Then Peace Will Guide the Planets, And Love Will Steer the Stars

It's been a bit since I wrote anything in here and I think I'm slowly losing interest. But no worries, I'll get back in the habit soon enough. Happy one year (and 18 days) to Like A Muse, though. It was exactly a year ago (and 18 days) when I wrote that first entry all freaked out and angry. Happy to say I am not very freaked out or angry right now. Which might be why I'm not writing. I have, however, been recently hired by a national women's website as part of the Boston crew. So once a week or so I will be writing random articles about stuff that's going on in Boston for www.askmissa.com. It can be everything from shows to fashion to movies to restaurants so I think I'll have fun with it. My first piece is all ready to go about the Brattle Theatre in Cambridge and it's Valentine's Day special showings of Casablanca. That was where I first saw the movie too, and I was secretly really excited at the time. When I was younger I used to read a book series about a girl named Anastasia Krupnik by Lois Lowry, and she lived in Cambridge and she would always go to showings of Casablanca at the Brattle with her best friend. In fact, her best friend went with someone else in one book and they had a huge fight and it was this whole dramatic exchange because it was with a boy that Anastasia liked, but didn't want to admit it because he was kind of a dork and carried a briefcase everywhere he went, and her friend couldn't understand what the big deal was. Okay yes, I'm a nerd but if you use the bathroom at the Brattle, there's graffiti in one of the stalls that refers to Anastasia so, I'm not the only one.

I'm also still writing for MetalSucks (wrote yet another theme piece about V-Day for it but mom, don't read it. It's about inappropriate heavy metal sex songs and not suitable for parents) and I'm probably going to start working at Angell Memorial. It's an animal hospital near Northeastern that has an adoption center and they've been looking for people to help out. Me + kitties? God, it's going to be the best thing ever.

On a weird and kind of un-me note, I went to an astrologer. He wasn't the usual tarot-card, read-your-palm man (they freak me out. No, I do not want to know when I'm going to die because then I'll spend the rest of my life obsessing over it. You, fortune teller, have therein ruined my life). Gahl Sasson is a spiritual teacher and deals with Kabbalah and astrology and I know a lot of people scoff at all that, but hey, I place so much faith in the universe, why not try out someone who deals with deciphering it? Besides, Madonna does Kabbalah and if I'm to be true to this blog/project, well, I should give it a shot. I went with my sister and we sat with the guy for almost two hours. He's very strange when you first meet him. You don't get any energy from him, good or bad. He's just blank. I'm pretty intuitive (which is why I judge people a bit harshly because I make up my mind about them within the first few minutes of meeting them) and I just couldn't get a reading off the man. Which he probably does on purpose, voodoo baldy that he is. No, I'm kidding he's actually really friendly, we talked a bit once our sessions were over.

To be honest, I don't place a lot of importance, or any, on planet alignment or any of that crap. When he was going on about the moon being the seventh house or the position of Jupiter in relation to my Virgo-ness blah blah blah, all I was doing was singing, "The Age of Aquarius," in my head and trying not to crack up. It's the personality stuff that matters to me. And he was pretty on-target with everything he said. Like, I need to have a tidy, peaceful environment or I'll freak out and can't get anything done. Well, I do clean the house and make my bed and get dressed as soon as I wake up otherwise I feel like I'm wasting the day in filth. He also called me a nun with great style. I'm a Queen Elizabeth figure, apparently, since we're both, "double Virgos." If you're reading this and looking completely blank, don't worry. I literally went, "Huh?' when he said that. It means I let no one, especially men, control me and I'm independent and grounded yet I love luxury, like the Virgin Queen. He was quick to add, "No, no doesn't mean she didn't have sex! She had lots of it! She just never took a man's name or one to rule with her!" Fair enough. Hah, that was also one of the few times he broke his sedate character to hastily explain himself. Guys, I need to be surrounded by luxury to feed my creativity. Buy me stuff. Anyone that sees him also has the opportunity to ask about whomever they want. You just have to give the time, date, and place of birth. My sister and I asked about our parents and then I couldn't resist, I timidly asked what his crazy astrology computer (he puts all the information into this program and it spits out everything and he explains it to whomever he's "reading,") said about my cat. I'm crazy okay? We know this. But he said my favorite thing; my cat and I have karma. She found me and if she ever leaves me, she will always find a way to get back to me, even in death. My little Egglet. I loves her.

