i'm not over you

daddy,
what does it mean to get over you anyway?


i thought it meant never being able to love a stranger as intensely as i love you, that no man would replace you.
but love is also a heartbreak, a heartache. when it comes to real life, "the ties that bind" may hurt sometimes. when it's your dad and he's a decided, rational, stubborn man. when you have an independent soul, wanting to get away, wanting to stay and be loved, wanting nothing in between.

and i have always wondered what the big deal is with posing another electra challenge. why not? my dad is a great guy and he has given me more than anyone else has, so it's only natural that i should have him where he is, hence the throne.

until last night it suddenly occured to me.
"not getting over dad" equally means never handing over the reins, the power, your heart, your confidence- to one person and one person only.
no one will break your heart like that again.
no one will have that much power over you again.
the ties that bind will never be that strong again.
this is what it means.

it means avoiding real situations. deliberately setting up scenes where i can walk away when i feel cornered.
something that doesn't happen with your dad.
but what if i give in and feel for real, take on real responsibilities and suffer real heartbreaks? daddy i'm not getting over you because i'm scared witless of losing power over my life again, being dependent once more. addiction to love being the worst of all of the above.

no use saying "then don't be". sooner or later i'm going to have to get over you. let my heart break in the same way, acquire new ties to bind. then maybe things will be different. maybe a grown-up woman will handle power struggles better than a teenager did. wish me luck daddy.

-and i don't mean that you wanted to, life requires that we hurt loved ones sometimes-

daily philosophical mood altering talk

yaptim bisiler, fena da cikmadi ama
it's not making my life any easier:)
umarim dilegin gerceklesir o zaman minik

what’s the point in making your life easier if it’s not the life you want in the first place?

the point is procrastinating any major moves until you decide on the life you want
but if you don't make any moves you don't get anywhere close to your decisions
therefore i try to make my life easier so i can move around as i wait for my divine inspiration to arrive

That’s why we are so similar… but when you put it that way, it sounds like we are the players in a game who are settled when the score is even, and would do nothing to win (unless some other guy in their team scores the goal)

that's why i decided to just make the move
inspiration will find me if it's meant to be.
just do the flip-
the bruises are worth it.

Someone walking the walk instead of just talking the talk…that’s new!!!
What kind of a a ‘move’ are we talking about here?

born again

no worries. just a huge translation project. as you get closer to the end it becomes even more life-consuming. when you're not in front of the computer (commute, basic needs etc.) you dream of rewarding yourself with worldly pleasures once you get to the end, that is, if that end ever comes. but it did. it's over. am free as proud, happy, rich bird.

simdi yeni birseyler söylemek lazim.

you're right, i am a full-time job

a summer samba, an imaginary waltz to 'until' or 'love will come through', happy days at pupa's, the summer's moves and the summer's tunes, a boat touring the bosphorus, cleavage (that's sexy), luggage (that's heavy), college (that's another story), imitation, learning HOW to dance, and finally, DANCING.

tried to think-
that love's not around,
still it's uncomfortably near.

ingenue

at the age of fourteen i used to daydream that Bryan Adams was my lover and that he had written several songs for me, including please forgive me. this one was my favorite. it all started out with the movie Robin Hood, which i'm sure was a cruel plot to make us 13 year-old boys and girls utterly and dreamily fall into this magical trap grown-ups called love, as after witnessing the love between Robin of Locksley and Marian, coupled with the song everything i do, i do it for you, i threw myself out there in the quest for that very feeling. i developed a crush on classmate onur gun, and Bryan Adams was one of his favorites, he had the album waking up the neighbors. everything i do was the only song i could stand in that album, although i told onur i listened to and liked it all. but then Bryan Adams came up with please forgive me and it was the end of an era for me. or the beginning: Bryan Adams was my lover and he wrote all those songs for me. it wasn't about Robin and Marian anymore, it was all about me.
how did i get here? please forgive me played on the radio and i went back in time. ah, ingenue.

