I apologize for cursing so soon into this entry (the title) but I do believe strong words are needed. I know I haven't finished the Hong Kong updates but they were beginning to sound kind of dry and boring and I needed a break from thinking about China dramas. So, I take this moment to tell you a little story...
The Day the Phone Died; A Leyla and Egglet Adventure
The first flakes of snow had just started falling when Leyla and her awesome cat, Egglet, set off for Logan International Airport. It wasn't long before Boston looked like it was covered in a blanket of soft, white, albeit freezing, wool. But the intrepid travelers weren't worried. They'd taken on the Atlantic several times before and little particles of frozen water weren't about to stop them. After sailing through security, the two girls wandered around for a bit. Leyla picked up the new Jonathan Franzen book, Freedom, because it was sufficiently long for the plane-ride (562 pages) and treated herself to a caramel apple cider before the flight.
On the plane, they were seated in business class because Leyla's parents are almost stupidly generous and they refused to let her travel in cramped quarters with a cat, and next to them was a Kazakh girl about her age named Mila. Mila and Leyla spent the flight making occasional chit-chat, eating their meals (Mila had the fish while Leyla had the ravioli. Countless viewings of the movie Airplane! had dissuaded her from ever eating fish on a flight), and bonding over how much they loved animals. Mila slept for most of the seven hours to Frankfurt and Leyla, unable to reach those quiet gates of slumber, watched The Kids Are All Right which had an excellent score and plenty of Bowie songs, which she delighted in (Carter Burwell was the composer of the original music and in charge of the rest and Leyla oft thought they'd be great friends since every time she really loved the score or music for a movie, it turned out to be Mr. Burwell's work. Or Graeme Revell but that's a different man for a different movie). It starred Julianne Moore and Annette Bening as a married lesbian couple with two kids who seek out their sperm donor dad on the eldest child's 18th birthday. Mark Ruffalo was also in it, as the donor, and with his dirty, tousled hair, motorcycle, and rakish charm he edged himself on Leyla's Top 10 Celebrities She Would Jump On If Her Boyfriend Gave the OK list. The rest, if you're interested, is as follows:
10. Mark Ruffalo
09. 1980s Nikki Sixx
08. Ewan McGregor
07. Christoph Waltz
06. Alexander Skarsgård
05. Michael Hutchence if they ever figure out how to reanimate the long-dead with no decomposing after-effects.
04. Cillian Murphy
03. Magnus "Adde" Andreasson
02. Jonathan Rhys Meyers
01. Jocke Berg
Towards the end of the flight Mila asked Leyla a peculiar sort of question. She pointed to the route map and asked if they were going to Munich. Leyla laughed and said no, Frankfurt. Then, knowing how out of it she could be at times, she double-checked on her boarding pass but yes, their destination was Frankfurt. The girls figured their was just a mistake with the map, the languages displayed were English, German, and for some reason, Hindi (Devanagari script) so there was already that bit of tomfoolery happening, it was entirely possible the wrong destination was in.
But then the captain started talking. He said his previous announcement had not been heard. They were going to Munich. Frankfurt was closed until 9 a.m. and so they were landing in Munich and would let the passengers know what was going on as the situation developed.
And this is where the idyllic, whimsical story ends.
We sat for 3 hours on the damn plane in Munich. No one was allowed off, and nobody was telling us anything. I let Egglet out for a little bit, she wrapped herself around my neck and peered curiously around until we saw a stewardess and I hastily put her back in her case. Finally, the pilot announced we were flying back to Frankfurt. Into a veritable mess of people and mixed up flights. I don't know why they didn't just let us disembark in Munich and let us rebook our flights from there. Where the fuck was that German efficiency?
In Frankfurt, I'd already missed my connecting flight and the line for the transfer desk was overwhelmingly long. I walked to the end of the terminal but there didn't seem to be anyone on duty or anyone who knew what they were doing so I walked all the way back to the Lufthansa ticketing counter which had about 300 people in line by then. I was carrying Egg, my bag, had my coat and scarf, and also the stupid Franzen book that was about 2 pounds heavy.
Finally, a man that seemed to have some authority directed me towards another terminal. They were trying to divide the inter-continental flights from the European flights. When I got to the area for the European flights, I pretty much started laughing in helpless disbelief. The line was, no joke, about 1000 people long, if not longer. After standing in it for about 20 minutes, I just shoved ahead to the main area to try to find someone to help. A woman stationed there told me to go through security and find the ticketing counter on the other side. I went through security and at one point I thought they were either taking Egg away or trying to put her in the x-ray machine because a gruff man yelled at me to keep moving and to leave my cat. I was so ready to pitch a fit but then he just said he was taking her to the other side where I could pick her up. I didn't take my eyes off her case as they "randomly" picked me for a full search. At this point, I'd been awake for a while and getting a little frustrated because I had no way of contacting my mom or Elliot to let them know what was going on. I knew they'd both get worried but my Blackberry wasn't working and I'd forgotten to charge my Turkish/international phone. When I tried to put the SIM card from my Turkish phone into the Blackberry, it wouldn't allow any calls because, of course, it was locked. So I had to worry of contacting them somehow pressing down on me along with trying to figure out what to do. Finally I got through, smiled tightly at the security people peering at my baby, and marched towards the other ticketing counter. If I could just talk to a Lufthansa representative, I could rebook my flight and be all set. I could see on the screens there were several flights to Istanbul on both Lufthansa and Turkish Airlines.
The second line was not that bad. It looked like about 100 people were ahead of me. I found a public computer and sent emails off to my mom and Elliot and then I got in line. I was behind a funny man who kept glaring at everyone coughing and wrapping his scarf around his face and mouth, a British guy who was traveling from Mozambique to the UK, and an older American man. The latter two had been stuck in airports for the past 2 days and looked fed up and tired. For the next two hours the line moved maybe 2 meters forward. There were only two people working and other than one man coming to yell at us to form the line in the opposite direction, their was absolutely no one on duty at the airport. The place was so crammed with people and there were rows of cots set up everywhere for all the stranded travelers. The men and I took turns watching each others' stuff as we went to get water or coffee or whatever. I finally went to use the computer and saw that my mom had sent a message. I'd been rebooked on another flight by our travel agent but since I hadn't seen the email and had no phone, I'd missed it.
Now I hadn't eaten since the plane and it was 2 p.m. in Frankfurt. We'd landed in Munich at 7 a.m., then back in Frankfurt at 10:30 a.m.. The line wasn't moving and I didn't know whether I should just stay in it and try to make it to the ticket counter or try to figure out something else. I had a sneaking suspicion Egg and I were going to end up booked in an airport hotel for the night but the FUCKING LINE WASN'T MOVING. The thing that kills me though was that there was barely 3 inches of snow in Frankfurt. There was nothing. I have no idea why it closed in the morning unless it had something to do with the flights and conditions in the UK and how they affected Frankfurt. The American in line was scoffing at it too, he'd been traveling from Pittsburgh, and the British guy was shaking his head at his own people. He'd been stick in Johannesburg for 2 days and this was his second day in Frankfurt. AND THE LINE TO GET US TO THE TICKETING COUNTER WHERE WE COULD FINALLY TALK TO SOME LUFTHANSA PEOPLE WAS NOT MOVING.
Finally, I took my turn. I asked my motley group of men to keep an eye on my Egglet (and it took every fiber of my being to do that because augh, it's my kitty! I can't leave her!) and went to check my mail. I don't know how much money I fed into the various public computers but I got my mom on gchat and tried to figure out what to do. After half an hour, I went and got Egglet and thanked the guys, wished them good luck, and said I thought I had a way out. Then came another excruciating half an hour as I waited to hear from my mom who was waiting to hear from the travel agent. At one point I thought I was going to have to beg to be let back in the line which had, by this time, grown to about four times the length it was when I first was in it. There must've been at least 500 people waiting. My mom finally said that I was booked for the Turkish Airlines flight at 6 but I needed to give my luggage info. At which point I had a mini freak-out because I thought they were attached to the previous flights' boarding pass which I'd used as a bookmark but I had long dumped the Franzen book in some corner because it was just too heavy to lug around and I didn't have room in my bag. But I found the tags, told my mom their numbers, and I logged out of gchat and went to find a business lounge. They let me in because of my first boarding pass and I took the time to give Egglet some food and fill a bowl with water and get her to drink a bit. I also parked her in a corner and ran to use the bathroom. I have never used the facilities so fast. I kept thinking, what if someone takes my Buglet because I had to be human and go evacuate my bladder? I worked myself up to the point of hysteria in the maybe 3 minutes it took me to go to the bathroom and came barreling out to find that she was, duh, fine.
My stomach was all clenched at this point because I still wasn't sure I was 100% on this flight and when I'm nervous and anxious, there's no way I can choke down anything. Plus, there was no gate for the flight. I was so paranoid that I was going to miss it too that all I could do was play BrickBreaker on my phone to keep my hands busy and get up every 10 minutes or less to check and see if there was a gate. When they finally posted one, I logged back into gchat on the lounge's computer (there was free wi-fi but I had packed my computer because I didn't want carry it along with a cat and for some reason my iPod's Internet was not working) and told my mom I was off to the gate.
She said there was a slight problem. There was another pet onboard and that their policy was only one. But when I got my boarding pass, nobody asked anything and I just sat there, hoping and praying everything would go okay. We're at 6 p.m. now. That's almost 11 hours on a plane (with the delay and the landing in Munich) and another 7 in the airport. I haven't eaten anything for about 9 hours or slept at all. At the gate, I sat there gulping anxiously. Egglet was so good. She just sat in her case and didn't make a peep. Even when I was hustling back and forth between terminals, she'd patiently endured being bounced around on my shoulder. The people working at the counter at the gate made an announcement. My heart stopped. But no, they were paging other passengers. Then for some reason, I focused on the woman and her kid sitting next to me. She was a stout woman wearing way too inappropriate clothing for her frame with leopard print boots and horribly bleached hair. To complete the look, she had the obligatory accessory; a chihuahua. There it was. Egg's plane nemesis. Never have I disliked an innocent animal so vehemently than right at that moment. They were obviously Turkish but were speaking German and her young daughter was so dark, she looked Arab. I sat there judging them and judging their idiot dog. Which, to be honest, was just sitting there as quietly as Egg and really had no fault in the matter. But I was mad.
We were in the bottom level of the terminal, where they always stick flights to Istanbul, and it's literally like the bowels of hell. Frankfurt airport IS hell. I absolutely despise that airport and this cramped, low-ceilinged, dungeon is where they always cram us. I just sat there, gripping my boarding pass, and trying to ignore all the German Turks with their abnormally loud children. God. They allow one pet in the cabin? They should change that rule for kids because for fuck's sake, no one needs to sit there and listen to little Ali as he repeatedly slams a metal cart into the metal barrier for the fucking fun of it. While his parents don't say a word. TELL YOUR LITTLE FUCKER TO SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP. It does not impede childhood creativity and independecne or whatever bullshit excuse you have to instill manners and teach them some common courtesy.
Then came another announcement. They were calling me. I walked over with Egg and told them I was the Leyla Hamedi they just paged. That's when I met Cengiz Bey. Now, I have two very dear friends named Cengiz. So in order not to sully their names with any connection to this gentleman I shall henceforth refer to him as Cengiz Bey. Not just Mr. Cengiz or sir (as that's what bey means) but Cengiz Bey. You have to picture me saying it in the most sneering, I-hate-your-entire-being way possible. Cengiz Bey curtly informed me that I was traveling with a cat. Well, yes I know. He said there was another pet on-board and that their policy was only one animal in the cabin. I said she was a very well-behaved cat and they'd just been sitting next to each other with no problem and she'd traveled all the way from America already with two other dogs on board, couldn't he just make an exception? He put his hand up and said, "Rules are rules. I will call the pilot and ask. If he says no. It's a no. No questions," and then he flounced off.
I stood to the side and waited for the next half hour. Everyone had heard him yell at me and well, there are very few things that can make me start crying instantaneously. Separating me from my cat is one of those things. So I'm standing there, silently tearing up because I can't bear the thought of having to give Egg to cargo and there's a man yelling at Cengiz Bey about the delay and Cengiz Bey, with all the diplomacy of a Turkish Airlines representative, arguing back at him, and there's a kid making cat noises because he heard Cengiz Bey yelling about my cat and his mom and her family, all stern women in headscarves, are giving me pitying looks and explaining yes, there's a kitty, no kitty is not allowed on the plane. It would've been funny had I not been a figure in this tableau.
Finally Cengiz Bey came back and said nope, cat is not allowed. The pilot said so. I would like to make it perfectly clear I did not make a fuss or argue or give this man any attitude. My friends, my family, and my boyfriend know me. I am capable of being an angry, mouthy bitch. I was so tired and so at the end of my rope but I knew an argument would only make the situation worse so I calmly tried to reason with him. I told him that she's traveled with other animals before. That we'd been there all day and we just wanted to go home. But no, Cengiz Bey continued telling me off, yes telling me off, about how rules are rules and that had I come earlier he could've arranged for a box, A BOX, and we could've have checked her in with the luggage. He said, "my mother," had called incessantly and it's just too bad she hadn't been able to reach me. And then he turned his back on me.