Of course, I asked about writing stuff but let's just see how this year goes before I reveal anything and see if comes true. 2011 is the year of new beginnings, astrologically-speaking, and I do have hopes for it. He records every session and my sister and I both have CDs with our readings but meh, I don't need to hear it again. He named certan dates that were "good," or, "bad," but I don't remember them nor do I want to. His whole job may be based on the way the universe was on the specific times people were born and I don't know, maybe there's something to it. But everyone makes their own life and their own choices and I don't think giant balls of burning gas really set our paths. This is what I whole-heartedly believe and I don't care if Mars humping Venus on the night of my birth means I must dance in the blood of 1000 virgins to successfully write a novel. There are probably thousands of others born on the same date and time I was and they're all living different lives than I am. It's not because of planet alignment either, no, it's because of their choices and environment and everything else that helps shape them to be who they are. But, it's still fun and I see no harm in believing in this, rather than say, religion.

Also, this is horribly un-metal but I saw Wicked and it's amazing. I love belting female vocals and the lady playing Elphaba gave me goosebumps all night long. Yeah, I like musicals shhh. I mean, I had the lead in one in high school. AND THE ASTROLOGER SAID I SHOULD'VE BEEN AN ACTRESS BUT THAT I HATED THE SPOTLIGHT SO I COMPROMISED WITH SCREENWRITING. Yeah, occasionally he hit on some freakily accurate stuff. The Mercury is strong in me.

Now let's see how far along I am with this blog project! Note: I allowed for some creative adaptation as the year went on.

(X) Task 1: Plan out the project.
(X) Task 2: Dress up and look like an asshole.
(X) Task 3: Sexy writings.
(X) Task 4: Audition for something, anything. Applied for writing gigs, got'em.
(X) Task 5: Start fashion fuckery; www.shesoffbeat.blogspot.com
(X) Task 6: "Like a prayer, I'll take you there."
(X) Task 7: Write my book; wrote first 80 pages, gave up, re-writing the whole thing.
(X) Task 8: Design Ayran Maiden Eddie. Attempted, sucked at photoshop, no one would help me.
(X) Task 9: Conquer Egglet and her claws. I did, kind of.
(X) Task 10: Teach myself Hindi. Replaced it with improving Turkish, have started reading more in my native tongue.
(X) Task 11: Get into a healthy exercise program.
(X) Task 12: Go back to India.
(X) Task 13: Learn to tie a sari. It was hilariously bad.
(X) Task 14: Watch 8 Miles High, the life of Uschi Obermaier (I'm watching it tonight so technically, done)
(X) Task 15: Have a "mod," day. Welp, had a period of straightening my hair and wearing just black and white...
(X) Task 16: Karaoke timez. I sang with my friends to Dio during RockBand. Totally counts.
(X) Task 17: Do something with Borusan Kultur and Sanat. The program may not have worked out but I did contribute music to another event and maybe something will come of it when I get back.
(X) Task 18: Horsey times. May not have ridden it but did spend time with my daddy and Lulu his other baby.
(X) Task 19: Write a new script. Got the idea and outline.
(X) Task 20: Edit existing scripts... um, I made notes on future edits? Okay, bad me.
(X) Task 21: Write a series of kids books about Egglet. I started her blog (Like A Mews) and I will continue that and eventually turn it into a book.
(X) Task 22: Be a nice person, i.e. volunteer. Loophole: don't have to help people! Yay animals!
(X) Task 23: Belly-danced like the Middle Eastern stripper I am.
(X) Task 24: Dressed up night on the town. Did it one better; went to a movie premiere.
(X) Task 25: Go to a gay bar! The Model in Boston kind of counts.
(X) Task 26: Madonna artwork for my new place to stay in the mind-set. It's hidden in my closet and is secretly awesome.
(X) Task 27: Read Anna Karenina and various other classics. I read some amazing books though Anna was a little too dreary.
(X) Task 28: Learn to drive.
(X) Task 29: DIY my metal shirts. Finish vest and get going on the new one.
(X) Task 30: Watch Drowned World and various other Madonna concert films. Just Sticky & Sweet left.
(X) Task 31-100 - Adopt air of Madonna; go forth confidently and stuff. I guess? I'm pretty confident. I got some of that self-esteem shit people talk about.

