write another piece called 'life here'. it didn't happen. i found it hard to say goodbye, then i found a job. and i'm staying in istanbul, where the life i love happens to be. but i still want to write something titled 'life here'.
so, life here.
we wake up in our attic room and performance-rate my snorring from the night before. i live out of the luggage and don't care if my stuff gets creased. i haven't put on make-up or shoes in the past.. let's see.. 4 days. i solve puzzles with my grandma and grandpa. every time in the shower, i read the warnings on shampoo bottles: 'avoid contact with the eyes' 'rinse with copious amounts of water in the event'. i dry my hair in the sun, just like when i was 15. we take long, barefeet walks on the beach. turkish men around, giv…


sometimes i visit my blog just for the sake of it, like the editor of a magazine checking out the latest issue. i look at serife's, ozlem's, and i go to mine. it's coming home in a sense. no that theirs are not familiar. just different. i believe with my girls we possess the same hearts, but we take different routes to self-expression.

yes, i am away.
blue is the dominant theme here where i am. at least for me.
so i help Sena babysit little Lucas and remember my teenage years when i babysat my two cousins every summer. Lucas with the big blue eyes [patterned like a pineapple]. Lucas the serene, Lucas the good boy. the way he said 'mommy' made me want to hear it said to me. all the toylike contents of my place along with my children's books are lying on the floor of my living room now.
the heat is sucking all my energy. i want to head down south, live by the kind of sea that you can actually swim in.
there's this girl and she says,
"I want a lover I don't have to love
I want a boy who's so drunk he doesn't talk
Where's the kid with the chemicals
I got a hunger and I can't seem to get full
I need some meaning I can memorize
The kind I have always seems to slip my mind
But you, but you
You write such pretty words
But life's no storybook
Love's an excuse to get hurt and to hurt "
i don't want a lover i don't have to love. i want a lover i love, without 'have to's.

my favorite things

the addiction a recently discovered song brings
being out in the world while everyone's at work
rooms full of light
these days, opening the window to early morning air
on a walk, the reflection of the sunshine on the sea that makes me feel like it's moving with me
full-grain bread from Paul
sitting at BP, sipping lemonade, reading
ecstatic feeling that comes with dancing
the moment they bring the mezes at sofyali
locating myself in front of the computer with a big bowl of salad
walking through nisantasi with freshly blow-dried hair & feeling like everyone's looking
running into someone unexpectedly
revealing conversations
kennedy lodge
really getting into a translation work, blood rushing to my cheeks
reading comments on my blog posts
"we are a team now" feeling -also ecstatic-
yoga at the end of a long day
coming up with a good outfit
putting into words exactly how i feel & seeing it written down
clear reciprocities
leaning back and taking in a sunday breakfast
my "…


i'm sitting on a bench looking at fireworks bursting on the other side of the bosphorus. other than the sparks flying up like hundreds of comets, and some kids screaming in amazement with each chrysanthemum, the world is still. lovers occupying benches to my both sides laugh and cuddle and kiss. more of them fireworks are being rocketed in the distance but we cannot see those, only hear- along with cicadas, also anonymous. what is this kitten looking for so intently? the lamps illuminating the shore across do not blink, just stare at me like that. this little community here, joined together by the seating, the summer night and the beauty of the scenery; myself, lovers and cats, we don't even care about who lives across the shore and what they are doing as of this moment.
Lois Lane: You know my um... Richard. He's a pilot. He takes me up all the time.
Superman: Not like this.

bronze, marble, stone

“The diary of my sculpted life,” says Auguste Rodin (for The Gates of Hell) and how soothing is the sound of it, to be able to say that as an artist and a man. I read the line and I fall into curiosity and maybe melancholy. Will there be something to identify as the diary of my (written, sung, recorded, happily lived) life? How do you fill in a diary of years? So I’m at the Sabanci Museum in the middle of the day, enjoying my little escape from the daily routine into the light-filled halls of the museum, the lavenders and the hydrangeas in the garden overlooking the blue, and the sculpted life of Rodin. I walk through a bronze nakedness and antiquity themes, feeling serene. I circle around each and every sculpture, look but don’t touch. Except for The Hand of the Devil, just because it is so white, so inviting in its marble coolness. Brings me suddenly back to the city of Hierapolis. Pamukkale, the massive chunk of white in my past. So concrete with its antique city, Phrygian statues,…
I was later than I expected, so I rushed downstairs to find him at Starbucks with a cup of coffee. His marketing journals and cigarettes on the table, only the latter appealing to me at that moment. So I lit one, gave some quick answers, said I was really hungry. In the middle of the city, away from the Bosphorus, the sound of water coming from the fountains of the spaceship-mall made me feel different, detached, in spite of his presence pulling me towards familiar waters.
Within two minutes of being seated at Wagamama, we looked at each other and pronounced the very same word, as if it was hanging in the air in a bubble. Experience, was the word. I thought of experiment too, right after I started reading the menu, but I didn't say it out loud. This was before the food's arrival and I was the pilot landing us where we were supposed to eat. And the menu did not give guarantees.
Gokce ended up loving everything. I realized I had forgotten about his fondness of food, thought hard s…

dec 7, 2005

birthday pic, 7 months later. i started wondering what i'll be doing on my next birthday, who i'll be having cake with. god, please let it be a happy day, as happy as the previous ones.