First of all, my mom didn't call. The caller was our travel agent who was trying to get me on the flight and who went up and beyond her job requirements to help me . Secondly, there is no fucking way I will allow my cat to be put in a fucking box and thrown around with the fucking cargo. I'm ashamed to admit the thought crossed my mind as I sat there, at the gate, clutching my boarding pass, waiting for the axe to drop. NO. You are not separating me from the most precious thing in my life. Thirdly, what fucking pilot takes up his time thinking up excuses not to allow pets on. Doesn't he have anything better to concern himself with? Shouldn't matters like this be a judgment call on part of the person in charge who was, oh, Cengiz Bey?
I tried to get his attention but Cengiz Bey was too busy picking fights with other people at the gate. I asked him what he would suggest I do because he flat out said, "I'm not allowing you on this flight," and I needed some options. Cengiz Bey said there wasn't much I could do, there was a Lufthansa flight at 10 and I could try to get on that. Then he flounced around again and started ignoring me.
That's when I found one euro in my bag and finally called my mom on a pay phone and promptly burst into tears.
Let's me take this moment to insert the titular ode to Turkish Airlines and to Cengiz Bey.
Dear Cengiz Bey,
My name is Leyla Hamedi. You remember me, you imperiously called my name out and gave me the worst look of disapproval I've ever received from a stranger. I don't quite understand why you felt the need to judge me so harshly just for the simple fact that I had a cat with me. You could plainly see a quite normal girl, with glasses no less, looking tired and miserable beyond belief, who just wanted to go home. Your job is in the service industry. You might not see it that way but you are. You are paid to deal with people and you have to navigate their requests and emotions everyday. If you're not equipped to deal with that, perhaps you should seek an alternate profession.
There was absolutely no call for your behavior. I was about as responsible for missing my flight and venturing to find an alternate way home as you were for the weather mishaps and flight delays. I realize there is a certain protocol for traveling with pets and scolding me for disregarding them was unnecessary and not conducive to the situation. My flight had been booked since August, all the papers and documents for my cat had been filed and paid for, and my only fault was not having a phone on my person. There was no need to admonish me and treat me like some yokel walking in and expecting to catch a plane like a taxi. I realize that there are rules and I was not asking you to break them, I was asking you if there was a way around them.
Having the ability to empathize and come up with logical reasoning and solutions is what separates us from robots. It makes us human. Staunchly sticking to something just because it's a, "rule," is both narrow-minded and ill-advised. You yourself admitted to the horrible state of the airport. There were hundreds of people displaced and disgruntled, all looking for a way to get out. Isn't it your job to guide these sorts of road blocks? Wouldn't it have been a lot easier to let one rule slip by the wayside, just so you could help out someone and let them leave, let them get home? It's not like I was asking to let another person on, or God forbid, a liquid! It was a small animal, with all her papers in order so it wouldn't have been illegal in the slightest, who would've taken up about as much space as a carry-on. I already had the boarding pass, you didn't need to magically summon a seat for me. Rules might be there for a reason but you have the power to improvise and make responsible decisions within and outside the parameters of those rules.
I guess you can't be completely blamed for your actions. You seem to have received the same brutish, dense, no regard for human decency, training that the rest of Turkish Airlines seems to go through. Your stewardesses are rude, your gate attendants are useless, and you sir were about as helpful as Chinese dictionary in Greece. I understand you've probably had a hard few days too but you'd think that would allow you to have more sympathy for others who've also been dealing with nuisances.
And we wonder about the state Turkey is in. Well, when our mere airport personnel are the way they are we can hardly complain that the rest of the country is so ignorant and backwards.
Auf Wiedersehen,
Leyla Hamedi
And we're back in.
Of course, one euro is nothing so the phone timed out and we were cut off mid-sentence. I was done. Just done. I marched over to duty-free, grabbed the first perfume I saw at the Dior counter (I wear Dior) and went to pay for it. I had 500 Euros in my bag that my grandmother, I think, had given me and I'd just kept so I got change, tersely told the cashier to give me coins, and marched back to the phone to punch in my mom's number again. I literally hit every button. Pause for comic relief because right next to me was an effeminate Iranian guy whining about his phone not working. Join the fucking club buddy. He was speaking Farsi and I understood him perfectly though he had a girlier voice than I did.
My mom told me not to cry and that they got me an economy seat for the Lufthansa flight at 10, but it was a stand-by and I needed to show them my cat before boarding. She gave me a flight number and I hung up, feeling a bit better. I went back to the lounge (yay, still allowed in) and tried to wait it out. But then I thought of my luggage. I talked to my mom again on gchat and she had a gate for me. So I walked all the way to the gate but it was still boarding another flight, it was to Tokyo. I don't know why but seeing smiley Japanese faces and hearing the language made me feel a bit better. I associate Japan with nice stuff (my trip with Elliot) so I guess it was sort of a subconscious elevation of my mood. But the gate people had no idea what flight I was talking about and told me to wait. I saw another business lounge right next to the gate though, and went in there. I walked to the Lufthansa representative working behind the desk, told her my story, and begged for help.
She was so nice. I jokingly told her to put me in cargo and she absently said it would be too cold. To think Cengiz Bey wanted to put my cat there! Anyway she, let's call her Frau Hilda, looked up my info, entered my luggage tag info, took my stand-by seat and made it a confirmed seat, in business class, and ignored the line behind me to play with Egg for a bit. I was so close to hugging her. I asked if she'd had a hard couple days and she shook her head like, "You have no idea." After I told her I didn't envy her job, and thanked her a thousand times, I took my Egglet to the nearest seat and we flopped down. There was a husband and wife sitting next to me and they smiled as I gave Egg some food and went to the bathroom.
Okay, they were weird. They were from Denver but the husband was Irish, though he'd lived in the States for 30 years, and they were traveling to Ireland with their surly teenage daughter. He kept asking me about where I was from and how I spoke English so well and when I said I was Turkish, he asked if I was Christian Turkish or Muslim. Uhh...what. Even his daughter yelled at him for that. Right when I was about to leave (I said I was paranoid and should get to the gate just in case) he said he wanted to tell me a story. Okay then, I sat back down. He then proceeded to explain how he had family everywhere and that his daughter was American and that they were all so different but when they got together they were the same. Different, but the same. He said I'd probably notice that too. I don't know if he thought I was going back to Turkey for the first time ever or what (I also think he was either really tired or really stupid because he kept asking me the same questions several times. Where did I live? Boston. Where was I going? Turkey. Where was I from? Turkey. Where did I live? BOSTON) but I just smiled and agreed. He then wished me happy holidays and made some comment about how, ho ho! we wouldn't be drinking. After I had told him we weren't really devout Muslims about 4 times. I finally just gritted my teeth and said no, we probably wouldn't be drinking as much as say, THE IRISH, (looking at him pointedly) but we could hold our own. Then I thanked him for keeping me company because I'm polite and got Egg and started to leave as his harried wife came back and snapped at him to get up, their flight had been cancelled and they were going to a hotel. So happy I wasn't them.
The gate was such quiet heaven. It was open and airy and calm and my stomach was starting to unclench. I was playing Tetris when I looked up and realized there was a mass exodus leaving the gate. They had changed our gate number. After walking halfway across the terminal and going downstairs, I realized where they'd put us. We were back in the bowels of hell.
Everyone was on stand-by and after a lot of yelling and shoving and me gingerly sitting in the dirtiest gate ever, they announced that they had room for everyone and started letting us on the flight. The plane was freezing so I covered Egg's case with my thick shawl and then assured the cute guy next to me that I wasn't crazy, there was a cat in the case. He laughed. He'd apparently been stuck in Bremen for two days and I almost said, "Oh, with the mizikacilar?" It's a childhood story by the Brothers Grimm and I do hope that I kept that stupid joke to myself but I was so tired, I probably did say it out loud. Th flight was delayed a couple hours but finally, we were in the air. I slept all the way home. It was a weird sort of sleep. I'd be passed out so deeply one minute that the poor guy next to me had to hop over to get to the bathroom, but then I'd jerk awake and sit straight up at the slightest bump.
I didn't get home until 4 am. My suitcases didn't show up, though I wasn't too surprised, and I was smart enough to go file a report before half the plane had formed a line to do so. I got home, hugged my mom and sister, and finally let Egglet out. After so many hours trapped in her case and being so good, she'd finally had enough. She growled at all of us, ate her food, went to the bathroom, and then ignored us until we went to bed at which point she spent the night going from room to room and jumping on us. She finally fell asleep next to me around 6 in the morning. The suitcases arrived two days later.
Epilogue: Yes, I am to blame. My Blackberry doesn't work outside the US and I should've charged my international/Turkish phone. Or found a charger in Frankfurt to avoid all the technological drama and just get on the first rebooked flight. But I was tired, I was worried, and I had a cat to carry. I couldn't deal with all the people and finding a some place that had a charger, let alone with a heavy cat on my shoulder. I love her but she is goddamn heavy. My left shoulder maybe permanently lower than the right because of this trip. I also would rather wet myself than leave her somewhere and go get stuff done. It took every fiber of my being to relax enough to let the nice men in line watch her when I went to use the computer but anywhere else, no. Never. I pretty much brought her into the bathroom with me when I needed to use it (hence the wet myself comment). I am also really lucky. There were people stranded there for days, people who had to sleep at the airport or be booked into hotels there in Frankfurt, and people whose flights had been cancelled with no alternate arrangements given. I was lucky enough to just be there for a day and get home. But, this does not make it any less of an ordeal and it does not make Cengiz Bey's actions any less appalling. I can admit my mistakes, I highly doubt he would.
Showing posts with label Istanbul. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Istanbul. Show all posts
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
I come alive in the neon light.
I've been gone for a bit but my boyfriend was visiting and he stole the adaptor to my computer's charger for his laptop and I'm not comfortable writing when I'm not on my own device so I gave myself the week off. But, here I am, with my adaptor and charger and computer all set and ready to go. Though, now the boy is gone and that makes me sad. We've spent most of the last two years (and probably a good percentage of past years) not being in the same place but hopefully that will change by the end of September. I go back to Boston in August and he'll be in Austin, Texas for a while but his company will pay for him to come visit a few weekends until his work there is done so it won't be as bad as when he was in Iraq and I was in the States and we could barely talk to each other between the time difference and the shoddy internet/skype/phones.
While he was here, we mostly just hung out at home and had good home cooking (well, he did. I'm on my diet still and though it's not bad food, it's still trying on the nerves. Let's just say I've ingested more salad and greens in the last two weeks than most cows do) and watched movies and TV shows. It was just nice to relax in each other's company and it was usually too hot to do anything else during the day; Istanbul has been a sweltering 32 degrees Celsius (90 F.) and higher all week and it's not getting any cooler. Which means a lot of ice cream and even I was allowed two scoops of diet. Maras is my favorite ice cream, it's thicker and chewier than regular ice cream and is a Turkish specialty and even the diet version tastes good.
We did manage to make it out a few times. We took the ferry from my side, the European side of Istanbul, to the Asian and had a nice afternoon of wandering about trying to find the metal shop where he bought me a Motley Crue shirt four years ago. That shirt was one of my favorites and I have no idea what happened to it but as luck would have it, we found a similar one left in stock at the place. Akmer Pasaj (pasajs are "covered shopping arcades" as the Turkish-English/English-Turkish translations website zargan.com informs me. I couldn't really find a way to explain them but they're just passageways off main roads that have stores and shops all lined up across from each other and often are two or three floors) is known as the heavy metal pasaj of the Asian side but it kind of threw us when we found it and the entire first floor were bookstores. Everything from school books and textbooks to modern fiction to really, really old paperbacks and foreign books. The basement floor, once we found the stairs, had a bunch of music t-shirt and record shops and we got Elliot a Municipal Waste shirt as well as my Motley Crue shirt. The design and colors are the same except this is cut for a boy and my old shirt was a girl's shirt. Ugh, it looked so good on me too. Oh well, this will just be added to the pile of shirts I have to hem.
I also found a cool little necklace. It was a cut piece of fluoride and I liked the purples and greens and was all set to get it when the vendor dropped and cracked the end off. I was a little disappointed but I got it anyway and he dropped the price down 20 lira. It's not thaaaat noticeable, and the relative pointiness hasn't been disturbed much since it's hurts like a bitch if I try to hug anyone while wearing it.
We also took several trips to Istiklal Caddesi, kind of our version of Newbury St./Harvard Square. These aren't my pictures but you get the idea.
It used to be so beautiful all lined with cobblestones and trees but they ripped out the stones a couple years ago, and the trees, and replaced them with concrete. Now you just bake while you walk down, and occasionally almost get run over by the trolley that goes up and down the street, but thankfully there are hundreds of places to eat and shop and duck into. My mom's office, and the Music House and Borusan Arts and Culture buildings are there too as well as three, yes three, Starbucks. Which, my boyfriend and I use as bathroom stops because, well, they're just cleaner than the places we frequent.
We met up with a friend of a friend who has been in Istanbul for a while, and will be until August attending language programs, and it was nice to get to know a new face and take her out to dessert and hookah. The hookah itself, sour cherry flavor, was not very good. I'll be sticking to my traditional mint in the summer. It's bad for you but doesn't feel as bad if that makes sense. Kind of light and refreshing as opposed to the cherry that was too sweet and burned my throat. And of course, we had to go a couple times to our metal bar, DoRock. Whose name I didn't get until my boyfriend explained it to me last year; durak means stop, like on a bus or train schedule. So it's a music stop. Yeah I know. It used to be this crappy little hole in the wall that had hair metal and death metal nights and my boyfriend and I just loved to be crammed in there with everyone else, enjoying a beer and blinking back tears because the air was just so smoky and musty. He used to go hang out there everyday when he attended school in Istanbul and all the bartenders used to know him. It kind of upsets him now because it's become sort of a "cool" place to hang out and they're now sponsored by Efes beer so the walls and tables and seats have all been re-done and they have wireless internet and security now. They had a tattoo shop on the second floor but I'm assuming it got shut down because beer and hepatitus isn't that fun a mix.