It's been a year and I've done everything I set out to do. Pretty much. Kind of? Sure, I did some tweaking and cheating but my project, my rules. I think it's a turning point now to slowly get out of the Madonna-ness I've had for the past year. It was fun and something to do when I was kind of down and it helped me stay sane, but everything must come to an eventual end. Bu da gecer. And thus, I declare the Like A Muse project over. Of course, I'm going to continue with stuff I started, especially writing-wise, and I will keep writing here, but I think it's time for the blog to be just a blog. I'm keeping the name though, it's pretty catchy.

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?

Brain Goes See-Saw

Turning a complete 180, I had a really nice second half of the week with my parents and boyfriend. My parents got here Wednesday and Elliot surprised me on Thursday (I walked into the apartment with my mom and noticed the TV was on and ventured into the living room to see someone sitting on my couch. I had a small heart attack as my brain tried to process this and try to figure out if I needed to find and snatch up my cat and protect her and my mom. But then it clicked and I realized it was Elliot) and we all got to spend some nice, relaxing time in the new apartment. My dad got to enjoy his tasty beers with Sopranos on the big-screen, my mom got do some winter shopping at Elie Tahari her "trademark," store, and Elliot and I partook in delicious food with them and fun times with our friends.

Friday night we took my parents to the North End because they never venture to our little Italian neighborhood. We ate at Assagio which is Elliot and my preferred restaurant there with coffee and dessert at Cafe Vittoria. Everyone flocks to Mike's Pastry because it's the famous dessert place there but I think it's overrated and not that good. Besides, I really don't like cannolis. Cafe Vittoria has a nice, old-timey feel to it with it's decor and furniture plus really good coffee. I had chocolate almond gelato with my capuccino (after angel-hair pasta with chicken and mushroom in Alfredo sauce with some really excellent wine because my dad can choose it well) and was pretty ready to just fall over from excess food. But we went off to our friend's house as is our Friday custom and had some silly TV watching time there. Afterwards, Elliot and most of the group headed out to a bar while I kept my friend who was sick, company. We watched a movie called Zombie Strippers. It was possibly the most hilariously terrible movie I've ever seen. I mean, the premise is pretty self-explanatory (it's about a strip club that has zombie strippers) but all these philosophical conudnrums and theories were thrown in there which made it so weird! The town was called Sartre, Nebraska, there was a Major Camus character and Jenna Jameson, yes the famous porn star (who, by the way, has the scariest fake boobs. They're so large and hang so low that they made my own modest chest ache), was reading Nietzsche at one point. It also had the unforgettable line, "Vaya con Ronnie James Dios," combining racism and metal in the most cringe-worthy way.

Elliot left today and my parents went back to New York for my sister on Saturday but tomorrow, I'm also going to New York for a couple days. My mom's still there (my dad had to go back home to Turkey) and my aunt and cousin who also goes to NYU will be there. I'll be back on Thursday in time to greet Elliot as he arrives Friday- yay! The shortest time we've been apart; four days! He's coming specifically for my birthday as he refused to be absent for it again and though he leaves on the day, Monday, I'll get him for most of the day and I'm sure I'll get some nice beer and movie times with my friends which is all I really want.

