Happy Hindi Day! Yesterday...

Yeah, so you people make fun of my country on Thanksgiving (huh huh, do you have a lot of turkeys in Turkey?) so I'll pass on the favor and make fun of India because in Turkish, Hindi means turkey. Oh how clever of me.

I joined my boyfriend and his family for Thanksgiving this year. The joy of having an American boyfriend and friends; their families are always so generous and absolutely insist on inviting me over too. In high school, my best friend Kit's mom would cook a whole Thanksgiving feast in her apartment in Istanbul and she always had the best food so I've been kind of spoiled for all others but yesterday was delicious. We went over to Elliot's aunt's house and I'd met them on several earlier occasions so his cousins and I were already pretty comfortable around each other. Kung Fu Panda was on TV and we managed to get some quality viewing time as we waited for food. I did get to meet his uncle and grandmother for the first time, though. They were equally pleasant and welcoming and when we picked up his grandma and she came to the car carrying a pecan pie, well then. I followed her around much like cats at the fish market in Istanbul. I love pecan pie. It's my favorite. I just love pie. And cheesecake. Those are my top desserts and they had both. Elliot's cousin had made this delicious pumpkin spiced cheesecake with caramel and walnuts and there were cocoa cookies with white chocolate chips. But that was dessert. For food we had turkey, of course and it was delicious and I had a little bit of the white meat too even though I'm a dark meat girl through and through. You have my permission to lewd that up in any way you like. We also had a rib roast and stuffing (my favorite) and sweet potato puree and asparagus wrapped in bacon.

Miraculously, I didn't quite eat myself stupid. I was okay by the end of the day because today Elliot is taking me to the Afghan restaurant we went to the first time I came to visit his family and it has the best saffron chicken I've ever had in my life. Shh, don't tell my dad or my fellow Iranians.

Tonight I think we're meeting up with his old high school buddy for food (again) and at some point today I think I might coax him to drive me to an H&M. As my fashion blogger friends know the Lanvin and H&M collection premieres today and I've been really looking forward to it because all the pieces look amazing. Especially the Chanel-esque furry coat.



If the crowd look too daunting, since it is Black Friday, we'll avoid it but I'm going to take a peek at some point. I know every girl worth her weight in couture and online fashion will have a piece from the collection but I never buy anything that's "in fashion," just because it is, anyway. If I like something, I'll get it. Not because everyone has it. Like those Jeffrey Campbell Lita boots. They're not at all my style but I know at least three people who have them. Good for them, I admire people who can clomp around in heels all day. I'm good with my Converse sneakers and Iron Maiden Vans. Though I did recently switch it up and get a purple pair since my Maidens are falling apart and I always get black or grey shoes.

Other than that, I was just in New York visiting with my mommy and sister. My cousin and her family were also there (as well as another cousin who also attends NYU with my sister. Yes, I have a large family and we're together constantly). Now I know I've always come back from NY spewing vengeance and hate and crying out for the blood of the city, especially cab drivers. But I am allowed to change my mind. It was the best trip. Not only did I get to see family and have a long, fun lunch with them at this little Mexican place (La Rosa Mexicana by Colombus Circle. They had really good guacamole and my cousin expressed her wishes to have one of their succulent avocados. So I sneakily hi-jacked one as we were leaving. No one saw. I am a master thief) where we talked and I showed off my most prized "possession," my kitty (in pictures. I didn't actually bring her though I know some wouldn't put it past me. I mean, she's here in Virginia right now... yeah we drove 9 hours from Boston with the cat), but my mom and I met up with Carlito Dalceggio who I've talked about here. He's become sort of like a foster son to my mom because she has this bright, wonderful energy that draws people to her. Plus, he was just in Istanbul with her and got sick and stayed at our house. He has converted to Zeynepism. We went with him to an art gallery where he kind of had an "audition," and the owner really loved his stuff so hopefully that wiill come to some sort of fruition.



We also met up with my dad's cousin (I told you, large family) who hadn't seen us in 15 years. She had an art show too, which I unfortunately couldn't attend, but she came to lunch with us and Carlito the day I left.

