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-
or new york.
looking at computer screens that display letters that said
i could never forget about you
i would never forget about you
and we will see each other again soon
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.
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.