I'm starting my dance classes next week as well as a rigorous writing schedule, not to mention a few more interviews and pieces for MetalSucks. I'm going to keep stubbornly sending my resume out too. As we discussed on Friday night, "America is the only place where you can mold yourself and what your dreams are into something that pays off." I'm lucky to be in the position I am and I will start writing that damn book and my damn scripts and finish them and submit them to Gersh. Even if it is to get my boyfriend and parents and sister to shut up and stop bullying me about writing for now.

I've started takine some pictures of the new apartment so I'll post them as they come in. Here are some experimental shots as well as a bonus shot of my ohm tattoo just because I really like how my nail polish (Atomic Orange from OPI) mnatches my watch and contrasts with the purple. Some are blurry as I have shaky hands and don't really know how to use my camera still. Oh well, I have no deluded visions of myself as a photographer and I never have.



Oh, Egglet just walked into the room meowing with her ball in her mouth. Now she's looking at me expectantly. My cat is wonderful and requires my hugs. I love her so much. Elliot says I'm obsessed. I think it's just because she has the exact cat personality that would mesh the best with my owner personality; she needs love and hugs and attention all the time and I'm willing to give it. We make a good team.

Ganeshji at the entrance to my home.


My corridor with my collection of weird pictures and Turkish/Iranian/Egyptian-inspired art. The pictures are mostly from the vintage photo and picture shop I visit in Istanbul. I have plans to add more as I find them.



My bedroom with my glorious bed. The long blue fabric draped across is an Indian sari my mom and I found in a store in istanbul. The store no longer exists but it used to carry a lot of Indian-made items. The shimmery polka dot fabrics at the head and foot were found in the Covered Bazaar and were originally cut to hang as curtains/doors to my tiny closet in my first apartment in Boston. It was so small it didn't have a door, unlike my two other roommates' closets. I just folded them and hung them up on the bed as I still really like the fabric but don't have any use for it.


The steps lead up and out to a deck. I have a desk and chair in the corner as well as a dresser with my small TV directly across from the bed. It's so nice to have TV in my room again. I feel it makes it cozier though some might disagree. Egglet's basket is in the room too so she usually sleeps with me at night and naps while I hang out in the room during the day.


Yes, I now have a jewelry bookcase. Most of it is kitschy stuff I found in cheap little stores and on Istiklal street. There are some nicer things scattered about or stored carefully but the "real," real stuff that I would worry about is back home in Istanbul.



My closet.


Don't you love my hand-made AC/DC skirt above my AC/DC shoes?


It's so organized!


My first kitties, I even took them to college with me :)


The Madonna pop-art corner. I can't cut in a straight line to save my life so I used zig-zag shears and neon borders. They're still crooked and it annoys the OCD part of me but it looks good enough and I'm not in here that much anyway! Heh I have a Madonna corner as well as a Hello Kitty toaster... alongside Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, Misfits, and Megadeth framed prints.


My living room.


The back of my old couch. This is too short to be a sari but was also purchased in the same place as the blue sari above my bed.

We Could Be The Same

I couldn't sleep the other night so I watched a Golden Girls marathon on TV. All the ladies in my family basically love this show because of the characters and the fact that it's just a fun show about four very different, older women. Rose reminds is all of my grandmother because they both have the same sweet, kind of naive air. Anyway, the episodes I watched, for some reason, kept dealing with death and not being able to live life because the fear of death hovered too close for comfort.

Oi.