My mother and I had dinner with Carlito and his girlfriend at some point. I was there from Thursday to Monday but the days kind of blur into each other. She's the sweetest, kindest girl ever and we all had the most, well I don't want to say profound because that sounds dumb and pretentious, so pretend I didn't say it but an evening along those lines. We went for drinks in Brooklyn at this cute little bar and then to dinner at a Vietnamese place which of course I loved as it is my favorite. I had pho. Surpirse. We just talked about EVERYTHING. From travel to dreams to food ("Our food had no taste in Poland, it's all potatoes!"), to weird connections between people. I was wearing my peacock print coat and they brought me a single peacock feather that Carlito had decorated with his signature acrylic, bright red dot.


His girlfriend had written a poem in beautiful calligraphy in her native language, Polish, for my mom (my mom gave her an evil eye bracelet the day before and she'd loved it) and Carlito had presented her with a small picture with a key attached. My mom collects keys. He had no idea, he just said he felt like the portrait needed something extra and the key seemed right. It was such a lovely night and won't get into too much detail because I'm saving the conversations for my novel. Man, I'm just filled with pretention with this post. But I was at a block and our night will translate so well into it. It was kismet. Oh, you might have actually seen his girlfriend. Her name is Magdalena Frackowiak. She's a pretty amazing model. Her modeling ice queen shots are the polar opposite of her personality.





My mom is actually off to Montreal today to see Mercan who I've also talked about in the same post with Carlito and more so here. He and Carlito did the opening of the Music House and he's another "spiritual" friend of my mom's now. I swear, when she's 90 she'll have reached guru status.

I also met up with a few friends. People might raise their eyebrows at the concept of an, "Internet friend," but in this day and age, when so many of us have blogs and websites and rely on connections through them, why is it still weird? I mean sure, watch out for them pedophiles, but I think a few of my closest friends now are those I've met through reading about their lives and vice versa. Three of these ladies came to stay with me last year for a couple days and I hadn't seen them since. So, last Friday two, Beth and Chelsey, came by to my mom's hotel where we met up at the bar where we treated ourselves to Bellinis (Proseco and peach juice. Let's send this into pretension over-drive because though it was good, I prefer them in Venice. Hey, I can be picky, I'm not a sweet alcoholic drink person anyway) before heading out to an improv show and a few other places. I love how my friends identify me with liking metal. I do, it's true, but rather than laughing at me, most support me and want to show me a good time by taking it into consideration. Like my best friends treating me to Kuma's corner, the heavy metal buger place, in Chicago. I love this. Chelsey said there was a metal bar in Brooklyn so we ended up in Williamsburg at 12 at night in this most excellent little basement bar, Duff's. It was absolutely wall-papered in posters and fliers and had a nice little back room with booths. It was so empty. We definitely got stared at by the few patrons but the friendly bar lady offered us free shots on the house because, "we looked cold." The night may have been disappointing on some counts (for my friend) but for me it was so fun just getting to hang out with the girls and even getting to know them a bit better. No more awkwardness for us.


There was a third lady in the group that visited me last year and she and I met up for drinks on anther night. I think my family and the way we function amused Hilary to no end. We were in the hotel bar again because it's comfy and hey, charge it to the room! But my sister came by, my cousin came by, then she came by again with her boyfriend and another friend, then my sister came by once more and Hilary basically met half my immediate family and their acquaintances right there.

I did some shopping too because I'm a girl and we have to. But I mostly got books and make-up. So my intellectual side and my superficial side were pretty balanced I'd say. I got Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil because I always thought I'd read it but my friend actually had and told me about it and I'd seen the movie so I figured it was time to go through it myself. I also got Modoc, it's about this boy and an elephant and it's the true story of how they went from Germany to India to a circus in New York in the '40s and all about their adventures and friendship. I'm sure it'll make me cry but it was written by one of the first Hollywood trainers to use love and care when handling animals (so hopefully I won't get all upset by animal cruelty. Yes, I like fur and leather and I eat meat but you kick a dog and I will stomp on your testicles till kingdom come) it'll be something interesting to read on the 16 hour flight to Hong Kong.

Oh yeah, Elliot and I are off to Hong Kong this coming Wednesday. Wacky adventures to follow. But seriously, I'm looking forward to another weird trip with him (we went to Japan a couple years ago and we're still boring our friends to death with stories), pissing him off by quoting Cassandra from Wayne's World every time we catch sight of Kowloon Bay, ("Oh my GOD! I WAS BORN IN KOWLOON BAY,"), meeting up with my first RA Nikki (who I haven't seen since freshman year), and eating in one of the foremost food capitals of the world. Yeah, everything comes back to food doesn't it?