"How am I to get in?" asked Alice again, in a louder tone.
"Are you to get in at all?" said the Footman. "That's the first question you know."

in my room

i'm listening to imogen heap's new single -or a song of hers that's new to me- 'speeding cars'. i just got home, and my weekend was perfectly fine, thank you. especially, the sunday breakfast. i wonder if there's anything that can replace the peacefulness in the combination of those ordinary ingredients of my breakfast- tomatoes, cheese, olive oil, whole grain bread, honey. and here's me smiling on a sunday of 2 years ago. something in my face is different now.
oh, and the pictures behind. well there's one of my dad skiing, one of marlon brando, mini me kissing grandparents on cheeks, me on the stage, us by the bosphorus, us in fethiye, and some more. i sometimes wake up in the morning and stare at them, each time wondering who i was as a child. sometimes i ignore their presence, like all the things we own and see everyday. the stimulus fading out through repetitive exposure. we always sacrifice the excitement of the first-time to arrive at the lazy calm of the everyday. for the sake of coming home to someplace, someone.

monday night on my couch

i'm always very tired on mondays. can't get over it.

the Lady who lost it

Enough for archive-digging, right? I have my journalistic duties to write on, write regularly. But then does that mean I have to think and feel regularly? So as to draw from an internal well of thought and emotion? Well, of course I think and feel all the time. (imagine I was able to record my conscious mind minute by minute, how contradictory would that be. and who would have the time to decypher it and read it?) It's just a matter of how good the material is, to write, to let others know.

And look what I found:
"The most sublime creation of modern times is the ideal woman of the average man. She is a migratory bird, a sort of movable feast as it were."
This is from an article entitled 'The Ideal Woman', in the Bismarck Tribune of 1882. (Don't ask me how I found it. I have my sources.)
It's funny to think that 120 years ago, people called the times they were living in, 'modern times'. And there was an 'ideal woman', brought on by these modern times. And she was in the continual act of changing. I wonder what the ideal woman of our age is, for the average man, whatever that is. I wonder if I fit that definition in any sense. I might have made a perfect Victorian lady though. I'd sit at home and play the piano, read books, speak many languages, go out for walks in the country and converse with my husband. And sooner or later I'd feel suffocated, a foreigner to my own life, I'd turn inward and produce works of literature not much different from Kate Chopin's or Emily Dickinson's. It's astounding how one can see herself living in another time, another place, and still cannot imagine a way out of her own personality.

25/05/02

Yaz aksamustulerini en guzel hangi mekanlarda yakalayabilirsiniz:

-Bogazici Universitesi Ucaksavar Sahasi: Yurursun, kosarsin, sonra cimenlerde yer hareketleri yapar, uzanir gokyuzune bakarsin (sonra donup gozune en yakın cimlerin ne kadar buyuk gorundugune) ve butun bunlarin arkasindaki fon serin ruzgarlar ilik gunesin karisimidir. Her gun ayni saatte fiskiyeleri acarlar. Yururken yuzune kucuk kucuk su damlaciklari gelir ve bu dunyada insani en cok mutlulukla gulumseten seylerden biridir.

-Bogazici Universitesi Guney Kampus: Cimlerde tek tuk insanlar kalmistir. Butun gun gunesin altinda yatmaktan yorulmussundur. Bebek'e inmeye karar verip kendini ruzgara karsi yokus asagi sallarsin. Sonra Bebek'te hala isildayan denizle karsilasirsin. Eger hava karardiktan sonra okuldan yukari cikiyorsan, yolda atesbocekleriyle karsilasabilirsin.

-Fethiye, Calis plaji: Tuzlusundur ve gunes daha az yaktikca tuzlu olmak daha guzel bir hal alir. iyice yandigindan emin olmak istersin. Denize bakarsin, hep ayni manzara ama ayni sonsuzluk. Yaz aksamustulerinde hep gecmisle gelecek cok uzaktadir ve o an kendi kendini en guzel sekilde doldurmaktadir.