Dorothy said something about missing her mother already even though she was lying right there (Sophia was having gall bladder problems but they didn't know what was wrong with her and the paramedics couldn't get there so they were all sitting with her hoping she wasn't dying. Oi, again). It got me thinking about how truly short life is. Ten years might seem like a lot but in ten years I'll be 35, my sister will be 28, my mom will be 61, my grandmother will be in her 80s. It's not that far away and of course these thoughts made my throat close up and I sat there half laughing half crying because Golden Girls made me have a panic attack,

Living in Boston and in Istanbul is a curse and a blessing. I'm too far away from my family, the most important people in my life, and I'm so afraid of missing things I can't enjoy my time here, where work and friends are better options. Of course then I try to get to everything and end up missing the most important events. I missed my grandfather's documentary's premiere night which was really unfair. I'm not sure how unfair it really was but in my head it stands to reason and a corner of my mind will not let that go. I recently missed my cousin's birthday. Everyone surprised her with a special dinner and though I had to be here for the KISS show and seeing my Elliot and getting my apartment packed up, it still smarts a little.

Fearing death is just the bigger picture of all these little worries and regrets. I recently started re-reading Lamb. Christopher Moore is one of my favorite authors because he writes in such a funny, sarcastic, and weird tone. He creates bizarre characters as well as ones that are easy to identify with and always has an element of the supernatural, even spiritual, in his books. I hope to write a book much like his one day. Lamb is about the life of Jesus but through the eyes of his best friend Biff. Biff is never mentioned in the Bible so God brings him back to write a new Gospel, to fill in the blank years up until Jesus turned 30. In the story, they travel to Afghanistan and India and seek out the three wise men who teach both different spiritual beliefs in order to prepare Jesus (know as Joshua, Josh in the story) to become the Messiah and Biff to stand by him and help. It's so very fictional and yet, I'd like to believe it's real. One of the wise men tells Josh that all fear comes from the unknown, if you knew what was coming you wouldn't be afraid and that's true. So the biggest unknown is death and thus, my biggest fear. The book isn't preachy or overtly Christian or any other religion in the slightest. It's underlying message is basically, love everyone and it really humanizes a figure most have to remember that, in the end, was just another lost person who didn't know what was expected of him.

It's kind of a comfort to read it again, now and then.

I just wrote a piece about metal music and the metal scene in Turkey. We don't have much but we have the enthusiasm but I'm sure it'll be ripped to shreds once it comes out. Oh the internet. I wish the movers would get here. I've been waiting for the past 2 hours. I just want everything moved, set up, and settled with my pictures hanging up so I can breathe and maybe even sleep again.

I got two new owl rings. They wink at me from my fingers.

Lobgesang auf die feierliche Johannisloge

I have no idea what the title means, especially since Google translate is a joke; Paean to the solemn Johannisloge. Can you believe people actually trust it to translate from English to other languages and get the result tattooed on them?? Anyway, I figured a Mozart-related title would best befit our Salzburg, Austrian adventure.

The trip started at 5 am last Saturday morning. My family, a 100+ orchestra, along with our staff (the Borusan Art and Culture staff), various invited guests, and members of the press all checked in at the airport in Istanbul. We actually had to reserve/rent a whole plane to ourselves as well as a couple private planes and another that connected through Munich to get there. The occasion? The Borusan Istanbul Philharmonic Orchestra was invited to be part of the opening festivities for the Salzburg Music Festival, the most prestigious classical music festival in the world. Not to mention, the Austrian government was awarding my uncle Ahmet with the Austrian Cross of Honour for Science and Art because of his contributions to the respective fields. Our orchestra was to perform at the festival along with Fazil Say, a re-known Turkish pianist who was premiering his original composition Nirvana Burning.

When you put my family with a large group of friends and then expect us to travel, a million things can and do go wrong but it's also the most fun time ever. First off, my sister wore a blazer to the airport and though she looked stylish, Miami Vice became the running joke of the weekend between us and the head of the Borusan Music House who is also a friend of ours. Have I ever posted a picture of our Music House? It's right on Istiklal Caddesi:


Secondly, Fazil Say's, the pianist's, manager looked so much like Tom Petty that every time we saw him, which was all the time, my sister and I would keep a running commentary of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers' songs, i.e." So do you think he's "Learning to Fly?"" "Noo, he's "Free Falling."" "Well it's to be expected, it's his "Last Dance with Mary Jane,"" and so forth.