It doesn't have the same atmosphere it used to have but it got really bad for a while. I mean they had a Nazi bartender and most of the people in there weren't that nice and you just got an uncomfortable feeling being there but this last time was a definite imrpovement from last year. No Nazi tattoos to be seen, only the old familiar bartenders working, and since the smoking ban is in effect, you could breathe and actually see more than a foot in front of you. The atmosphere was almost back to the normal with the fun and friendly vibe it used to have. Metalheads think they're cool but really, we're the biggest geeks. When you get a crowd of us we're all just so overwhelmed by finally having people we have something in common with to hang out with, that we just turn into adoring puppies and basically want to be nice to everyone. Of course, there will be those with superiority complexes and attitudes but Elliot and I do a good job of avoiding them and secretly making fun of them. I was pretty happy that the welcoming feeling that's been absent the last couple years was good and back. Elliot blames girls coming for the reason the bar got all spiffy and up-it's-own-ass, so to speak, but hey, it's the boys that bring the girlftriends. I used to go when there'd be only two other girls besides me and yeah it was nice but I don't think it was that terrible this last time we went. Though we did have a moment of panic when we stopped by to have a drink on another afternoon and they were playing country music. I think we were suitably, and loudly, derisive enough to get them to switch to classic rock. But anyway, he says all the improvements are for the ladies and why it's made the bar change from the little, unique place we used to love. Hey, they need to make money. TVs, wireless internet, and girls are the way you keep metal boys coming and spending money. They're just trying to keep a bar running, it's not their fault what the customers do because the customers are what bring the other elements as well as the money.
On a different note, (haha no pun intended) cover band we'd heard in the past was playing again the night we went and it was hilarious. They did all the popular songs like, "The Trooper," and, "Electric Eye," and though they're not particularly ood, I'd say they're terrible but the singer's voice and the drummer are pretty decent, the enthusiasm and joy with which they play and psych up everyone is priceless. They were bellowing, wailing, and soloing all over the place and they got everyone to sing along and have a good time. It's moments like that; sitting at the bar with my Efes and my Elliot, singing along to, "Aces High," where the lead singer makes up a large portion of the lyrics, and just enjoying the company of friendly, like-minded people makes me so happy to be who I am and where I am. It helps that we always get checked out because we speak English to each other and Turkish to everyone else and we're familiar enough that they recognize us but don't really know our story. I like having that mystery there, it's silly but it's fun. This is probably my favorite thing to do with my Elliot; hang out and enjoy our music with nice drinks at DoRock and then go off and have a hookah with nice tea and snacks. It's even better in the winter. Checking in at the bar and listening to the songs that come up on their playlist, making bets about what the next video will be, and then warming up with salep (another Turkish drink) and nargile (as we call our hookah) at the tea house before heading home.
We did some touristy stuff that i include in my usual Istanbul time like going to the Covered Bazaar as well. We stopped by my usual stores in there and picked up various gifts for friends, a beautiful Iranian miniature to put in my new apartment, and I also got a pretty great pendant. The vendor, who loves me and my sister, told me it was a jaguar claw with semi-precious stone embeliishments but eh, I'm not sure I believe him, though I'd like to. Poor jaguar though. At least I gave it a good home. I also got a ring inscribed with Tibetan script. My mom got one for herself and my sister too and later at home figured out what it said. It says om mani padme hum and is a mantra particularly associated with the four-armed Shadakshari form of Avalokiteshvara. Mani means the jewel and Padma-the lotus. It is the six syllabled mantra of the bodhisattva of compassion, Avalokiteshvara.
The ring is silver with the script in gold and the pendant has 29 stones on it, including on the little attachment that hangs from the chain. I'll get better pictures once I get my hands on my camera and get going on Task 5. Heh, like Eddie on my shirt?
My jewelry collection is getting out of hand and I'm really looking forward to getting to organize it all when I get back to Boston and move into the new apartment which will thankfully, have space for all my junk.
Elliot's back off to Boston today but my sister just got back from a two week vacation in Mykonos, Greece so it's good to have her here and make her hang out with me so I won't get too bummed. We've got a busy couple of weeks coming up with a trip to Salzburg, going down to Bodrum in southern Turkey with the cousins, and less fun, a bunch of doctor's appointments. I haven't done much writing or reading recently but hopefully that'll pick up but for now, I listen to, "Living After Midnight," and wait for dinner like those stray cats that linger by the fish vendors on Istiklal. We're famous for our stray cats you know. They're everywhere and probably the reason why I love cats so much.
A wanna-be Egglet?
While he was here, we mostly just hung out at home and had good home cooking (well, he did. I'm on my diet still and though it's not bad food, it's still trying on the nerves. Let's just say I've ingested more salad and greens in the last two weeks than most cows do) and watched movies and TV shows. It was just nice to relax in each other's company and it was usually too hot to do anything else during the day; Istanbul has been a sweltering 32 degrees Celsius (90 F.) and higher all week and it's not getting any cooler. Which means a lot of ice cream and even I was allowed two scoops of diet. Maras is my favorite ice cream, it's thicker and chewier than regular ice cream and is a Turkish specialty and even the diet version tastes good.
We did manage to make it out a few times. We took the ferry from my side, the European side of Istanbul, to the Asian and had a nice afternoon of wandering about trying to find the metal shop where he bought me a Motley Crue shirt four years ago. That shirt was one of my favorites and I have no idea what happened to it but as luck would have it, we found a similar one left in stock at the place. Akmer Pasaj (pasajs are "covered shopping arcades" as the Turkish-English/English-Turkish translations website zargan.com informs me. I couldn't really find a way to explain them but they're just passageways off main roads that have stores and shops all lined up across from each other and often are two or three floors) is known as the heavy metal pasaj of the Asian side but it kind of threw us when we found it and the entire first floor were bookstores. Everything from school books and textbooks to modern fiction to really, really old paperbacks and foreign books. The basement floor, once we found the stairs, had a bunch of music t-shirt and record shops and we got Elliot a Municipal Waste shirt as well as my Motley Crue shirt. The design and colors are the same except this is cut for a boy and my old shirt was a girl's shirt. Ugh, it looked so good on me too. Oh well, this will just be added to the pile of shirts I have to hem.
I also found a cool little necklace. It was a cut piece of fluoride and I liked the purples and greens and was all set to get it when the vendor dropped and cracked the end off. I was a little disappointed but I got it anyway and he dropped the price down 20 lira. It's not thaaaat noticeable, and the relative pointiness hasn't been disturbed much since it's hurts like a bitch if I try to hug anyone while wearing it.
We also took several trips to Istiklal Caddesi, kind of our version of Newbury St./Harvard Square. These aren't my pictures but you get the idea.
It used to be so beautiful all lined with cobblestones and trees but they ripped out the stones a couple years ago, and the trees, and replaced them with concrete. Now you just bake while you walk down, and occasionally almost get run over by the trolley that goes up and down the street, but thankfully there are hundreds of places to eat and shop and duck into. My mom's office, and the Music House and Borusan Arts and Culture buildings are there too as well as three, yes three, Starbucks. Which, my boyfriend and I use as bathroom stops because, well, they're just cleaner than the places we frequent.
We met up with a friend of a friend who has been in Istanbul for a while, and will be until August attending language programs, and it was nice to get to know a new face and take her out to dessert and hookah. The hookah itself, sour cherry flavor, was not very good. I'll be sticking to my traditional mint in the summer. It's bad for you but doesn't feel as bad if that makes sense. Kind of light and refreshing as opposed to the cherry that was too sweet and burned my throat. And of course, we had to go a couple times to our metal bar, DoRock. Whose name I didn't get until my boyfriend explained it to me last year; durak means stop, like on a bus or train schedule. So it's a music stop. Yeah I know. It used to be this crappy little hole in the wall that had hair metal and death metal nights and my boyfriend and I just loved to be crammed in there with everyone else, enjoying a beer and blinking back tears because the air was just so smoky and musty. He used to go hang out there everyday when he attended school in Istanbul and all the bartenders used to know him. It kind of upsets him now because it's become sort of a "cool" place to hang out and they're now sponsored by Efes beer so the walls and tables and seats have all been re-done and they have wireless internet and security now. They had a tattoo shop on the second floor but I'm assuming it got shut down because beer and hepatitus isn't that fun a mix.
It doesn't have the same atmosphere it used to have but it got really bad for a while. I mean they had a Nazi bartender and most of the people in there weren't that nice and you just got an uncomfortable feeling being there but this last time was a definite imrpovement from last year. No Nazi tattoos to be seen, only the old familiar bartenders working, and since the smoking ban is in effect, you could breathe and actually see more than a foot in front of you. The atmosphere was almost back to the normal with the fun and friendly vibe it used to have. Metalheads think they're cool but really, we're the biggest geeks. When you get a crowd of us we're all just so overwhelmed by finally having people we have something in common with to hang out with, that we just turn into adoring puppies and basically want to be nice to everyone. Of course, there will be those with superiority complexes and attitudes but Elliot and I do a good job of avoiding them and secretly making fun of them. I was pretty happy that the welcoming feeling that's been absent the last couple years was good and back. Elliot blames girls coming for the reason the bar got all spiffy and up-it's-own-ass, so to speak, but hey, it's the boys that bring the girlftriends. I used to go when there'd be only two other girls besides me and yeah it was nice but I don't think it was that terrible this last time we went. Though we did have a moment of panic when we stopped by to have a drink on another afternoon and they were playing country music. I think we were suitably, and loudly, derisive enough to get them to switch to classic rock. But anyway, he says all the improvements are for the ladies and why it's made the bar change from the little, unique place we used to love. Hey, they need to make money. TVs, wireless internet, and girls are the way you keep metal boys coming and spending money. They're just trying to keep a bar running, it's not their fault what the customers do because the customers are what bring the other elements as well as the money.
On a different note, (haha no pun intended) cover band we'd heard in the past was playing again the night we went and it was hilarious. They did all the popular songs like, "The Trooper," and, "Electric Eye," and though they're not particularly ood, I'd say they're terrible but the singer's voice and the drummer are pretty decent, the enthusiasm and joy with which they play and psych up everyone is priceless. They were bellowing, wailing, and soloing all over the place and they got everyone to sing along and have a good time. It's moments like that; sitting at the bar with my Efes and my Elliot, singing along to, "Aces High," where the lead singer makes up a large portion of the lyrics, and just enjoying the company of friendly, like-minded people makes me so happy to be who I am and where I am. It helps that we always get checked out because we speak English to each other and Turkish to everyone else and we're familiar enough that they recognize us but don't really know our story. I like having that mystery there, it's silly but it's fun. This is probably my favorite thing to do with my Elliot; hang out and enjoy our music with nice drinks at DoRock and then go off and have a hookah with nice tea and snacks. It's even better in the winter. Checking in at the bar and listening to the songs that come up on their playlist, making bets about what the next video will be, and then warming up with salep (another Turkish drink) and nargile (as we call our hookah) at the tea house before heading home.
We did some touristy stuff that i include in my usual Istanbul time like going to the Covered Bazaar as well. We stopped by my usual stores in there and picked up various gifts for friends, a beautiful Iranian miniature to put in my new apartment, and I also got a pretty great pendant. The vendor, who loves me and my sister, told me it was a jaguar claw with semi-precious stone embeliishments but eh, I'm not sure I believe him, though I'd like to. Poor jaguar though. At least I gave it a good home. I also got a ring inscribed with Tibetan script. My mom got one for herself and my sister too and later at home figured out what it said. It says om mani padme hum and is a mantra particularly associated with the four-armed Shadakshari form of Avalokiteshvara. Mani means the jewel and Padma-the lotus. It is the six syllabled mantra of the bodhisattva of compassion, Avalokiteshvara.
The ring is silver with the script in gold and the pendant has 29 stones on it, including on the little attachment that hangs from the chain. I'll get better pictures once I get my hands on my camera and get going on Task 5. Heh, like Eddie on my shirt?
My jewelry collection is getting out of hand and I'm really looking forward to getting to organize it all when I get back to Boston and move into the new apartment which will thankfully, have space for all my junk.
Elliot's back off to Boston today but my sister just got back from a two week vacation in Mykonos, Greece so it's good to have her here and make her hang out with me so I won't get too bummed. We've got a busy couple of weeks coming up with a trip to Salzburg, going down to Bodrum in southern Turkey with the cousins, and less fun, a bunch of doctor's appointments. I haven't done much writing or reading recently but hopefully that'll pick up but for now, I listen to, "Living After Midnight," and wait for dinner like those stray cats that linger by the fish vendors on Istiklal. We're famous for our stray cats you know. They're everywhere and probably the reason why I love cats so much.
A wanna-be Egglet?
Monday, June 28, 2010
Shut up Belinda Carlisle, heaven isn't a place on earth.