Music House Opening Feb. 2010

I found this on my camera when I was uploading pictures. It's the opening of the Borusan Music House with Carlito Dalceggio painting to Mercan Dede's music. I've uploaded it to Youtube and added tags so now the world will be able to see it too. Except Turkey and China and Iran. If I may paraphrase the Soup Nazi, "NO YOUTUBE FOR YOU!"

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).

Task 12: Shanti/Ashtangi, Day 4

Before we left for India, we realized we were going to be there in time for Holi and I got so very excited. I've always wanted to witness this festival when the entire country takes part in what's basically one giant paint-ball fight. All the pictures I've seen show such gorgeous pinks and purples and greens and I'm a sucker for color. I might not veer too far off from my uniform of black, white, grey, and blue but I abolsutely adore surrounding myself with color and Holi always looked so magical and wonderful, I just wanted to take part in it. And I got to! The hotel organized a small get together on the grounds for guests with food and drinks and live music and dancing and everyone wore white so we could smack each other with the colored powder. This little boy was having so much fun pelting everyone and when my mom chased him and "played Holi" he was so overjoyed that someone was actually indulging him. It was really fun and the Maharaja, his mother, his son, and his daughter even came down and greeted people and played too. It was sort of a bittersweet moment watching his son, this handsome 35 year old man, smiling and enjoying the day though. We found out he used to be the nation's polo poster boy and would even coach national teams but an accident left him paralyzed and it's only recently that he's started making public appearances again. He had to re-learn how to do everything and it really hit my mom and dad hard I think. We bought a coffee table book all about Umaid Bhawan and the Maharaja's history and family and just pored over it. It's really cool though, several Maharanis of the state of Rajasthan were Turkish!

We even got interviewed by the local news. Hah, the reporter said I had a pretty name and asked us what we thought of the whole event. Well, we of course told him we loved it and when he observed that we weren't quite covered in paint my mom smashed a handful of pink powder in my face. On camera. Yes, we Hamedis vacation with style. The first time we all came to India, my parents had a Sanskrit wedding ceremony and got published in the newspaper.

I abolsutely loved Jodhpur. It was hot and I don't do too well with heat (it bothers me more than others and I just get cranky and miserable) but it was just a dry heat and I felt I could sit under that tent and watch everyone play Holi all day. And as a bonus, I finally was able to go to the bathroom! Not to be too crass but for some reason I had certain, um, bloackage and man, finally unleashign my bowels almost had me singing that Flashdance song, "What A Feeling."

It's funny how things sort of come together isn't it? I re-discovered my love of Madonna and suddenly she was everywhere from a new CD and DVD to having an episode of Glee dedicated to her. I'm writing my India entries now and I find out about this great opportunity to write a script about it. I love when the universe just lines up like that and it seemed to do it perfectly right as I got off the plane in Delhi and just listened to "Shanti/Ashtangi," as we drove to the hotel. I felt it was appropriate as it was going to be the title for these entries without a question. But there were two other things that also lined up for me during this trip. One was listening to Iron Maiden and the other, reading Elif Safak's, "The Forty Rules of Love: A Tale of Rumi." Listening to Maiden's, "Blood Brothers," as we drove towards the fort and as I took in the blue city and all the colors of Holi getting set up, not to mention the ever-present cows (on the six hour car ride to Ranthambore last year, my sister and I played punch cow instead of punch buggy and we got up to over 400 cow sightings) it just reminded me how much I love that band and how much some of the lyrics just resonate with me. I won't get all high school girlish and write them out but eh, it was just a nice feeling; this content, I am where I'm supposed to be doing exactly this, kind of moment. I might not be the typical metalhead and I might have other tastes that clash with my love of heavy metal but it is a genre that will always be close to my heart and Iron Maiden's Seventh Son of a Seventh Son was my first metal CD I bought at 15, after all. I recently ordered the patch for a vest I'm working on, I wish it would arrive.