The plane ride there was pretty subdued since it was the crack of dawn and everyone was sleepy and rather nervous for the days ahead. Except for our family friend and CEO of Borusan, our company who would. Not. Stop. Talking. We love our Agah abi but sheesh. He doesn't have a soft voice to begin with and when you're sitting right behind him and trying to sleep it's like verbal sonic booms constantly exploding over your head. We managed to arrive and get through passport control with one orchestra member sneaking in a blanket he stole from Turkish Airlines. It was about 38 degrees Celsius in Istanbul and 18 degrees and pouring rain in Salzburg, so you can't blame the guy. Though, it was their crappier blankets, not the nice, soft, fleece ones that I smuggled off a previous flight. My kitty loves them. But of course, the one suitcase that didn't show up was our maestro's, our conductor Sascha Goetzel's. Of all people. His first job was to go shopping as soon as he got to the hotel. We weren't all staying at the same hotel; the orchestra was in one, the staff another, and us in another with Sascha and Fazil Say.

Anyway, we got through and as we emerged into the rain, a rather matronly lady in traditional Austrian garb was waiting to greet us. She snatched me and my sister away from my parents, dumped us in a car, and proclaimed she was ours for the day.

Umm.

As the car drove away, we looked back to see our parents getting loaded into another car. We must have looked pretty impressive, our train of dark cars gliding through Salzburg but at the time we were half wondering if we were getting kidnapped. The lady was under the impression she was going to take us sight-seeing and her demeanor pretty much made it clear that she was going to teach us about her city whether we liked it or not. Luckily, my parents dissuaded our "guides" of their notions, politely telling them we had been there before (fifteen years ago but shh). Our hotel was the Sacher Hotel and if you know anything about Austria it's that they're famous for their sweets, especially Sacher tortes. I'm not a fan, it's too rich for me, but my sister is and she was in diabetic coma wonderland since the hotel had tortest coming out of every orifice. Each room had complimentary large tortes along with mini-ones waiting to greet us and half the lobby was the most picturesque little cafe with Sacher tortes lined up everywhere. There was a big lunch organized for everyone but we didn't really want to go and as it turned out, neither did our famous piano man so he tagged along with my family and the five of us had wiener schnitzel and beer at the hotel because what else are you going to eat/drink there?

After a short nap (read: Mina and I passing out in our bed while watching German-dubbed 16 and Pregnant on German MTV), the rest of our cousins arrived and we had a nice little reunion in one of our bedrooms. We all met up with the rest of the family and guests/friends in the cigar room in the lobby, which we took over for the weekend, and indulged in tea and treats. One little cousin of mine was so hell-bent on Sacher torte she ate maybe 4 pieces and a couple mini ones throughout the weekend. We were taking bets on when she'd throw up but she never did. We have iron stomachs. That night there was a reception at the Turkish consulate but it's an open-air area and it was still gushing rain so everyone was huddling under makeshift tents. I chatted with Sacha's manager whose always been very sweet and kind to me and she introduced me to a friend who used to work in publishing. He and I had a nice conversation about books and publishing and I told him about the places I'd applied to and we bonded over our mutual love of Mad Men. He wished me luck and I hope he brings me some. Us cousins ran away early from the reception and went and had a nice dinner back at the hotel.

I keep saying cousins and aunts and uncles but I'm counting second cousins and their parents, who are technically my mom's cousins, but we're so close in my family that we don't make any distinctions. I mention this because most of the family was on the trip so I'm generally not referring to the same people. One "aunt" had her 60th birthday that weekend, so we had a makeshift birthday celebration in the hotel lounge after the reception. We sneakily stole a candle from the restaurant and bought a slice of torte from the cafe and walked into the lounge singing, "Happy Birthday." We spent the rest of the night sitting around just talking and having fun and enjoying each other's company. It was so reminiscent of the family cruises we used to take every year; everyone together somewhere foreign laughing at everyone that wasn't, "us," and just having a good time. I really miss those cruises and all I've wanted this summer was a chance to be with my family and I got that this weekend. One aunt couldn't make it though and we missed her but we did call her every two seconds.