Let's see where were we? Crisis of faith, that's it. Yes, riddle me this universe; if everything has a reason, why, oh why, would it strike you as "the right thing to do" to take an 18 year old boy who hasn't even started living yet? What possible explanation could there be to dish out this kind of pain for his friends, for his close ones, for those who knew him peripherally, and for his parents. His parents, I ask you. What, if I may be so blunt, is your fucking problem?
I have my issues with death. That's putting it mildly. It freaks me the hell out would be closer to the truth. But still just barely grazing the surface. When it happens for no reason, to a kid for God's sake, well, I can't help but understand those who turn that previous exclamation around and forsake God. I don't know why this affected me so much. But sometimes these events do. When I was in high school a friend's older sister died. This past week one of my sister's closest friends, a boy who I remember being 14 and giggling over Chinese food in our dining room, passed away in his home. I cling firmly to the belief that everything happens for a reason because I think my world would crumble if I didn't but this happened and what was faith supported on an already shaky foundation took a pretty brutal beating. Let's just say that particular metaphysical structure is no longer standing.
I have never seen my sister cry like that. That alone started ripping up my insides but the amount of pain and loss that filtered through various sources in the face of this event basically broke me down too. Which is what kind of set off this entry. I don't sleep enough or at all anyway and that night, I stayed up all night. What made it worse was my mom and I, along with another lady- my mom's friend, were off to Brussels at 8 am the next morning so I had to be up at 6. I finally just gave up on everything and watched the glow-in-the-dark hands of my watch creep until the moment when my mom softly knocked on my door.
Then we went to Brussels.
Random? Yeah, I know. However, we had our reasons. Mercan Dede, the musician and artist I've previously discussed (here) had a concert there and since my mommy is his bestest buddy, he invited us to come attend. Here's the brief description of what it was from the website:
To celebrate two of the European Capitals of Culture 2010, Essen/Ruhr and Istanbul, the Goethe-Institut is pleased to present a unique gala concert, performed by the Mercan Dede Ensemble and featuring three very special guests.
For “Sounds of Love”, Mercan Dede brings his eclectic ensemble together with three artists from the fields of literature, music and dance, creating a blend of different disciplines, traditions and artistic styles. The best-selling author Elif Shafak will read excerpts from her recent novel, “Love”, while the young musician Karsu Dönmez and the dancer Kadir “Amigo” Memis will add their unique touches to this magical event.
It sounded like such a wonderful opportunity to see him and to hear his music and not to mention, my mom's friend is probably Elif Safak's biggest fan. I'm not kidding. She's read everything by her, attended Q & A's, gifts the books to everyone, and she's basically her muse. Elif Safak is the author I've also previously written about; she wrote the tale of Rumi and Sufism and sort of inspired me to learn more about Sufis.
After a sleepless night, we were at the airport and in the midst of my mental crisis of faith, my mom and her friend giggled and laughed and whispered and talked and exclaimed all the way there. I swear, they were like a couple of teenagers. Teenagers high on that gas they give you at the dentist. When we got there they couldn't stop laughing at everything and anything. They shrieked and guffawed and had so much fun after a while I think my brain just couldn't fight them anymore and just kind of bemusedly took them in(at this point it was putting up a mighty battle with everything else swirling in there too). But I mean it, they laughed. At. Everything. The hotel name (Amigo. Really, the Amigo Hotel in Brussels, okay that's pretty ridiculous), the fact that a huge, blacked out van came to pick us up at the airport, the giant wooden fruits in our bedrooms as art, and figurines of Tin Tin and his dog Minou trapped in glass cases in our bathrooms. Did you know Brussels was the land of Tin Tin? I did not. I hate Tin Tin. I hate his stupid yappy dog, I hate the twin professors, and I hate that I can't remember any of his cases and story lines because I was so wrapped up in hating French and hating learning French I blocked them all. They might have been interesting, I remember he went to Egypt but nooo, he had to be annoying and French, sorry Belgian, and whiny and I had to hate him. We found the Tin Tin Emporium. It was filled with Tin Tin. My mom and her friend also dislike Tin Tin. And he was EVERYWHERE.
Needles to say, we did not buy anything there. I did however get me some delicious steak and pommes frittes and about a suitcase full of chocolate. Hey, it has endorphins, it was for a good cause; to make me feel happier.
Since we were in Belgium, I insisted they take to get beer. Before the concert, we ended up at a weird little cafe restaurant that I found, and finally, after an entire day of me stubbornly demanding beer, we sat down and enjoyed some. They giggled and laughed all through it. First when my mom's friend ordered the same beer as the table next ours and the bewildered waiter told her it wasn't beer at all. Then, when we got our beers (she finally decided to take whatever the table on our other side was having and I randomly picked one from the menu) hers was so thick and dark and heavy it was like Guinness with bread soaked in it and mine was this weird, honey-ale. My mom had coffee and everyone, including the waiters, watched us snort and giggle over beers and take pictures. As we left, I think the waiter was shaking his head and muttering to himself.
And then came the concert. So my whole big thing on this trip was that I wanted an answer. A sign, a clue, anything to help put my mind at ease and calm the roaring in my brain and behind my eyes. It was beautiful. The music with the backdrop of Istanbul and the small segments with guest artists; a modern dance/breakdancer and a girl singing and playing the piano, as well as dervishes that took some creative liberties with their spinning. The first set of dervishes included a man and a woman and the girl's hair was long and uncovered so it spun with her and she had two layers of skirts which undulated up and down and in the dark, the man's gowns glowed and it was the most peaceful, hypnotizing thing ever. I love watching dervishes, they make me feel calm and I could've watched just them for hours. Their movements were so smooth and fluid that you wouldn't get dizzy no matter how focused you were on them.
Then came Elif Safak's reading. I felt my mom's friend breathe deeply next to me. All the stuff going on stage was pretty heavy and it tested the emotions because since there were no words, they had to use movement and images to express the main point of the concert; love. Ms. Safak read two parts from her book. One was about finding love and the second was about losing it. The first part already twisted something in me because part of the reading was the story of Leyla and Mecnun. It's a love story about the deep connection between these two people (brief digression: also why Eric Clapton chose that particular name when writing "Layla" for Patty Boyd) and the fact she kept saying my name in conjunction to this happy, content woman who was filled with love was kind of jarring. I can't remember the second section word for word and I don't want to go hunt for the book right now but the simple message of that particular part was this; though you may lose love and it might hurt more than you would believe, it doesn't end, it doesn't go away. When someone leaves us, dies, that same someone in another name and another body in another place is born because the soul is forever. After she finished the dervishes came out again, this time there were four and they did the traditional whirling, one arm raised up to take from above and one reaching down to symbolize giving below. In the midst of this, a little boy came out. His jacket had his name, my youngest cousin's name, printed on it, and he joined in the spinning, as the middle, the center to the four grown ups. He turned and turned, keeping his balance and making sure his feet were doing it correctly; one anchoring him down as the other guided his movements. He bookended the readings, he was new life. He made me cry.
After this we were pretty drained and deservedly imbibed in some wine at the reception. After the general free-loaders left, we got to stand around and chat with Mercan and the pianist who was the sweetest 19 year old girl. Pushy stage mom though, gah. When he brought over Elif Safak my mom's friend almost fainted. She turned from this confident, sensible woman into a meek little girl in front of her hero. She got to talk to her and so did I, and apparently Mercan had told Elif about how her book inspired me to maybe study Sufism and how my job is the same as her main characters'. It was a such a good, pure connection of people and we even gave them a ride back to their hotel, the NH Atlanta, which my hilarious mother decided sounded like a space shuttle. It kind of does. At least the huge black van came in handy. We all felt pretty giddy by the end of the night and it wasn't even all the wine. Heads racing we slept for maybe 4 hours, if that, before heading back home to Istanbul.
I guess I got my sign. First from that last part of the concert. Secondly, on the plane back I was reading a book called, "Holy Cow," by Sarah MacDonald. She's an Australian journalist living in India because of her husband's job, and feeling a little lost, she decides to explore the country and its beliefs. She covers them all from Hinduism to Buddhism and even Judaism and Christianity in India. Now I thought this was just going to be a silly, fun book about a foreigner in India surviving. I quickly realized that wasn't it and nearing the end, she winds up in Pakistan with Sufis. In one sentence she described Sufism as the Kabbalah of Islam. It's a lot of mysticism and it celebrates God through the belief that love is what drives us all, as expressed by poetry and music and dance. Though, traditional Muslims shun and even forbid it. This is what drew me to Sufism. It's the worship of life through love. My religion, Islam, is not in very good standing with the world and it gets tiring trying to defend something when there's so much evidence to damn it. Who freakin' bans a section of your own religion, come on. Let's open the eyes a little, remove the blinders... It's especially hard because I have a boyfriend that spent a year in Iraq and got to witness the abhorrent actions of people who claim they're propelled by God and religion. He even turned a skeptical eye to my newfound interest in Sufism because he said he met some not so nice ones. It's hard to connect these beliefs with actual actions and people who sincerely think they're doing what their God expects of them. I kind of empathized with the author because she had nowhere left to turn because with every faith comes all the hypocrisy and I kind of feel like that too, especially with recent events. I grew up in Turkey in a Muslim family and in a country that used to pride itself on upholding the Muslim beliefs of welcoming and hospitality. But even that's getting warped and the world doesn't see us as an example, it sees, well, to put it lightly the villains in Arnold Schwarzenegger's True Lies. Though I do love that movie, "psychotic terrorist," is generally not what I like to associate myself, let alone my belief system, with.
Maybe this is my sign? I like getting notes from the universe and the fact that some are provided give me faith I guess. It could be coincidence but so what? I can choose what I want to read into. Even if it's literally a book I'm reading. Or music I'm listening to.
Every summer I find a new band and record to obsessively listen to and fall in love with. It just works out that it happens every summer. Last night, I stumbled across this year's winners while I was out browsing in cyber space. I love Scandinavian sleaze rock. Hardcore Superstar, Backyard Babies, Hellacopters, all those punk/metal/glam bands from northern Europe who know how to write a catchy riff. It's probably my favorite genre and I was looking for more when I found Crazy Lixx and Wig Wam and maybe Crashdiet (who my boyfriend had recommended a couple weeks ago but I just got around to checking out). The songs made my heart stop. They were pure, musical love. I loved every silly lyric and inane chorus, I enjoyed their terrible band names and cliched double entendre song titles, and I spent all night listening to them over and over again instead of fretting about being awake. This is what makes me happy.
One of the albums' name is New Religion. I think that's a sign right there. Not a subtle one either.
Haha, I guess music is my religion. Which makes sense given what best illustrates the celebration of Sufism.
Today, i took my grandmother to get her radiation treatments. The usual group of people were there and by now we all know each other by sight. Except a new lady. She's a little elderly and a little nervous but she hides it behind friendliness. She asks everyone why they're there and blesses them and even tries to talk to the Libyan women who don't speak Turkish and don't want to have anything to do with anyone. But this lady never lets up. She and a regular get in to a whole big conversation about how good energy is what everyone needs. They agree that you can't let all this stuff get you down, keep your chin up, your energy positive, and God will be good. It's humbling to see these women who have to put up with so much shit sit there and be in perfectly happy moods praising Allah for their good fortune. I do believe in the power of energy but sometimes it seems too good to be true. If you wish it, it will happen. I guess I need to trust the universe a bit more before I can give in so completely. I like in Turkish how we have the words gecmis olsun for any malady or event. It means let it pass but more eloquent. When my grandmother came back out, I wish it to both women as we leave and add a silent plea to my God and to my universe to take care of them and my anneanne (grandma) too.
We drove on the same road back we've taken probably over 20 times now. But today's the first time I noticed a particular sign at the side of the road. No joke, it said Mevlanakapi; Mevlana gate/door/passage.
My mommy and Mercan.
Canan abla and Elif Safak('s profile).
I have my issues with death. That's putting it mildly. It freaks me the hell out would be closer to the truth. But still just barely grazing the surface. When it happens for no reason, to a kid for God's sake, well, I can't help but understand those who turn that previous exclamation around and forsake God. I don't know why this affected me so much. But sometimes these events do. When I was in high school a friend's older sister died. This past week one of my sister's closest friends, a boy who I remember being 14 and giggling over Chinese food in our dining room, passed away in his home. I cling firmly to the belief that everything happens for a reason because I think my world would crumble if I didn't but this happened and what was faith supported on an already shaky foundation took a pretty brutal beating. Let's just say that particular metaphysical structure is no longer standing.
I have never seen my sister cry like that. That alone started ripping up my insides but the amount of pain and loss that filtered through various sources in the face of this event basically broke me down too. Which is what kind of set off this entry. I don't sleep enough or at all anyway and that night, I stayed up all night. What made it worse was my mom and I, along with another lady- my mom's friend, were off to Brussels at 8 am the next morning so I had to be up at 6. I finally just gave up on everything and watched the glow-in-the-dark hands of my watch creep until the moment when my mom softly knocked on my door.
Then we went to Brussels.
Random? Yeah, I know. However, we had our reasons. Mercan Dede, the musician and artist I've previously discussed (here) had a concert there and since my mommy is his bestest buddy, he invited us to come attend. Here's the brief description of what it was from the website:
To celebrate two of the European Capitals of Culture 2010, Essen/Ruhr and Istanbul, the Goethe-Institut is pleased to present a unique gala concert, performed by the Mercan Dede Ensemble and featuring three very special guests.