-Fethiye, Oludeniz, Hotel Meri: Cok, ama cok yorgunsundur. Odana cikarsin, balkondan asagi bakarsin. Hersey gumusi bir mavi ve yesildir. Circir boceklerinin sesi had safhadadir, nemli havanin kokusu artik deniz, keciboynuzu, defne, okaliptus karisimi midir, kimbilir. Uyumak istersin ama dus alip giyinirsin ve asagiya inip yemege kadar iskelede ya da bahcede zaman gecirirsin. Hava suzulmustur ve inanilmayacak kadar guzeldir.

-Izmir, Mavisehir: Ne hissettigin her gun degisir ama balkona cikinca ayna halini almis bir deniz gorursun ve derin bir nefes alirsin. 19. kattan dunya cok uzakta ve sakin gorunur.

Sonuc olarak, nerede oldugun cok da farketmez. Yaz aksamustuleri hep cok guzeldir ve hep ayni huzuru tasirlar. Gunun geri kalanindan ayri bir yerde dururlar. Diger butun saatler birbirine karisir. Yaz aksamustuleri gunu suzerler. Sonsuza kadar sursun istersin. Ama gunes cok cabuk batan birseydir ve gece her seye ragmen telas getirir.

23/07/05

Bu da bir yaz gecesi. Müzik, balkonda sigara, serinlik, isiklar. Geride birsuru yaz gecesi kaldi. 'Rooftop'lardan discman ve kucuk hoparlorlerle sehri seyrettigimiz; cok, cok guzel hissederek car cemetery'e giden koseleri dondugumuz; balkonda caz dinledigimiz ve iceride dansettigimiz; eve gelip kendimizi yataga attigimiz; tam ayrilirken aglamaya basladigimiz; sirf gitarist oldugu icin gitaristi tavlamaya calistigimiz birsuru gece vardi. Simdi hicbiri yok, tamamen kayip. Beni gecmise baglayan butun o ince gumusi iplerin koptugunu hissediyorum, ve iste boyle bir yaz gecesinde, odamda tek basima chet baker dinlerken o kopuk ipleri bile, sanki, goruyorum.
Bazen geri de gelebilir, evet gelebilir, Fethiye'de bir aksamustu cok yogun bir nemin icinde yurudugumu hissedebilirim, hatta o nemi bile yanaklarimda ve burnumda hissedebilirim, ama tuhaf bir sekilde, bu ozlemek gibi degil de dun gece gordugum ruyanin gun icinde geri gelmesi gibi birsey. net ama transparan. (fragrance too rich for keeping, too light to remember) Sanki bilincaltim biliyor ki gercekten oturup da hatirlarsam cok fazla gelir, o yuzden daha ucucu, gercekdisi bir sey gibi saklaniyor. Hem insan unutuyor da. Sitenin arkasindaki karanlik-nemli-serin yolda yururken neler konusulmustu, kimlerden hoslanilmisti, eve kacta donulmustu, kim hatirlayabilir ki bunlari? Belki ben, ama ben de iste artik sadece bir koku olarak hatirliyorum o zamanlari, ya da yaz gununde kollarimin buz gibi olmasi hissini.
Yine de hala isterdim cok nemli neredeyse islak bir yaz gecesinin icinde, cok guzel, ne oldugunu tahmin bile edemedigim kadar guzel kokan biriyle karanlik yollarda sadece yanyana yuruyor olmak icin yurumek, o koku mu icimdeki herseyi altust ediyor yoksa yanimda yuruyen mi, ayirt edememek. Bir yere varmaya calismak degil, sadece orada olmak. Sadece kalbinin carptigini bilmek, yarin kirilabilecegini dusunmemek, hatta, bilmemek.

mumblings

have to start getting ready for the jazz vocal competition. haven't picked out my songs yet. am thinking of angel eyes and alone together. am thinking of bilal to help me with the recording. but it won't be so easy. sure enough i'll take ages to pick out my songs, will record on the last minute. looking forward to summer, italy, dreams, colors, etc.
this huge pile of translation material heaped up on top of me as well, which is not made easier by the fact that i'm sick, and therefore all i want to do is lay down, sleep, sneeze.
am still not tired of passing by hotic every morning, smiling at the mehmet gunsur poster on the window, then being embarrassed at my silliness.
have to get well soon.