Sunday was the day of the concert and it was kind of odd getting so dressed up and made up at 10 in the morning. I wore new platform heels that I had managed to find the day before leaving (I had a wardrobe crisis and ended up wearing my mom's dresses for both the reception and the concert but I didn't have shoes so the Friday before we left, my mom and I went on a hunt and found a pair, by pure luck, in the second store we looked at), and they were a good 5 inches and so surprisingly comfy. I pretty much loved towering above everyone else. We all headed to the concert hall and my cousin and her husband who live an hour away, just outside of Munich, drove in so they joined us there as well. My mom was nervous, she's the chairperson of the art and culture department and keeps a close eye on the orchestra and this was the first concert I'd ever seen her get nervous before. I can't blame her, it was a pretty big deal. Plus her big brother was getting a huge honor as well! It's such a milestone for not only us and our orchestra, but our country as well. Istanbul was named the 2010 Cultural Capital of Europe and I'm so proud that we could contribute to upholding this title. However, in the program, whomever wrote made sure to mention that though Istanbul was 2010's capital, Salzburg is the eternal cultural capital. You kind of have to laugh at how uppity some people can be. Personally, Salzburg, you're a quaint town with a rich history and though I have fond memories of you (the cousin who drove down got married there at the house where The Sound of Music was shot and I have vivid memories of my sister and I running around screeching because we were so bored because the grown-ups were enjoying a seven course meal and completely ignoring us), we could take you.

The concert itself was beautiful. They opened with, "Köçekçe," which is an old Turkish composition and my favorite piece they play. I accompany my mom to most of the concerts when I'm home and I've heard them perform this piece four times now and I never get sick of it. Fazil Say's original piece, "Nirvana Burning," premiered right after and it was such an interesting piece that kept dipping between sweet and whimsical to dark and vaguely threatening. A Mozart piece (of course) finished off the first half. After the intermission, my uncle was awarded the badge and of course all us cousins whooped and cheered in a most un-professional concert-goer way and took a lot of pictures. Two more pieces rounded out the concert and at the end both Fazil Say and our maestro Sascha recieved standing ovations. I get goosebumps thinking about now as I did seeing it then, but we got a standing ovation at the Salzburg Music Festival. These are Austrians, they never show emotion! But that might be unfair, Sascha is Austrian too and we definitely saw him tear up onstage because he was so overwhelmed. They got applauded so much that they went into an encore performance of "Köçekçe," with Sascha doing his best, conductor-with-ants-in-his-pants impression. He is so fun to watch. He's not stiff and unpersonable at all, he moves and smiles and shares in-jokes with the orchestra and it's just as much his performance as those playing the instruments'.

We had lunch and kind of all hung out again for the rest of the day. Most of us were returning early in the evening so we did a little walking around the town (the sun finally came out), had some more last-minute tortes and schnitzels and strudels and beer, and packed up to go home. It was a little bittersweet though. As one cousin mournfully put it, what are we going to do back home, we got used to being around each other after 48 hours straight.

The flight was a lot more relaxed now that we'd basically conquered Salzburg. The orchestra was chattier, happier, and deservedly proud of themselves. They always look to my mom when they're playing and she always secretly waves and smiles at them too, her surrogate kids, and even they had noticed she was nervous on their behalf but it all worked out. There were impromptu horns playing in the airport lounge and the entire flight was like a school trip coming home; so much shrieking and drinking and singing and laughing. Our stewardess had kind of a stick up her ass though. She didn't let one person use the bathroom since we were "landing." We were not. Then she turned off the lights to get people to shut up and sit down. It didn't work. My mom's two best friends had also come with us on the flight there and back and they were so silly, they seriously reminded me of seventh grade field trips with the stewardess as the default exasperated teacher. When she huffed around, they imperiously raised their hands and asked if they were allowed to sing. It was the weirdest, most fun flight I've been on in recent memory.