Now the book. "Ask" as it is called in Turkish, simply, "Love," is about a literary reader named Ella who, dissatisfied with her life, gets sucked into a book she's assigned which traces the life of the poet Rumi and his companion Shams. Through this book she meets a convert to Sufism who changes her life and inspires her to reach beyond her stagnant life. Yes, the literary reader part kind of hit very close to home (especially since at the time I had also finished reading a quite poignant book at my internship about death and overcoming fear and as that is an issue of mine it kind of affected me) but the entire point of the story did too. It's about religion but not religion in the, well, religious sense if that makes any sense. It's about a spiritual connection that transcends anything tangible; love. It's simly about love and it moved me to the point where I decided what I want to do later/with the rest of my life. I want to learn about Sufism, the very soul of love as I believe it to be. Not love like soppy, puppy love, or crushes or anything like that. This is the kind of love the reaches beyond the ordinary and just envelopes you. It made sense to me even if I'm not explaining myself very well. Let me put it this way, ever since I was little I would just get overwhelmed by feelings over the smallest things. Not just feelings, but this aching tug at my heart. The clearest one I remember was for this boy Mustafa. On another family trip, we all ventued to Eastern Turkey with our good friend and her son. In Urfa, this boy Mustafa kind of attached himself to us and guided us around and took us to stores and lunch and he was so smart and so helpful that I felt this pang, violently so when we were saying good bye. That's the love that's explored and illustrated in, "Ask." Simple love for another being because they touched you so. I want to study Sufism. If I go back to school that is the subject I want to study and I have people to help and guide me on this path. Mercan Dede, the artist who helped launch our Music House, has become a very good friend of my mother and he is Sufi. I think when my mom emailed to tell him I was interested in Sufism, he got more excited than I did! He's good friends with the author of this book, they're doing performances together this month in Belgium. My mom and I watched an interview of hers on TV recently and she is such a well-spoken, personable lady that her energy practically vibrated off the TV. You know how there are some people wh have a certain vibe or aura or energy that immediately warms you to them and makes yu think you know them even if that can't possibly be true? That's what I felt with Mercan and even a little with Ms. Safak, as I watched her speak.

India is the cliche land of enlightenment but I think for us, for my family, it just seems so familiar and so thoroughly enjoyable, we just see it as home and home is where you're the safest and most comfortable. That's why I think I could see these things clearly there because more than it just being this "entity," India is my happy place. It's my family's happy place. It becomes this cocoon of carefree joy so much so that we can all just be us. That's why we've now travelled there three times as a family (and more for my mom and dad), and have plans to go back. Home is where I'm happiest and India is my third home because my family is with me. I will never share this though that Americans seem to have of dreading home and visiting parents because my family is my inspiration and without them, I wouldn't be me. Now enough of that saccharine crap, I'm afraid I've droned on for quite a bit with this entry so enjoy some of our pictures.

Shots of Holi preparations in town.


On our way to the Holi festivities on the palace grounds. Those figures are me and my mom.



The prince getting dunked in paint.

The Maharaja playing Holi!



Us hahaha.



My anne.

My baba.



Happy Holi!

Task 6: Sky Fits Heaven

This is a touchy subject for some but I want to write about it. I believe in God. I believe in Allah. I don't pray five times a day nor do I cover my head and never appear in public with boys because I don't have the time and I like boys. I don't particularly believe in heaven and I sure as hell, don't believe in, well, hell. I believe there is a spirit, something that watches over us, that protects us and if we let it, guides us. I believe it is an energy connected to the universe and to everyone that allows for everything to work out the way it's supposed to and that everything happens for a reason. As far as I know, and I am a know-it-all, there's no bearded dude in the sky getting mad at us for having sex before marriage or tsking every time we eat pork. In fact, I kind of look down on most religions. Who are you to tell me I came into this world full of sin and some man died because of it? What is gunah about showing my hair? I have great hair for crying out loud and Allah wouldn't have given it to me if he wanted it to be covered up! No, I believe organized religion brings out the worst in people. Adhering to rules is one thing but to live by a book who can't claim an author? Not for me. This is true for most things though, fanatics are scary people. Have you tried talking to a fan of those Twilight books? Scarier than an army of zombie nuns. I do believe I came into this world for a reason, and when I'm done with what I have to do, I will leave it. I do believe in the soul and the spirit. That is what Allah and religion is to me. It's a connection to the energy around you. Sixth sense in a way, or instinct. I have my little idiosyncrasies like always stepping onto a plane with my right foot and praying three times before take-off. And by praying I mean cupping my hands and hastily wishing Allah to protect me and my family, thanks for everything, let me arrive safely at my destination please and thank you. To me Allah is the gut feeling that helps me along the way. I know I'm here for a reason and when I'm done with what I have to do, I'll leave. Maybe a part of me will come back.