For “Sounds of Love”, Mercan Dede brings his eclectic ensemble together with three artists from the fields of literature, music and dance, creating a blend of different disciplines, traditions and artistic styles. The best-selling author Elif Shafak will read excerpts from her recent novel, “Love”, while the young musician Karsu Dönmez and the dancer Kadir “Amigo” Memis will add their unique touches to this magical event.
It sounded like such a wonderful opportunity to see him and to hear his music and not to mention, my mom's friend is probably Elif Safak's biggest fan. I'm not kidding. She's read everything by her, attended Q & A's, gifts the books to everyone, and she's basically her muse. Elif Safak is the author I've also previously written about; she wrote the tale of Rumi and Sufism and sort of inspired me to learn more about Sufis.
After a sleepless night, we were at the airport and in the midst of my mental crisis of faith, my mom and her friend giggled and laughed and whispered and talked and exclaimed all the way there. I swear, they were like a couple of teenagers. Teenagers high on that gas they give you at the dentist. When we got there they couldn't stop laughing at everything and anything. They shrieked and guffawed and had so much fun after a while I think my brain just couldn't fight them anymore and just kind of bemusedly took them in(at this point it was putting up a mighty battle with everything else swirling in there too). But I mean it, they laughed. At. Everything. The hotel name (Amigo. Really, the Amigo Hotel in Brussels, okay that's pretty ridiculous), the fact that a huge, blacked out van came to pick us up at the airport, the giant wooden fruits in our bedrooms as art, and figurines of Tin Tin and his dog Minou trapped in glass cases in our bathrooms. Did you know Brussels was the land of Tin Tin? I did not. I hate Tin Tin. I hate his stupid yappy dog, I hate the twin professors, and I hate that I can't remember any of his cases and story lines because I was so wrapped up in hating French and hating learning French I blocked them all. They might have been interesting, I remember he went to Egypt but nooo, he had to be annoying and French, sorry Belgian, and whiny and I had to hate him. We found the Tin Tin Emporium. It was filled with Tin Tin. My mom and her friend also dislike Tin Tin. And he was EVERYWHERE.
Needles to say, we did not buy anything there. I did however get me some delicious steak and pommes frittes and about a suitcase full of chocolate. Hey, it has endorphins, it was for a good cause; to make me feel happier.
Since we were in Belgium, I insisted they take to get beer. Before the concert, we ended up at a weird little cafe restaurant that I found, and finally, after an entire day of me stubbornly demanding beer, we sat down and enjoyed some. They giggled and laughed all through it. First when my mom's friend ordered the same beer as the table next ours and the bewildered waiter told her it wasn't beer at all. Then, when we got our beers (she finally decided to take whatever the table on our other side was having and I randomly picked one from the menu) hers was so thick and dark and heavy it was like Guinness with bread soaked in it and mine was this weird, honey-ale. My mom had coffee and everyone, including the waiters, watched us snort and giggle over beers and take pictures. As we left, I think the waiter was shaking his head and muttering to himself.
And then came the concert. So my whole big thing on this trip was that I wanted an answer. A sign, a clue, anything to help put my mind at ease and calm the roaring in my brain and behind my eyes. It was beautiful. The music with the backdrop of Istanbul and the small segments with guest artists; a modern dance/breakdancer and a girl singing and playing the piano, as well as dervishes that took some creative liberties with their spinning. The first set of dervishes included a man and a woman and the girl's hair was long and uncovered so it spun with her and she had two layers of skirts which undulated up and down and in the dark, the man's gowns glowed and it was the most peaceful, hypnotizing thing ever. I love watching dervishes, they make me feel calm and I could've watched just them for hours. Their movements were so smooth and fluid that you wouldn't get dizzy no matter how focused you were on them.
Then came Elif Safak's reading. I felt my mom's friend breathe deeply next to me. All the stuff going on stage was pretty heavy and it tested the emotions because since there were no words, they had to use movement and images to express the main point of the concert; love. Ms. Safak read two parts from her book. One was about finding love and the second was about losing it. The first part already twisted something in me because part of the reading was the story of Leyla and Mecnun. It's a love story about the deep connection between these two people (brief digression: also why Eric Clapton chose that particular name when writing "Layla" for Patty Boyd) and the fact she kept saying my name in conjunction to this happy, content woman who was filled with love was kind of jarring. I can't remember the second section word for word and I don't want to go hunt for the book right now but the simple message of that particular part was this; though you may lose love and it might hurt more than you would believe, it doesn't end, it doesn't go away. When someone leaves us, dies, that same someone in another name and another body in another place is born because the soul is forever. After she finished the dervishes came out again, this time there were four and they did the traditional whirling, one arm raised up to take from above and one reaching down to symbolize giving below. In the midst of this, a little boy came out. His jacket had his name, my youngest cousin's name, printed on it, and he joined in the spinning, as the middle, the center to the four grown ups. He turned and turned, keeping his balance and making sure his feet were doing it correctly; one anchoring him down as the other guided his movements. He bookended the readings, he was new life. He made me cry.
After this we were pretty drained and deservedly imbibed in some wine at the reception. After the general free-loaders left, we got to stand around and chat with Mercan and the pianist who was the sweetest 19 year old girl. Pushy stage mom though, gah. When he brought over Elif Safak my mom's friend almost fainted. She turned from this confident, sensible woman into a meek little girl in front of her hero. She got to talk to her and so did I, and apparently Mercan had told Elif about how her book inspired me to maybe study Sufism and how my job is the same as her main characters'. It was a such a good, pure connection of people and we even gave them a ride back to their hotel, the NH Atlanta, which my hilarious mother decided sounded like a space shuttle. It kind of does. At least the huge black van came in handy. We all felt pretty giddy by the end of the night and it wasn't even all the wine. Heads racing we slept for maybe 4 hours, if that, before heading back home to Istanbul.
I guess I got my sign. First from that last part of the concert. Secondly, on the plane back I was reading a book called, "Holy Cow," by Sarah MacDonald. She's an Australian journalist living in India because of her husband's job, and feeling a little lost, she decides to explore the country and its beliefs. She covers them all from Hinduism to Buddhism and even Judaism and Christianity in India. Now I thought this was just going to be a silly, fun book about a foreigner in India surviving. I quickly realized that wasn't it and nearing the end, she winds up in Pakistan with Sufis. In one sentence she described Sufism as the Kabbalah of Islam. It's a lot of mysticism and it celebrates God through the belief that love is what drives us all, as expressed by poetry and music and dance. Though, traditional Muslims shun and even forbid it. This is what drew me to Sufism. It's the worship of life through love. My religion, Islam, is not in very good standing with the world and it gets tiring trying to defend something when there's so much evidence to damn it. Who freakin' bans a section of your own religion, come on. Let's open the eyes a little, remove the blinders... It's especially hard because I have a boyfriend that spent a year in Iraq and got to witness the abhorrent actions of people who claim they're propelled by God and religion. He even turned a skeptical eye to my newfound interest in Sufism because he said he met some not so nice ones. It's hard to connect these beliefs with actual actions and people who sincerely think they're doing what their God expects of them. I kind of empathized with the author because she had nowhere left to turn because with every faith comes all the hypocrisy and I kind of feel like that too, especially with recent events. I grew up in Turkey in a Muslim family and in a country that used to pride itself on upholding the Muslim beliefs of welcoming and hospitality. But even that's getting warped and the world doesn't see us as an example, it sees, well, to put it lightly the villains in Arnold Schwarzenegger's True Lies. Though I do love that movie, "psychotic terrorist," is generally not what I like to associate myself, let alone my belief system, with.
Maybe this is my sign? I like getting notes from the universe and the fact that some are provided give me faith I guess. It could be coincidence but so what? I can choose what I want to read into. Even if it's literally a book I'm reading. Or music I'm listening to.
Every summer I find a new band and record to obsessively listen to and fall in love with. It just works out that it happens every summer. Last night, I stumbled across this year's winners while I was out browsing in cyber space. I love Scandinavian sleaze rock. Hardcore Superstar, Backyard Babies, Hellacopters, all those punk/metal/glam bands from northern Europe who know how to write a catchy riff. It's probably my favorite genre and I was looking for more when I found Crazy Lixx and Wig Wam and maybe Crashdiet (who my boyfriend had recommended a couple weeks ago but I just got around to checking out). The songs made my heart stop. They were pure, musical love. I loved every silly lyric and inane chorus, I enjoyed their terrible band names and cliched double entendre song titles, and I spent all night listening to them over and over again instead of fretting about being awake. This is what makes me happy.
One of the albums' name is New Religion. I think that's a sign right there. Not a subtle one either.
Haha, I guess music is my religion. Which makes sense given what best illustrates the celebration of Sufism.
Today, i took my grandmother to get her radiation treatments. The usual group of people were there and by now we all know each other by sight. Except a new lady. She's a little elderly and a little nervous but she hides it behind friendliness. She asks everyone why they're there and blesses them and even tries to talk to the Libyan women who don't speak Turkish and don't want to have anything to do with anyone. But this lady never lets up. She and a regular get in to a whole big conversation about how good energy is what everyone needs. They agree that you can't let all this stuff get you down, keep your chin up, your energy positive, and God will be good. It's humbling to see these women who have to put up with so much shit sit there and be in perfectly happy moods praising Allah for their good fortune. I do believe in the power of energy but sometimes it seems too good to be true. If you wish it, it will happen. I guess I need to trust the universe a bit more before I can give in so completely. I like in Turkish how we have the words gecmis olsun for any malady or event. It means let it pass but more eloquent. When my grandmother came back out, I wish it to both women as we leave and add a silent plea to my God and to my universe to take care of them and my anneanne (grandma) too.
We drove on the same road back we've taken probably over 20 times now. But today's the first time I noticed a particular sign at the side of the road. No joke, it said Mevlanakapi; Mevlana gate/door/passage.
My mommy and Mercan.
Canan abla and Elif Safak('s profile).
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Impressive Instant
When I'm back home in Istanbul, I usually have to get dressed up and attend events throughout the summer. I'd like to think I make myself look quite presentable (for the opening of the Istanbul International Music Festival I wore a gold dress! I'll have to recreate that look as it was one of my best/favorites) so here is one hurriedly taken photo right before I left for another evening out yesterday. I recently got my hair cut and my Cruella DeVille streaks given a boost and this was one of the few times I had worn my hair straight for an event. My dress was a short-sleeved black on black polka-dot mod-inspired dress from Mango from a couple seasons back and the necklace I paired it with was one I found at Aldo with 18 different colored strands of stones.
My shoes, my fantastic shoes which made my legs look so, so long and toned, were a gift from my aunt. I'm 5'5' more or less and these heels were a good 5 inches but with the platform they were so comfortable to walk in. They're the first pair of heels I didn't feel like a foal just learning to walk in as well as the first pair that didn't give me any blisters or scratches or anything. This is kind of a big deal as I have such sensitive skin, especially on my feet, that the slightest bit of discomfort will quickly become a huge pain in my ass. And foot.
My other jewelry consisted of the simple stones I wear in my ears almost all the time (I have 10 piercings and rarely change them except the first two when I wear dangly earrings), my neon orange/pomegranate blossom watch and a bracelet and ring I also picked up, coincidentally, in Aldo. I don't really shop there much but I always stop by as there is a store so close to where I live and every once in a while I find cheap but irresitibaly fun pieces like this elephant ring I'm sort of in love with and my Hindu deities bracelet. I took the photos of the latter objects just before writing this entry which is why I'm in my comfy Misfits shirt in the pictures. God I love this ring. It's huge and loud and so me. The store clerk even said he could see me wearing it when I bought it and he doesn't even know me! It's shiny and an elephant, I'm quite content.
The bracelet has five parts to it.
The Borusan Philharmonic Orchestra performed with world renown pianist Lang Lang and since we were the sponsors we got to sit in the front row and secretly wave at the orchestra members we knew. Lang Lang played very well and I'm no expert but I'd say he's a pretty terrific piano player, especially at age 27. After the show, my mom went to congratulate everyone and we hung back but we told my little cousin to go with her. She's been playing the piano since she was 11, 5 years now, and apparently when she told Lang Lang he high-fived her! Isn't that the cutest thing?
It was also my mommy's 51st birthday so when we got back, we had a late dinner at home and made her blow out a candle on a cake my grandmother had sent over earlier in the day. We were all in our pajamas watching Frasier and eating warmed up food at 11:30 pm. and it was just a nice moment. My mom and I tend to have pretty terrible birthdays so I was happy we could give her a good one (though, we did take her to Venice last year so she really can't complain about her birthdays anymore!)
Today was the opening of a new art exhibit at the Music House and if you're in Istanbul (doubtful but hey, maybe someone secretly reading this is!) please do check it out. I'm going to try to get photos but some of the installations are truly so original and beyond marvelous, they deserve to be seen in person. It's called MADDE-IŞIK/ MATIERE-LUMIERE/ MATTER-LIGHT and some of my favorites included a piece that combined light and sound vibrations to show patterns in water, and a 3-D photography exhibit where you climbed aboard a makeshift "car" and guided yourself through various locations in Turkey by pushing the buttons and steering the car (3-D glasses and imagery made it seem like you were actually driving and exploring the landscapes).
We also ran into our old friend Mercan Dede (whom I've talked about here) who was in town visiting and he's actually doing a performance piece combined with a reading by Elif Safak, the writer of The Forty Rules of Love; A Tale of Rumi, (which I wrote about here) in Brussels on the 25th and my mom and I might be going!