until

If I caught the world in a bottle
And everything was still beneath the moon
Without your love would it shine for me?
If I was smart as Aristotle
And understood the rings around the moon
What would it all matter if you loved me?
Here in your arms where the world is impossibly still
With a million dreams to fulfill
And a matter of moments until the dancing ends
Here in your arms when everything seems to be clear
Not a solitary thing would I fear
Except when this moment comes near the dancing's end
If I caught the world in an hourglass
Saddled up the moon so we could ride
Until the stars grew dim, until...
One day you’ll meet a stranger
And all the noise is silenced in the room
You’ll feel that you're close to some mystery
In the moonlight and everything shatters
You feel as if you’ve known her all your life
The world’s oldest lesson in history
Here in your arms where the world is impossibly still
With a million dreams to fulfill
And a matter of moments until the dancing ends
Here in your arms when everything seems to be clear
Not a solitary thing do I fear
Except when this moment comes near the dancing’s end
Oh, if I caught the world in an hourglass
Saddled up the moon and we would ride
Until the stars grew dim
Until the time that time stands still, until.

-as recorded by sting.

quote

Live on, survive, for the earth gives forth wonders. It may swallow your heart, but the wonders keep on coming. You stand before them bareheaded, shriven. What is expected of you is attention.

-salman rushdie, the ground beneath her feet

bazen de sadece normal bir insan olmak istiyorum.
alan ve veren, kabul eden bir insan ama olamıyorum.

geçiyor çünkü zaman ve o kadar çok ki senin için söylemek istediklerim
çünkü geçiyor zaman ve kadar az ki senin için söylediklerim

i'm just a little possessed girl,

with music of course.

and that's all i am.

these days

yesterday, music in my ear, i was walking by the sea, and the song was;
yesterday when I was young/so many drinking songs were waiting to be sung/so many wayward pleasures lay in store for me/and so much pain my eyes refused to see
yes, indeed.

spring is all around. one can feel it 'body and soul'. heartbeat that wasn't there before, came in with all its belongings, and waiting, asking for permission to settle.

silly friends drinking, and me accompanying them, not having the best time but not wanting to get out of there. sometimes just being there is enough. history and chemistry take care of it.

evren's packing for italy. it's like watching a falling star, watching him glide across. i loved having him in my sky, i loved looking up to see it shine, guide me with understanding and love, whenever i asked for it. but maybe there's another sky he can shine brighter through. shouldn't get too sentimental about it though. goodbye dear, i'll see you in milano this summer.

questions, so many of them, about the present, about future. i let them hang in the air, i will not touch them. the past is beautiful and the future is curious, and maybe glorious. isn't it all hidden in the present though? i'm holding this package in my hands. i carry it everywhere. and when spring comes and suddenly it's sunlight and breeze and spring fashion all around, it's not all that heavy anymore.

esthero

remembered how listening to esthero makes one feel. breath from another spins on the stereo and words and melodies seep into the room as i read a book at night or do yoga in the sun. "and i wanna live in the passenger seat of a car/we could drive around all night/we wouldn't have to go too far/just look at the stars/baby we could be stars" she sings, and i usually feel it somewhere close to my stomach. "this ride is far too long to travel alone", isn't it?

quote

We are not going in circles, we are going upwards. The path is a spiral; we have already climbed many steps.