this morning i woke with a thought unformed. or it was being formed, some people were deep in conversation in my mind and i listened, but the light of the day and the rush made me forget the good part of it.
here's what remains:
iron, stone, paper. iron doesn't change in time, it is what it is, heavy and fixed. "iron types" don't believe in outer circumstances to effect them. "stone types" do. time, winds and waters can change stones. they let the flow of life run over them, carve into something beautiful. "paper types" have their own blank sheet to tell their stories, not really listening to what time has to say, unlike stones.
this is on the way to being an idea, a theory so to say. harvey might recall some other theories.
but my question is, why did i wake with a string of thought in my mind?
always leave room for spontaneity

tek istedigim

Bugun elime bir dergi gecti. Gecen yazdan. Kapaginda Akdeniz'le ilgili mavi-beyaz birseyler var. Havaalanindan almistim. Yunan adalari ekine bakip Santorini'ye gitmeyi hayal ederiz diye. "Bir Akdeniz Fantezisi" yazmislar. Bu yaz, ortada fantezi filan yok, nereye baksam gercekler var. Aslinda belki de butun yaptigimiz sihirli Santorini kelimesinin 'buyusune' kapilmakti- guzel bir hayal varken neden gunluk hayat, sorumluluklar? Neden olmasin, kim istemez? Ama iste hayat mavi denizler ve beyaz pansiyonlari daha da parlak gosteren bir tatil brosuru degil. Hayat su anda burda yasaniyor. Ve sanirim anladim ki benim pahali bir hayale ihtiyacim yok. Ulasilabilir, gunluk, elle tutulur bir gercege ihtiyacim var. Su gibi birseye, basit, duru, susuzlugumu gideren.

faux skin

yes maybe i want to rob people of their acquired skins that i see as only make-believe. i'd like to peel off the lifestyle, fashion, profession, social status (etc) skins and leave them bare, naked. see how everyone would function without their personal packages, neatly prepared and presented. i can see so many of them around, carrying around heavy personal packages, unaware of how weighing-down all this is.from personal package to personal luggage.children don't have those, until institutionalized learning starts anyway. i wantto see the world through the eyes of my child-self. i'm trying.
all the things i am are mine.

stella by starlight

i want to talk about songs, always, i want to talk about how good songs make me feel.
like round midnight.
like two shots of happy, one shot of sad.
like here's that rainy day. (bill evans is by my side right now; that rainy day too.)

good songs, they take me to an island and become my only company. while at the same time i feel so connected. connected to a source.
sometimes when i'm singing i draw from that source.

and first time hearing a perfect song, i get startled, i get excited to the point that my smile turns into a grin -belief in life revisited- and my addiction starts right there.

so darling, save the last dance for me.
like the music
a million silver dollars make,
as they jingle, jangle
in that big pocket of your dreams.
Dreams. Yes, and lies.

-Ai, Jimmy Hoffa's Odyssey
saturday, after the pool, drinking our wines, girls talking, guys getting the barbecue ready, tired and drowsy, taking in the cool forest air, laughing, connecting with people from places that make me think there's so much more to life, feeling i belong there, sitting around a table with all those nice people, familiar and not-so-familiar flavors, celebrating midsummer with the swedish in devil-may-care manner in the company of old and new friends.
"feeling sleepy, full of wine, fall in bed, just in time".how i love to go back to this lightning seeds lyric at certain points in my life.
sunday, waking up with a smile, not much sleep, not really the issue, rushing out as baris awaits, cihangir for a change, us as tourists in istiklal, baris's quest, latest ajda songs, karsi sahil for yet another change.
i bought two books at robinson crusoe, and i find it pretty exciting.
all day, all weekend it was so hot and humid, and now it's blue-grey with drops of rain.
sorry i cried that day. the truth is, it's not a sad story. it's called closure. thanks for turning over the leaf.

"since i've been loving you"

marji's room
blue fluorescent lights and the dull dzzzzz sound they make, the occasional moth crashing in
the economic theory text i'm holding
summer air coming in through the wide open windows
so close to the ground we could jump out run away any minute, feeling as if
wonder what baris and gokce are up to

elif apartmani
pel's living room
three legged lamp, nice light, no sound, no moth
no compulsory text
summer air coming in through the half open window
so close to the surface i could get out and breathe, feeling as if
wonder what everyone's up to
it's only just me.

miss you loads



Because of its husk, the almond is generally taken to symbolize the substance hidden within its accidents; spirituality masked by dogma and ritual; reality concealed by outward appearance; and, according to the secret doctrine, the eternally hidden Truth, Treasure and Fountain.
The Hebrew word for almond, Luz(also Spanish word for light), expresses perfectly this idea of something hidden, enclosed, inviolable. The same word is also the name of an underground city and that of the indestructible kernel of being which carries within itseld the seeds of its own ressurection. This, in short, is "the nut of immortality".



latest gig

where i call home, for now.