My shoes, my fantastic shoes which made my legs look so, so long and toned, were a gift from my aunt. I'm 5'5' more or less and these heels were a good 5 inches but with the platform they were so comfortable to walk in. They're the first pair of heels I didn't feel like a foal just learning to walk in as well as the first pair that didn't give me any blisters or scratches or anything. This is kind of a big deal as I have such sensitive skin, especially on my feet, that the slightest bit of discomfort will quickly become a huge pain in my ass. And foot.
My other jewelry consisted of the simple stones I wear in my ears almost all the time (I have 10 piercings and rarely change them except the first two when I wear dangly earrings), my neon orange/pomegranate blossom watch and a bracelet and ring I also picked up, coincidentally, in Aldo. I don't really shop there much but I always stop by as there is a store so close to where I live and every once in a while I find cheap but irresitibaly fun pieces like this elephant ring I'm sort of in love with and my Hindu deities bracelet. I took the photos of the latter objects just before writing this entry which is why I'm in my comfy Misfits shirt in the pictures. God I love this ring. It's huge and loud and so me. The store clerk even said he could see me wearing it when I bought it and he doesn't even know me! It's shiny and an elephant, I'm quite content.
The bracelet has five parts to it.
The Borusan Philharmonic Orchestra performed with world renown pianist Lang Lang and since we were the sponsors we got to sit in the front row and secretly wave at the orchestra members we knew. Lang Lang played very well and I'm no expert but I'd say he's a pretty terrific piano player, especially at age 27. After the show, my mom went to congratulate everyone and we hung back but we told my little cousin to go with her. She's been playing the piano since she was 11, 5 years now, and apparently when she told Lang Lang he high-fived her! Isn't that the cutest thing?
It was also my mommy's 51st birthday so when we got back, we had a late dinner at home and made her blow out a candle on a cake my grandmother had sent over earlier in the day. We were all in our pajamas watching Frasier and eating warmed up food at 11:30 pm. and it was just a nice moment. My mom and I tend to have pretty terrible birthdays so I was happy we could give her a good one (though, we did take her to Venice last year so she really can't complain about her birthdays anymore!)
Today was the opening of a new art exhibit at the Music House and if you're in Istanbul (doubtful but hey, maybe someone secretly reading this is!) please do check it out. I'm going to try to get photos but some of the installations are truly so original and beyond marvelous, they deserve to be seen in person. It's called MADDE-IŞIK/ MATIERE-LUMIERE/ MATTER-LIGHT and some of my favorites included a piece that combined light and sound vibrations to show patterns in water, and a 3-D photography exhibit where you climbed aboard a makeshift "car" and guided yourself through various locations in Turkey by pushing the buttons and steering the car (3-D glasses and imagery made it seem like you were actually driving and exploring the landscapes).
We also ran into our old friend Mercan Dede (whom I've talked about here) who was in town visiting and he's actually doing a performance piece combined with a reading by Elif Safak, the writer of The Forty Rules of Love; A Tale of Rumi, (which I wrote about here) in Brussels on the 25th and my mom and I might be going!
Monday, June 7, 2010
Task 28: Die Another Day (hur hur), Or: [Mina] Love(s) New York
Look what I got after only 12 hours of driving classes and a couple days of studying the manual. Mind you, I'd never been in the driver's seat of a car before those lessons either. Well, except for the one hour my uncle took me out to show me the rudimentary stuff. But hurrah, I can drive now. More or less. I should practice.
Heh, you can see my sister's graduation photo in the background of the picture. That's why I came back to Istanbul actually, to see Miss Mina finish high school and for our entire family to joyfully scream, "GOODBYE ISTANBUL INTERNATIONAL COMMUNITY SCHOOL," for one final time. Now, I'm not one to brag...no, actually I am. I was referred to FOUR TIMES in my darling sister's speech. We don't have valedictorians or whatever at IICS but student speakers are chosen to represent the grade and say a few words every year. It's a tiny school, my graduating class had 24 people and my sister's had 36, so the speeches can actually be heartfelt and mean something and I also gave one when I graduated too. With two other people but ahem, I did most of the work. I composed a rhyming couplet for every goddamn person in that graduating class even the ones I didn't really know. Mina's speech was really great. It was funny and personal and sincere and not at all sappy or cliched unlike some other speeches we had to sit through that day. My aunt, uncle, and cousin along with my grandparent's and another cousin all managed to come to the ceremony too and we were such a loud, happy bunch. Tons of pictures were taken including one last shot of the banner with my graduating class and my name on it too as we're probably never coming back to that school again. Good riddance.
My sister's graduation dinner left mine in the dust though. We had an awkward meal crammed in some hotel with everyone splitting up and ending in different places at the end of the night while I was stuck in downtown Istanbul at midnight on a Saturday night getting groped at the Burger King as I waited for my best friends to rejoin me so we could go home. Mina's was poolside by the Hyatt and had cocktails first and then while we ate dinner, two belly-dancers, a silly game of teacher facts bingo (which our table; us, Mina's boyfriend, and a boy from her grade and his family, won), and music. The music was such an odd mix of really, really old songs, songs from our parents' generation, and newer stuff but it was so fun. All of us at one point were up and dancing with my sister and her friends and their parents and I've never danced with my daddy but we more than made up for it by prancing around to songs from Freddie Mercury's Berlin/disco years. My dad is a huge Queen fan so it was doubly perfect. After sending my sister out to celebrate with her friends, we happily, though tiredly (my mom and I were still jet-lagged) came back home.
So, my leetle seester is a big girl now and she's off to NYU in the fall. We'll probably visit each other if we can get off our lazy asses as it is only a four hour bus ride between New York and Boston. My poor mommy and daddy are going to be lonely without their delightful, and sometimes trying, daughters in the house. They should get a kitty! Not mine, even though Egg is so in love with my parents she practically drools all over herself in her excitement to get them to pick her up. They probably won't and hey, they will have our 13 year old turtle and our 3 month old goldfish to look after but they should have no worries. Family is forever, we'll never drift apart.
Heh, you can see my sister's graduation photo in the background of the picture. That's why I came back to Istanbul actually, to see Miss Mina finish high school and for our entire family to joyfully scream, "GOODBYE ISTANBUL INTERNATIONAL COMMUNITY SCHOOL," for one final time. Now, I'm not one to brag...no, actually I am. I was referred to FOUR TIMES in my darling sister's speech. We don't have valedictorians or whatever at IICS but student speakers are chosen to represent the grade and say a few words every year. It's a tiny school, my graduating class had 24 people and my sister's had 36, so the speeches can actually be heartfelt and mean something and I also gave one when I graduated too. With two other people but ahem, I did most of the work. I composed a rhyming couplet for every goddamn person in that graduating class even the ones I didn't really know. Mina's speech was really great. It was funny and personal and sincere and not at all sappy or cliched unlike some other speeches we had to sit through that day. My aunt, uncle, and cousin along with my grandparent's and another cousin all managed to come to the ceremony too and we were such a loud, happy bunch. Tons of pictures were taken including one last shot of the banner with my graduating class and my name on it too as we're probably never coming back to that school again. Good riddance.
My sister's graduation dinner left mine in the dust though. We had an awkward meal crammed in some hotel with everyone splitting up and ending in different places at the end of the night while I was stuck in downtown Istanbul at midnight on a Saturday night getting groped at the Burger King as I waited for my best friends to rejoin me so we could go home. Mina's was poolside by the Hyatt and had cocktails first and then while we ate dinner, two belly-dancers, a silly game of teacher facts bingo (which our table; us, Mina's boyfriend, and a boy from her grade and his family, won), and music. The music was such an odd mix of really, really old songs, songs from our parents' generation, and newer stuff but it was so fun. All of us at one point were up and dancing with my sister and her friends and their parents and I've never danced with my daddy but we more than made up for it by prancing around to songs from Freddie Mercury's Berlin/disco years. My dad is a huge Queen fan so it was doubly perfect. After sending my sister out to celebrate with her friends, we happily, though tiredly (my mom and I were still jet-lagged) came back home.
So, my leetle seester is a big girl now and she's off to NYU in the fall. We'll probably visit each other if we can get off our lazy asses as it is only a four hour bus ride between New York and Boston. My poor mommy and daddy are going to be lonely without their delightful, and sometimes trying, daughters in the house. They should get a kitty! Not mine, even though Egg is so in love with my parents she practically drools all over herself in her excitement to get them to pick her up. They probably won't and hey, they will have our 13 year old turtle and our 3 month old goldfish to look after but they should have no worries. Family is forever, we'll never drift apart.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Task 24: Dress You Up
Task 24 was to get glammed up Hollywood style and go out. Well, what's more Hollywood glamourous than a film premiere? This was way back in February but I kept putting off writing about it and now it's June and I probably should stop procrastinating.
My mom's friend did the PR for a new movie that came out about Ataturk. She sent my mom tickets to the premiere and my mom gave them to me and my cousin Beril and we got all dressed up and attended and made it a night out. It was a pretty big event with photographers and the writer/director, actors, distinguished guests, other filmmakers, and about 2000 other people in attendance. I should probably explain who Ataturk is before I go on though.
Ataturk was the founder of modern Turkey and he introduced the new alphabet, language, modes of dress, and various other laws and principles that made Turkey the country it is today. Lately, these principles are getting put to the test as certain individuals are hell-bent on turning Turkey, to put it bluntly, into Iran by flaunting religious tactics that were outlawed in 1923. We are not in good shape right now. My grandfather has always been the strongest Ataturk supporter and his love of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk has been passed down to all of us. Mustafa Kemal was a great man and this might sound lame, but I honestly can't read or or watch anything about him without tearing up in pride and joy. Even occasionally thinking about him and allowing my mind to wander can make me get all choked up. He made my country the place I love and I hate how people are trying to warp his views and words to better suit their needs. I'm not going to go on a political rant but my views on this are iron; Mustafa Kemal Ataturk made Turkey the best it could be and no one else can compare to him. He had his reasons for everything he did and yes he had his faults too, he was human after all, but I firmly believe his actions pushed us to become the wonderful place and people we are today and those who stand against him are the enemy. Yes, the enemy. They represent the narrow-minded, ignorant, backwards-thinking jackasses who'll have us living up to the worst examples and stereotypes of Islamic folk. And I'm done.
Anyway, the film, Veda, was from the point of view of Ataturk's best friend Salih Bozok. It's in the form of a letter to his son and it takes place over the course of Ataturk and his life together; beginning when they were kids and Mustafa Kemal protected him from the wrath of a teacher and took a beating in his friend's place, to the day of his death November 10, 1938. It was quite well done with an excellent score and good actors. We, as a country, tend to take the melodramatic route especially in films and TV shows but this was an elegant biopic from start to finish. I had some problems with the casting as the actor playing his later, and most recognizeable, years looked nothing like him and they did not do a good job of aging his mother, Zubeyde Hanim. But otherwise, I really enjoyed it. I loved being in an audience who were as big Ataturk supporters as we were, who clapped when he was coming up with his laws during the birth years of Turkey (especially when he banned the headscarf and adopted modern dress), and when he danced the Sari Zeybek. Of course, when he died, my cousin and I were among the many who bawled. The entire film kept giving me goosebumps and making me beam in pride. Ataturk reminds me of my grandfather in some ways and I'm in awe of both of them in the same way. Watching his life and death is akin to watching someone I know personally live and die and it hit me hard right in the gut. He makes me proud to be Turkish and it was a night that made me reflect on that and the place my family has in our country. It was an honor to attend.
It was overall a very good night, but of course, since this is my life, it had it's element of extreme awkwardness and just plain wtf-ness. Before the film started, a young guy came and sat next to me. It was one of the few free seats left so I didn't think much of it but when the lights were dimming, he held out his hand asked me if I minded holding it throughout the film. Yes, a total stranger asked me to hold his hand for the duration of a two hour movie. Of course, my first thought was, "Augh our hands would get so sweaty!" but then the smarts kicked into action and I politely told him that that was very sweet but my boyfriend probably wouldn't appreciate that. He kind of harrumphed and withdrew his hand. At the same time my cousin, who couldn't quite hear what was going on, loudly told me to watch my bag. Heh, I guess she thought it was a diversionary tactic and then admitted she got all nervous thining what if they guy kept bugging me. Well, no worries of that. After sulking for ten minutes he got up and left and didn't come back.
What is my life sometimes?
Oh, I did get all glammed up though and we did go get dinner beforehand and flaunt our prettiness haha. I wore one of the Indian tunics I have that's embellished with gold thread and beads and is a beautiful turquoise-blue color and wore turquoise heels and made my make-up all fancy and colorful and had my hair half-pulled back and decorated with a gold flowery headband. Unfortunately, I don't have any good photos except these last minute photobooth pictures I took in my room and bathroom as I tried to get a good enough light.
My mom's friend did the PR for a new movie that came out about Ataturk. She sent my mom tickets to the premiere and my mom gave them to me and my cousin Beril and we got all dressed up and attended and made it a night out. It was a pretty big event with photographers and the writer/director, actors, distinguished guests, other filmmakers, and about 2000 other people in attendance. I should probably explain who Ataturk is before I go on though.