Some people might say all these things; religion, superstition, prayer, God, reincarnation are all excuses people make up to feel safe. So what? I do feel better knowing that there might be a chance my soul could live on. I mean, I might not remember my past lives but some part of what made Leyla might survive on this little planet. What's the harm in believing in that? I'm scared of death. I'm scared than most people I know. It's caused me to have panic attacks and burst into tears randomly because I can't help it. It seems so final and done. I'm scared shitless of the fact that I will lose people I love. It's the one thing I can't make peace with. But I'm trying. This is what Allah is to me, it's comfort and I don't care if people sneer at it. Atheists are just as annoying as religious fanatics. Why do you need to foist your beliefs on other and damn them for not agreeing with you? This is what I believe and I'm no trying to convince anyone, I'm just trying to explain myself. My protector does not see killing people in his name as a good thing. My protector allows me to combine Islam and Hinduism and a bunch of other things to carve out a belief system that suits me. Religion is at the forefront of soothing people in the face of death and it should be. It's nothing that can be explained and to be torn from the ones you love forever is a ridiculously scary notion. What if you could be with them again? Wouldn't that be amazing? You could have me in your life over and over and over!

Not that I'm a complete saint. I mean, as much as I don't want to judge others there are certain notions that make me involuntarily roll my eyes. The HBO show Big Love and the whole religious reasons for polygamy therein made me yell at my TV many a time as I watched it. It's a good show though, check it out. But the simple matter is, I'm afraid of dying. I'm afraid of death. I fear the reaper, if you will haha. I don't want my mom, my dad, my boyfriend, sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and every other person that has ever touched me to leave. Especially to a place where they can't come back and visit at least not in the physical sense. My beliefs are working very hard to soothe me and like I said, there's a reason for everything.

So it was a pretty big "coincidence" that I just started reading Elif Safak's Ask. This book was a big hit here, she's one of Turkey's most famous authors and I was just waiting for the English version to come out (it's out in the States too, The Forty Rules of Love by Elif Shafak) and I finally got it and read the entire 300+ page book on the flight to India (oh yeah, I went to India, more on that later). It's about Ella, a forty year old woman stuck in a rut, feeling a little lost and working as a reader at a literary agency.

What is my current unofficial job? How have I been feeling? Yeah exactly.

Through her job Ella reads a book about the life of the poet Rumi and his companion Shams and their religion of Sufism. Sufism is a branch of Islam that focuses on the titular rules of love and how they can be applied to life and basically the love of Allah. It really touched me. In my previous entry I mentioned the artist Mercan Dede. He is a Sufi and Elif Safak actually thanks him in the acknowledgements of this book. It's such a simple concept. The idea of love. Of loving everything and everyone and living your life with love. There was one sentence in the book that especially stood out to me. "To be a Sufi, you learn to die before death." I'm paraphrasing but still, it struck a chord with me. Learning to accept and welcome death in life is not something I can wrap my mind around. I live each day fighting the thought of it. But it made sense. As I read books submitted to me, I keep receiving messages that ring true with me much like the protagonist of Ask. One book's underlying theme was that life is about choices and you need to make them. The one I had to read and write up in one day, yesterday, was all about love. It was about all-encompassing love and life and focused on an immortal soul. One that had to die before he could live again, forever. I think we can stop calling them coincidences now. Or I can.

My grandfather and I recently came to the conclusion that I could teach. I have a master's that allows me to teach in my field and maybe further down the line I could get my PhD. Well this is what sealed it. I want to study this. Maybe do it on my own, read about Rumi and Sufism, but it would be something I would love to sink my teeth into and maybe realign my belief system to better flow with it as well. It is a comfort. Everything does happen for a reason. I've seen enough proof of it in my life to believe it. It's what makes the dread of fear in my chest slowly ebb away.

Task 7 & Task 17: Music Inferno

Day 7: Along with sucking at being in pictures I'm also crap behind the camera. But I want to be better. I've had this idea kicking around in my head forever and I want to just get out and do it. A complete photo-book called Heavy Metal Istanbul documenting, guess what, heavy metal in Istanbul.

Changed my mind. I am not a photographer nor do I want to be. There are enough pseudo photographic artistes out there anyway, taking pictures of their shoes and feet and calling it "unique." See? I'm more of a poet, and I know it.
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Moving along then, I'm quite happy not attempting to be a photographer, so new task. It kind of goes in with Task 17, working with my mom and our company, Borusan's, Arts and Culture Foundation to create a concept to display at the newly opened Music House.

