löwe

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

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=4927954088392592929

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

gig

oh and, my gig.

yes, it went perfectly well.

with no rehearsals.

am i slowly becoming a professional jazz musician/procrasinator?

lucky

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.

quote

"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.

tgif

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 in the mirror and ask myself if i can really go on doing this. and as much as i still want to love and be loved, something inside me says, you're tired, you can't pull it off this time, you can't afford it, go back to your room."

"i just want to be loved and i don't want to have to drink coffees, go to bars, wait for messages, be strategic or indifferent, cool or poised in search of this. i don't want toings and froings. i just want to be loved."

but then again, from where i stand, it's easy for me to say.

Ayvalik

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 keep missing it, wishing maybe I was there now. I know it's just the difference between the familiar and the unknown. The memorized and the just discovered. Some even call it love.

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't you ever change/just promise you're always gonna be/as sweet as you are.
someday when i'm lonely/wishing you weren't so faraway/then i will remember/things we said today. (goosebumps at this point)
close your eyes and i'll kiss you/tomorrow i'll miss you/remember i'll always be true/and then while i'm away/i'll write home everyday/and i'll send all my lovin' to you.
Then i met Teri for late lunch, a social activity i've always found more than fulfilling. One of my dearest friends, Teri is a real woman and a great mother. i think i want to grow up to be like her, although in some ways she might not agree with me. i don't care. i want to make jams in a kitchen full of light. while i sing.
Then i couldn't help but go for a slow and quiet stroll along the shore, by the sea that was the bluest of blue. 'Contemplated', as Murat might have said. the same old subject that keeps coming up. the same old questions that start with 'why didn't you' and go on to depress me. Although thinking so hard about it helped me conclude, it's not what people 'didn't do' that matters. It's what they 'do'. and what they get in return.
This morning i didn't realize until i was already half an hour late that i was invited to a brunch at Jon&Sandra's, and i literally left the place in 5 minutes and maybe less. i was in Bebek in no time. Now i understand once again why i keep wanting to live in Bebek. i love that place with all my heart. and the brunch was yummy. Waffles are a good idea. When a Swedish and a Haitian French couple up, the menu changes your entire outlook about a Sunday breakfast. Such a big part of my life that it scares me sometimes.
The rest is dancing, yoga and chilling with my book Underworld**, that made it to my to-do list as book to be finished asap. No it's one of the best books i've read. it's just too thick for its own good.
and comes monday in less than half an hour, whose first 7 hours will be spent in deep sleep cut through by my coughing.

*Ginger
**Don Delillo

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.

p&s

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.