Ataturk was the founder of modern Turkey and he introduced the new alphabet, language, modes of dress, and various other laws and principles that made Turkey the country it is today. Lately, these principles are getting put to the test as certain individuals are hell-bent on turning Turkey, to put it bluntly, into Iran by flaunting religious tactics that were outlawed in 1923. We are not in good shape right now. My grandfather has always been the strongest Ataturk supporter and his love of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk has been passed down to all of us. Mustafa Kemal was a great man and this might sound lame, but I honestly can't read or or watch anything about him without tearing up in pride and joy. Even occasionally thinking about him and allowing my mind to wander can make me get all choked up. He made my country the place I love and I hate how people are trying to warp his views and words to better suit their needs. I'm not going to go on a political rant but my views on this are iron; Mustafa Kemal Ataturk made Turkey the best it could be and no one else can compare to him. He had his reasons for everything he did and yes he had his faults too, he was human after all, but I firmly believe his actions pushed us to become the wonderful place and people we are today and those who stand against him are the enemy. Yes, the enemy. They represent the narrow-minded, ignorant, backwards-thinking jackasses who'll have us living up to the worst examples and stereotypes of Islamic folk. And I'm done.
Anyway, the film, Veda, was from the point of view of Ataturk's best friend Salih Bozok. It's in the form of a letter to his son and it takes place over the course of Ataturk and his life together; beginning when they were kids and Mustafa Kemal protected him from the wrath of a teacher and took a beating in his friend's place, to the day of his death November 10, 1938. It was quite well done with an excellent score and good actors. We, as a country, tend to take the melodramatic route especially in films and TV shows but this was an elegant biopic from start to finish. I had some problems with the casting as the actor playing his later, and most recognizeable, years looked nothing like him and they did not do a good job of aging his mother, Zubeyde Hanim. But otherwise, I really enjoyed it. I loved being in an audience who were as big Ataturk supporters as we were, who clapped when he was coming up with his laws during the birth years of Turkey (especially when he banned the headscarf and adopted modern dress), and when he danced the Sari Zeybek. Of course, when he died, my cousin and I were among the many who bawled. The entire film kept giving me goosebumps and making me beam in pride. Ataturk reminds me of my grandfather in some ways and I'm in awe of both of them in the same way. Watching his life and death is akin to watching someone I know personally live and die and it hit me hard right in the gut. He makes me proud to be Turkish and it was a night that made me reflect on that and the place my family has in our country. It was an honor to attend.
It was overall a very good night, but of course, since this is my life, it had it's element of extreme awkwardness and just plain wtf-ness. Before the film started, a young guy came and sat next to me. It was one of the few free seats left so I didn't think much of it but when the lights were dimming, he held out his hand asked me if I minded holding it throughout the film. Yes, a total stranger asked me to hold his hand for the duration of a two hour movie. Of course, my first thought was, "Augh our hands would get so sweaty!" but then the smarts kicked into action and I politely told him that that was very sweet but my boyfriend probably wouldn't appreciate that. He kind of harrumphed and withdrew his hand. At the same time my cousin, who couldn't quite hear what was going on, loudly told me to watch my bag. Heh, I guess she thought it was a diversionary tactic and then admitted she got all nervous thining what if they guy kept bugging me. Well, no worries of that. After sulking for ten minutes he got up and left and didn't come back.
What is my life sometimes?
Oh, I did get all glammed up though and we did go get dinner beforehand and flaunt our prettiness haha. I wore one of the Indian tunics I have that's embellished with gold thread and beads and is a beautiful turquoise-blue color and wore turquoise heels and made my make-up all fancy and colorful and had my hair half-pulled back and decorated with a gold flowery headband. Unfortunately, I don't have any good photos except these last minute photobooth pictures I took in my room and bathroom as I tried to get a good enough light.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Telegram Sam
I'm back in Istanbul and spent the day at the mall with my mom, sister, aunt, and cousin. My other cousin, the aformentioned's brother, had his high school entry exam today (it's one of the most important exams in Turkey, if you do well you can apply to attend whatever high school you want), and after months of studying he's finally free. He thinks he's done very well, he got to go over the test afterwards, and to celebrate we all went out to eat. Afterwards, he and his dad left and us girls had the entire day to ourselves. I rarely go to malls and have never been in one for so long (8 hours, we ended up eating dinner at a restaurant there too) but we had a lovely time. I got some treats for me but oh God, some of the stuff in the designer section (it's regular huge mall on the one hand with a food court, but it also has various restaurants, cafes, and a separate courtyard with every big-name designer brand from Dior to Burberry, and our local department store has its designer corners as well) just made me go waaaant. Allow me to indulge my girly side for a bit.
I am a sucker for anything studded, sequined, beaded, basically anything that is loud and gets attention. Yes, I do love fur too. Not anything from the feline family as that's my personal choice, but rabbit, fox, mink? Let's just say my mom hates going to fancy stores with me in the winter because I wander off and rub my face on anything that looks vaguely soft. And if I could afford it, I totally would've gotten a limited edition crocodile skin Dior bag but 14,000$ for a bag is just silly. Looks good, but still silly. I refuse to get sucked into discussions about animal cruelty because no, I do not agree with the way animals are treated, hell I love animals, more so than people. But I just never have had anything against fur or leather and hey, I eat animals it would hypocritical of me not to wear them. I know I sound rather crass and unfeeling, especially for a self-proclaimed animal lover but fur coats remind me of being little and watching my mom and/or my grandmother go out on cold nights. I remember one night, my parents left me with a friend's kids and I fell asleep there and when they came to get me on that bitterly cold night, they just let me stay in my pajamas and my mom wrapped me up in her fur and we went home all snug. I will never stop thinking of fur as anything but an elegant look for ladies. I mean, there are furs I personally wouldn't wear, or particularly like. There is a scene in the Ewan McGregor motorcycle trip show where he watches a group of Russian hunters trap and kill a bear and skin it right there. That made me cringe and kind of avoid watching the action for a while. I could go on and try to defend my views but eh, I don't owe it to anyone and I digress. Where was I? Oh, I like loud things. These are the treasures I lusted over today.
Givenchy booties
Marc Jacobs shoulder bag
Louboutin sneakers
I've never been cheap when it comes to anything or anyone, except for myself. I adore buying gifts and always feel they're worth their cost because I put a lot of care and thought into them and know whomever I give them to will appreciate it. But I can't justify spending so much money on just "things," when it's for me. Sure, a pair, two pairs, of shoes are a good investment, as is a good bag (are you listening Marc Jacobs? YOUR BAGS ARE POORLY MADE. I HAVE TWO AND THEY ARE BOTH MALFUNCTIONING AND ONE IS BASICALLY UNUSABLE AND YOUR CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT SUCKS AND I WANT OTHERS BUT KNOW I SHOULDN'T SO STOP BREAKING MY HEART WITH YOUR SHODDY WORKMANSHIP.) but not every item in my wardrobe is, or ever will be, designer. Hell, sometimes I like the cheap imitation leather bags at Urban Outfitters more (though I do have a nice but small collection of name-brand bags because I am a bag lady and they're my birthday gifts from my sometimes too indulgent family). But it's nice to window shop every once in a while and even nicer to give in and buy. I guess that's why fashion and shoes and bags and jewelry will never be considered art and are often scoffed at as being too frivolous; the cost vs. the item is just hard too comprehend sometimes. What's the point of spending so much money on something when you can get the same for an eight of the price somewhere else? Or make it yourself as I will be with an old pair of Converse sneakers and leftover studs. I'd like to sit down and organize my thoughts on this (and touch back on the issue of fur) and see if I can explain why "designer" means so much and at the same time nothing, without sounding too self-contradictory but that's for another day and probably not for a blog entry.
I did however, get myself a treat today. These are crappy photobooth pictures/
His name is Telegram Sam. Because he's a T. Rex. Get it? Yeah, I'm a dork. Mina and I just call him Moe though. More updates on the Like A Muse Project coming this week, sorry for being a slacker have a dominatrix Madonna for your troubles.
I am a sucker for anything studded, sequined, beaded, basically anything that is loud and gets attention. Yes, I do love fur too. Not anything from the feline family as that's my personal choice, but rabbit, fox, mink? Let's just say my mom hates going to fancy stores with me in the winter because I wander off and rub my face on anything that looks vaguely soft. And if I could afford it, I totally would've gotten a limited edition crocodile skin Dior bag but 14,000$ for a bag is just silly. Looks good, but still silly. I refuse to get sucked into discussions about animal cruelty because no, I do not agree with the way animals are treated, hell I love animals, more so than people. But I just never have had anything against fur or leather and hey, I eat animals it would hypocritical of me not to wear them. I know I sound rather crass and unfeeling, especially for a self-proclaimed animal lover but fur coats remind me of being little and watching my mom and/or my grandmother go out on cold nights. I remember one night, my parents left me with a friend's kids and I fell asleep there and when they came to get me on that bitterly cold night, they just let me stay in my pajamas and my mom wrapped me up in her fur and we went home all snug. I will never stop thinking of fur as anything but an elegant look for ladies. I mean, there are furs I personally wouldn't wear, or particularly like. There is a scene in the Ewan McGregor motorcycle trip show where he watches a group of Russian hunters trap and kill a bear and skin it right there. That made me cringe and kind of avoid watching the action for a while. I could go on and try to defend my views but eh, I don't owe it to anyone and I digress. Where was I? Oh, I like loud things. These are the treasures I lusted over today.
Givenchy booties
Marc Jacobs shoulder bag
Louboutin sneakers
I've never been cheap when it comes to anything or anyone, except for myself. I adore buying gifts and always feel they're worth their cost because I put a lot of care and thought into them and know whomever I give them to will appreciate it. But I can't justify spending so much money on just "things," when it's for me. Sure, a pair, two pairs, of shoes are a good investment, as is a good bag (are you listening Marc Jacobs? YOUR BAGS ARE POORLY MADE. I HAVE TWO AND THEY ARE BOTH MALFUNCTIONING AND ONE IS BASICALLY UNUSABLE AND YOUR CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT SUCKS AND I WANT OTHERS BUT KNOW I SHOULDN'T SO STOP BREAKING MY HEART WITH YOUR SHODDY WORKMANSHIP.) but not every item in my wardrobe is, or ever will be, designer. Hell, sometimes I like the cheap imitation leather bags at Urban Outfitters more (though I do have a nice but small collection of name-brand bags because I am a bag lady and they're my birthday gifts from my sometimes too indulgent family). But it's nice to window shop every once in a while and even nicer to give in and buy. I guess that's why fashion and shoes and bags and jewelry will never be considered art and are often scoffed at as being too frivolous; the cost vs. the item is just hard too comprehend sometimes. What's the point of spending so much money on something when you can get the same for an eight of the price somewhere else? Or make it yourself as I will be with an old pair of Converse sneakers and leftover studs. I'd like to sit down and organize my thoughts on this (and touch back on the issue of fur) and see if I can explain why "designer" means so much and at the same time nothing, without sounding too self-contradictory but that's for another day and probably not for a blog entry.
I did however, get myself a treat today. These are crappy photobooth pictures/
His name is Telegram Sam. Because he's a T. Rex. Get it? Yeah, I'm a dork. Mina and I just call him Moe though. More updates on the Like A Muse Project coming this week, sorry for being a slacker have a dominatrix Madonna for your troubles.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
What It Feels Like For A Girl...
...with OCD. I don't know if I believe in all these acronym conditions like OCD or ADD, I tend to think there's a part of every person that the individual can't control. Whether it exhibits itself as closing the door seventeen times a day or being unable to sit still for five minutes, it's out of your hands and it's just a part of you. It's a quirk to show that no one is perfect and ever really totally in control. I mean, I do think one can start to control or even completely get rid of these involuntarily placed systems within the body but it takes training, time, and sometimes even medication. And sometimes you're just stuck with them, they are a part of what makes you inherently you. I myself like things in even numbers, sorted out and paired. I also have a habit of obsessing about one thing until someone shakes the thought out of my head, either by comforting me or by yelling at me to get a grip. To better explain it, say I get a thought. Like my mom isn't completely happy with the tattoo she got a few years ago. In my head this will grow and grow and become a problem and make me think, but she has it forever I need to make sure this thing she's wanted for so long is perfect, I need to make her happy. And then the burden of it will start dragging me down and I'll go with how? How can I do this? Maybe she's okay with it. Maybe it doesn't matter. I'll keep asking her if she's sure or try to get a plan made until she snaps at me or I just go crazy and chew my nails until they bleed. Hypothetically speaking of course.
I'm not a doctor, heh, but I'd say that's a little OCD. To go along with that I also have this thing. It's kind of still a hush hush subject in some places but I've grown to accept it a little bit, and now I don't care who knows. I have depression. No, I don't sit in my room cutting myself and writing poetry about dead flowers and hating myself because Sartre stated that life has no meaning and that's the truth. For the record, yes it does. Every life is precious and Sartre can kiss my ass. Hell is other people Jean-Paul? No, hell is studying you for two years. In French. And reading and acting out Huis Clos. In French. And spending hours figuring out how to write about you in the correct tense. IN FRENCH. Okay, sometimes it was just spending hours inputting English sentences that Babel Fish would translate into French which we'd then type up without bothering to fix it, but still. Where was I? Oh yes, life is wonderful. It's a gift. If it didn't mean anything then we simply wouldn't exist. Which is one of the many reasons why death scares the living shit (bahaha living get it?) out of me, but that's another topic. Yes, I have depression. It apparently runs in the family. I got smacked with it for the first time, for real, the summer between my junior and senior years of college. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I was listless and bawling and it felt like this huge spiky rope was coiled in my stomach and was slowly killing me. I couldn't breathe because of it (it stretched all the way to my throat) and it always felt like my heart was beating too fast. I actually tried taking my pulse and counting the beats because I thought my heart had turned into a hummingbird and was about to flutter out of my chest.