I've already begun that.

The Music House is a house (yes thank you captain obvious) that works to promote music and art in Turkey, you can look it up online! Shameless family promotion. We recently had an art exhibit for emerging young artists in Turkey and there have been quite a few performances there already like the Borusan Chamber Quartet and Kerem Gorsev, a jazz musician. I missed the opening because I was still under the delusion I was going to LA and had returned to Boston at the time, but I watched the DVD and it was amazing. It completely set the tone for this huge undertaking. You know, being the go-to people when it comes to arts and culture in Turkey. First we start at home, then we take over the world. Anyway, we had re-known DJ and Sufi Mercan Dede along with the Quartet play music while a male and female dervish danced the sema and artist Carlito Dalceggio painted on a huge canvass. I met Carlito and Mercan Dede before I left and they were truly some of the most kind and inspirational people I've had the joy of talking to. They're basically on another plane because they get so lost in their art. It's hippie-dippie crap but none of the kind that makes me roll my eyes. You can tell they have talent and that they're humble about it, but you also want to match them, creativity to creativity. Here are links to their websites and some pictures from that night.

http://www.mercandede.com/EN/
http://www.carlitodalceggio.com/






It quite clearly was an unforgettable night and my family, though our name is already sort ofrecognized here, is now at the forefront of innovation in the arts. We could've have been prouder of my mom who heads the department. As well as the entire Borusan Art and Culture staff whom I love and spend more time with when I'm home than anyone else.

So it's been a good year for my family work-wise. We also had a concert conducted by a really well-known Turkish comedian, Cem Yilmaz, to raise money to provide scholarships to talented musicians who want to further their craft abroad. We've held this concert every year for the past four years but because Cem Yilmaz is so beloved, this year's concert created sort of an uproar. Instead of one, we raised enough money to sponsor 5 people and the entire night got written about and reported in every major news outlet. I would love to be a part of my family's growing projects and endeavors and I want to be able to do so in the future but based on my own innovation and creativity, not because I'm someone's granddaughter. Like A Muse is also my first steps into doing something I could be good at, writing and making stuff happen from the writing therein.

I was asked to come up with a new concept to put on in the Music House. My taste is, as you might know, not quite on par with everyone else's (I mean, I can match any of their classical music knowledge too. Ahem, I did take History of Classical Music in college and minored in Music. I also threw a fit when they changed said minor to Music Appreciation rather than plain Music therefore making it sound about as useful as a philosophy degree. Not that I don't appreciate music but nevertheless, the resume reads a minor in music, period. ) so it could be an interesting project. I thought of a few pieces that could happen relating to metal and to my delight some people at the office seemed to respond really positively. That's when I re-imagined Task 7. Instead of photographing Istanbul's music, I could contribute to it. Plus, Heavy Metal Istanbul would've probably ended up as five pictures of the one metal bar in town, a couple long-haired dudes walking about in Slayer shirts, and angry men in the midst of breaking my camera because I was photographing the black market metal t-shirt shops.

Along with the art pieces I thought up I needed something directly music related as it is the MUSIC House. So I thought of bands I could contact and maybe convince to play for a fee. The building is not equipped to deal with a full-out metal show, but maybe a different re-imagining of the chosen band's songs? And maybe showcase a local band too like an opening act? I used my old music-writing contacts to get in touch with a couple managers and sent off my emails to the world. Including my current favorite band, Hardcore Superstar. I interviewed their drummer so I still had their manager's email and he was kind enough to forward me to their European contact. I wrote my typical flowery email, beseeching them and sucking up like there was no tomorrow. But I might add, sucking up sincerely because I am a fan and man alive, I want to meet them and have them here working with me! They're so good. Oh my God. So. Good.

But, it's been a couple weeks and still no response. I'm going to try again soon because I think this could be a great project. We could even print up t-shirts and have them for the people coming to see like at a concert! And have an Iron Maiden retrospective in a corner with all my stuff! Heh, I wish we could get them buuuut I doubt we have the budget.

Now if they'd hurry up and respond, I can sign off on this task. Until then, I'll just sit here, in the Borusan BMW lot and listen to the orchestra rehearse Mahler. It's kind of peaceful having a 100+ person orchestra play as I type. God, that sounded spoiled, I'm going to go do my internship reading and coverage for which I work too hard and receive no pay. That'll bring me back down to Earth.