-Hermann Hesse, Siddharta

memoria pretiosus

this is a long overdue piece.
something i should have written years ago.
(but growing up helps. helps put things and people in perspective.
and perspective is good. it sets the stage for our personal history, a blockbuster play performed at the back of our heads, over and over again.)
but this isn't about perspective. nor personal history.
but they too, play their roles.
this is about marji and the summer of 99. (baris, help me out here will ya?)
thinking about those days feels like looking back at ancient history right now: a summer night -how did i fall into that summer night? i was in summer school. i had deliberately failed calculus. i was confused- spontaneity, some music, new people, from new york?, sure whatever, i'll just bring down my guitar.
that's all it took.
and then i found myself at on the roof of superdorm (accompanied by peaches and yogurt and a discman, speakers and U2)-
at marji's room taking chances at doing our readings and talking, talking, talking-
on the platform over the pool of Park Orman, waiting for the Garbage concert, looking and feeling gorgeous, taking in the summer air -marji's Angel, baris's Cerrutti, my Burberry's-
jumping to "Push It", harmonizing to "With or Without You"-
tasting ice-creams all around istanbul, talking about "cheesy" and kinds of cheese-
at a nook, a cafe in taksim, feeling special, talking about men and how they break your heart-
at calinti (speaks for itself), yes, "stolen, consumed by them"-
as part of so many moments that you just crack up, or break down, or better yet, dance away-
and finally, at the airport, having dropped her in front of International Flights, twisting round to see her dragging the suitcase that would only close if all three of us sat on it at 5 in the morning -pelin, gokhan, marji-, heading for the Domestic Flight that was about to put an end to-
...well, all the fun in magnifying whatever we happened to feel at the time.

later she said,
i miss you
and wish right now that i could sit on the roof of the superdorm withyou with one of those spectacular sunsets. and be sad with you.
and missing her became a part of my life, and hoping maybe some of what we had that summer will come our way again-
in istanbul
or new york.
looking at computer screens that display letters that said
pelin,
i could never forget about you
i would never forget about you
and we will see each other again soon
and smiling
and clicking "reply"-
once more to magnify feelings and people and words and life: squeezing the meaning out of them until personal history becomes personal legend?
such was the way we were.
and marji was like one of those girls in the lyrics McCartney or Lennon wrote- "Here, making each day of the year/Changing my life with a wave of her hand" while i thought Bono would depict me as- "You're taking steps that make you feel dizzy/Then you get to like the way it feels/You hurt yourself you hurt your lover/Then you discover/What you thought was freedom is just greed"
and each letter she wrote me might as well have been a beautiful song- too bad i'm not a composer-
-
i looked through my istanbul pictures the other night and it made me crazy that i am not there.
-
I always imagine the two of you driving down the Bosphorus, blasting music. and maybe just maybe missing me and hoping I was back there.
-
i miss eating yogurt and peaches with you on the roof of superdorm when its cold and warm altogether at the same time.
-
hey beautiful rockstar
i can only imagine you up there on stage. sad i wasnt there to see it, but my dreams do you justice.
-
but sometimes you dont love someone for how they treat you.
-
i miss the hell out of you.
-
birthday GIRL
you made me so sad that i couldn't be there sitting behind youor snapping photos as you blow out candles or break open presents
wish i could drink a drink with you
wish it was warm in istanbul
so you could stand on rooves and feel taller than the whole world for your birthday
-
i felt so empty when i thought about the water that divides two worlds, the smell at night, the men who stare, the dashing cars, and the simit seeds spilling all over the table, tea cups and ashtrays...
-
i miss you so much. your long hair when its half dry. your laugh. i miss your fortunes, and the way you get excited about getting a new outfit. send me fun stories so i can feel like i am there again.
-
i only wish i was there so we could really talk. and then stop talking and listen to music. and just watch the sun set over buildings wishing the world was more like us but loving how different we are.
-
i think we are wonderful for who we are. but we must revel and love it. not let it eat us away.
-
i wonder if she's changed. i do still wish i could wake up and call her first thing in the morning, hear that half-whisper morning voice, but i learned so well (and not only through marji), how once the past is gone it is gone, that i don't really dwell on that thought. and time passes, and sadly, memory fades. and luckily, i'm a devoted archivist. there are so many places i want her to see(my up-to-date istanbul itinerary) and so much jazz i want her to listen to (although i'm still not over u2) and i've got so much to tell her (ask her if i have changed). and this girl wishes [stops, hesitates] she could take back what now is the stuff of personal history.

...skimming over the surface of life, never really drilling down to the core...