I didn't know why I felt like this and I was so scared that it wouldn't ever go away and that I was not normal. My dad was also going through something similar (needless to say that summer was not a good one for our family, especially my mom and sister who had to deal with us and all our other family members and their crazies). No matter how much my mom said it would pass, I couldn't believe her. It scared me to go to the doctor because it made it seem so serious and it scared me even more to take pills, Paxil and Xanax, because I thought they would make me addicted and I'd have this problem for the rest of my life. Well, I've come to realize I will. But I won't always feel like that. The pills did make me feel better, they balanced my brain chemistry so that I could breathe and eat again. The Xanax was awful and made me fall asleep immediately and wake up half an hour later gasping and choking in the midst of a panic attack. But the Paxil helped and so did the Diazem when I had the really bad attacks. I remember the night I felt slowly like me again. I picked up, "Lamb," by Christopher Moore and managed to sit and calmly read and eat miniature Snickers bars, the first thing I ate after ten days. God bless chocolate. The whole thing seemed to last forever but it was only a couple weeks.
I stopped the Paxil a few months later but until now I had two more bouts of the scary Leyla mood as I think of it. My leg tattoos set one episode off. Ugh. Luckily, I'm over it and I have 3 pretty peacock feathers on my right leg which I jokingly say represent my mom, my sister, and my dad. I currently take Paxil and I do have a doctor (who I have not seen since September though, whoops) but other than the occasional and normal "sad" day I'm fine, I'm me. That's what made me feel such relief when the "episode" passed. The drugs didn't make me a zombie and I didn't turn into a facsimilie of a happy version of me. I'm Leyla. The reason I still take them is because the doctor recommended it because I'm in a, "transition stage of my life." And since the episodes still happen, I'd rather keep them at bay with some help rather than succumbing to them. I will stop taking Paxil eventually though and maybe I'll have to start again in the future. I sure as hell hope I don't but I know what to expect and what I can do to combat it now. I also know that there are others like me, a close friend for one, and that talking with them and being there for them is just as helpful when you feel like you're the only crazy in the world.
Ah transitions. Better known as change. Even better known as my greatest enemy. I don't like change. I like things the way they are and to stay the way they are. My biggest worries during the episodes were along the lines of, oh God what is going to happen to me after college, where will I work, where will my friends be, why are they not staying with me, why do I have to be so far away from my family, why is it ending so soon, why can't I just be a kid again? I fervently wished to be a kid and happy and safe in my home with my healthy grandparents and parents. My grandparents have been going through a lot of health scares in recent years and all that just makes me think about our mortality and then I get panic attacks because honestly, I'm lost without my family. I truly am. We are all so tight-knit and loving, I don't think I could've turned out the way I did if not for them. I still get those worries but I'm learning to calm them.
Change makes me anxious-making and I don't like it. It always makes the fluttery stomach spiky rope thing come back and consumes me with worry. You can always tell when I'm worried because my nails become non-existent.
Lately though, I've become better at it. About looking change in the eye and taking a deep breath. But sometimes it still beats me. It makes me cry and even when I'm not crying it still makes me leak out of my face orifices uncontrollably. It makes my stomach flip flop in a bad way and convinces me I'm about to throw up. I don't know what sets it off. Sometimes it's just the fear of the unknown and I hate not knowing. I had to leave L.A. because this happened and it's just an all-consuming, get me out of here this instant, snakes choking my insides, call my mom constantly for reassurance, sob for no reason feeling that takes over me and destroys all rationality. I get smaller episodes too that aren't that big a deal but make me ashamed. Like I left LA previously on a visit to my friend because I had this feeling. And now I get it when I'm away from home, like spending the night somewhere. I make excuses, valid ones actually, and try to get myself out of the situation and then I feel horrible because I'm usually changing plans with somebody to do it. I feel so guilty and then try to convince myself it's ok and I'll make it up and it's just lousy but then I'm home and my stomach calms down. I know my cousins reads this and I was supposed to spend the night at her house which I'm totally fine with, I love hanging out with her. But I was worrying about a book I have to cover for my internship (by tomorrow. And they still haven't sent the book), and this meeting I have tomorrow and I thought it might make me bad company for the night. But what I don't understand is, they are all easy fixes. The internship said if I couldn't do it by tomorrow it would be fine but I want them to think I'm Superwoman and then be open for future job possibiliies but I know I'm not Superwoman so why force it? And the meeting? It's closer to my cousin's house than my own and I could just go from there in the morning but I just get this need to be home and handle it from there and nothing can quiet my insides until I'm "safe."
This is why I have unhealthy relationships with my phone and computer when I'm not home, they are the lifelines connecting me to where I feel safe. But safe? I'm safe where I am that's not home too. I need to get rid of this second-guessing and self-sabotage because it's slowly eating at me. My calm-down music is now the live versions of Madonna's, "Like a Prayer," followed by, "Jump," followed by the album version of, "Ray of Light." They helped during the ride home but I don't know if that was because I knew was going home or because they are good soothing songs. So I hope people, especially my dear cousin who I love with all my heart, understand when I do these spastic things that make sense in my brain and that I force to make sense in real life. Then punish myself for wanting it that way.
I don't quite know how to explain how change, depression, weird panic get-me-out-of-here moments, are all related but to me they are. I want them to go away. I want the Like A Muse project to help me get going with my life both in the physical sense (getting in shape, writing) and the emotional/metaphysicial (my mind-set and my habits that I don't like). But if they are a part of me, a permanent part that contributes to making me who I am, I want to be okay with them because I feel guilty and I hate that feeling. I spend way too much time feeling guilty and trying to rationalize it and it's really tiring. It hurts my brain. So I'm going to stop. And go work out and read the stupid book if my internship boss lady ever sends it.
Oh, on the way home the dolmus (mini-bus) driver got in a fight with one of the passengers We were all on his side though and finally had to yell at the idiot man to get out of the car. Ah Istanbul.
I'm not a doctor, heh, but I'd say that's a little OCD. To go along with that I also have this thing. It's kind of still a hush hush subject in some places but I've grown to accept it a little bit, and now I don't care who knows. I have depression. No, I don't sit in my room cutting myself and writing poetry about dead flowers and hating myself because Sartre stated that life has no meaning and that's the truth. For the record, yes it does. Every life is precious and Sartre can kiss my ass. Hell is other people Jean-Paul? No, hell is studying you for two years. In French. And reading and acting out Huis Clos. In French. And spending hours figuring out how to write about you in the correct tense. IN FRENCH. Okay, sometimes it was just spending hours inputting English sentences that Babel Fish would translate into French which we'd then type up without bothering to fix it, but still. Where was I? Oh yes, life is wonderful. It's a gift. If it didn't mean anything then we simply wouldn't exist. Which is one of the many reasons why death scares the living shit (bahaha living get it?) out of me, but that's another topic. Yes, I have depression. It apparently runs in the family. I got smacked with it for the first time, for real, the summer between my junior and senior years of college. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I was listless and bawling and it felt like this huge spiky rope was coiled in my stomach and was slowly killing me. I couldn't breathe because of it (it stretched all the way to my throat) and it always felt like my heart was beating too fast. I actually tried taking my pulse and counting the beats because I thought my heart had turned into a hummingbird and was about to flutter out of my chest.
I didn't know why I felt like this and I was so scared that it wouldn't ever go away and that I was not normal. My dad was also going through something similar (needless to say that summer was not a good one for our family, especially my mom and sister who had to deal with us and all our other family members and their crazies). No matter how much my mom said it would pass, I couldn't believe her. It scared me to go to the doctor because it made it seem so serious and it scared me even more to take pills, Paxil and Xanax, because I thought they would make me addicted and I'd have this problem for the rest of my life. Well, I've come to realize I will. But I won't always feel like that. The pills did make me feel better, they balanced my brain chemistry so that I could breathe and eat again. The Xanax was awful and made me fall asleep immediately and wake up half an hour later gasping and choking in the midst of a panic attack. But the Paxil helped and so did the Diazem when I had the really bad attacks. I remember the night I felt slowly like me again. I picked up, "Lamb," by Christopher Moore and managed to sit and calmly read and eat miniature Snickers bars, the first thing I ate after ten days. God bless chocolate. The whole thing seemed to last forever but it was only a couple weeks.
I stopped the Paxil a few months later but until now I had two more bouts of the scary Leyla mood as I think of it. My leg tattoos set one episode off. Ugh. Luckily, I'm over it and I have 3 pretty peacock feathers on my right leg which I jokingly say represent my mom, my sister, and my dad. I currently take Paxil and I do have a doctor (who I have not seen since September though, whoops) but other than the occasional and normal "sad" day I'm fine, I'm me. That's what made me feel such relief when the "episode" passed. The drugs didn't make me a zombie and I didn't turn into a facsimilie of a happy version of me. I'm Leyla. The reason I still take them is because the doctor recommended it because I'm in a, "transition stage of my life." And since the episodes still happen, I'd rather keep them at bay with some help rather than succumbing to them. I will stop taking Paxil eventually though and maybe I'll have to start again in the future. I sure as hell hope I don't but I know what to expect and what I can do to combat it now. I also know that there are others like me, a close friend for one, and that talking with them and being there for them is just as helpful when you feel like you're the only crazy in the world.
Ah transitions. Better known as change. Even better known as my greatest enemy. I don't like change. I like things the way they are and to stay the way they are. My biggest worries during the episodes were along the lines of, oh God what is going to happen to me after college, where will I work, where will my friends be, why are they not staying with me, why do I have to be so far away from my family, why is it ending so soon, why can't I just be a kid again? I fervently wished to be a kid and happy and safe in my home with my healthy grandparents and parents. My grandparents have been going through a lot of health scares in recent years and all that just makes me think about our mortality and then I get panic attacks because honestly, I'm lost without my family. I truly am. We are all so tight-knit and loving, I don't think I could've turned out the way I did if not for them. I still get those worries but I'm learning to calm them.
Change makes me anxious-making and I don't like it. It always makes the fluttery stomach spiky rope thing come back and consumes me with worry. You can always tell when I'm worried because my nails become non-existent.
Lately though, I've become better at it. About looking change in the eye and taking a deep breath. But sometimes it still beats me. It makes me cry and even when I'm not crying it still makes me leak out of my face orifices uncontrollably. It makes my stomach flip flop in a bad way and convinces me I'm about to throw up. I don't know what sets it off. Sometimes it's just the fear of the unknown and I hate not knowing. I had to leave L.A. because this happened and it's just an all-consuming, get me out of here this instant, snakes choking my insides, call my mom constantly for reassurance, sob for no reason feeling that takes over me and destroys all rationality. I get smaller episodes too that aren't that big a deal but make me ashamed. Like I left LA previously on a visit to my friend because I had this feeling. And now I get it when I'm away from home, like spending the night somewhere. I make excuses, valid ones actually, and try to get myself out of the situation and then I feel horrible because I'm usually changing plans with somebody to do it. I feel so guilty and then try to convince myself it's ok and I'll make it up and it's just lousy but then I'm home and my stomach calms down. I know my cousins reads this and I was supposed to spend the night at her house which I'm totally fine with, I love hanging out with her. But I was worrying about a book I have to cover for my internship (by tomorrow. And they still haven't sent the book), and this meeting I have tomorrow and I thought it might make me bad company for the night. But what I don't understand is, they are all easy fixes. The internship said if I couldn't do it by tomorrow it would be fine but I want them to think I'm Superwoman and then be open for future job possibiliies but I know I'm not Superwoman so why force it? And the meeting? It's closer to my cousin's house than my own and I could just go from there in the morning but I just get this need to be home and handle it from there and nothing can quiet my insides until I'm "safe."
This is why I have unhealthy relationships with my phone and computer when I'm not home, they are the lifelines connecting me to where I feel safe. But safe? I'm safe where I am that's not home too. I need to get rid of this second-guessing and self-sabotage because it's slowly eating at me. My calm-down music is now the live versions of Madonna's, "Like a Prayer," followed by, "Jump," followed by the album version of, "Ray of Light." They helped during the ride home but I don't know if that was because I knew was going home or because they are good soothing songs. So I hope people, especially my dear cousin who I love with all my heart, understand when I do these spastic things that make sense in my brain and that I force to make sense in real life. Then punish myself for wanting it that way.
I don't quite know how to explain how change, depression, weird panic get-me-out-of-here moments, are all related but to me they are. I want them to go away. I want the Like A Muse project to help me get going with my life both in the physical sense (getting in shape, writing) and the emotional/metaphysicial (my mind-set and my habits that I don't like). But if they are a part of me, a permanent part that contributes to making me who I am, I want to be okay with them because I feel guilty and I hate that feeling. I spend way too much time feeling guilty and trying to rationalize it and it's really tiring. It hurts my brain. So I'm going to stop. And go work out and read the stupid book if my internship boss lady ever sends it.
Oh, on the way home the dolmus (mini-bus) driver got in a fight with one of the passengers We were all on his side though and finally had to yell at the idiot man to get out of the car. Ah Istanbul.
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