Not for my sister though. Her eyes had swelled up for no reason that weekend and she was kind of miserable. I bought her a little stuffed animal lemur at the airport because it had such a cute smiley face and the dark shading around its eyes made it look like it too was swollen. She didn't appreciate that detail but I think she liked the lemur. At one point the noise and confusion was just too much as she...started talking to the lemur.

We got back home around midnight, unpacked, re-packed and left at 9 in the morning to come to Bodrum in southern Turkey, where our family's summer home is. In the airport lounge we ran into a beloved, and really well-known Turkish comedian, Cem Yilmaz, who worked with our orchestra at one concert and my mom got to tell him about Salzburg and he said he wished he could work with us again. I hope it happens. They (we) are really making a name for themselves (ourselves) through the music and all the accomplishments and there are so many opportunities that lie ahead.


Now, my mom, sister, two cousins and uncle (and as of today, my dad) are all here in Bodrum. My grandparents had this house built so that we could all stay here together so there are rooms for everyone and we brought my cat along too and I'm enjoying my last few days in Turkey here. My grandparents arrive on Friday so I guess I'm getting my wish of family time, even though I got it in Salzburg. We're right by the sea and the days are spent swimming, playing games, watching movies. The other night everyone was doing their own thing but we were all together in the living room, including my Egglet who was sprawled on the floor, and my uncle was softly singing, "The Sound of Silence," and it was just one of those moments that made me appreciate how lucky I am, for being who I am and for having the family that I do.

The view from our front balcony.


Congratulations to the Borusan Istanbul Philharmonic Orchestra and to my family but as my uncle said in his acceptance speech, "This is only the beginning."

BIPO/BIFO

My uncle delivering his speech.

My mommy and uncle with his shiny new badge.

With Sascha Goetzel, our conductor.

Us!

My snazzy-lookin' mom and dad.

Impromptu airport concert.

The delightful staff.

Hot Little Summer Girl

I don't know why, but summer has always been the shittiest time of year for me. And yes I will swear.

When I was in school it was never the have-fun-with-your-friends extravaganza that American TV shows and films would have you believe because I went to an international school and in the summer, everyone would go back to their respective homes. Not in Turkey. My home was Turkey, so I'd of course be left all alone. I think it was in my last year of high school that I actually had people to hang out with in the summer because even my best friends would go visit family in various parts of the world.

Then in college, again I was in a different country. So while it seems that Americans tend to go to school near their homes (seriously, this confused the hell out of me. Not one of my friends was as close to their family as I was/am and yet the furthest they lived was 3 hours. By car. Okay, there were the token out-of-staters but still) I crossed an ocean every summer to go see my family. And subsequently sat at home for four months.

I used to go to summer camp in the Adirondacks when I was younger. I went five summers and yes I had a lot of fun. But looking back now, and thinking about myself then, it was sour probably a third of the time. Let's see, it was the first time I ever, sincerely, got called ugly. Superficial? Yes. Does it bother me? Yes. Does it bother me now? No, the kid was a little shit. Am I bitter? Well, I'm still thinking about it ten years later, what do you think?

My sort-of breakdown happened in the summer. As did my next one. Health problems, deaths, worries, all come swimming to the surface in the summer as if they know the sea is all right for entry, so they have to muck it up somehow.

I can remember one, just one, absolutely perfect summer in my 24, 25 in September, years. It was when I was 19 and was stuck in Boston for summer classes but ended up having so much fun for the 6 weeks I was there. Then, I was in Houston with my mom and sister and little cousin and we had so much fun there, albeit burning to a crisp every time we stepped foot outdoors.

I promised myself, I swore to the heavens, somewhat literally, that this summer would be great. No sadness, no badness, just radness if you'll allow me to be lame. Now, I thank the universe and God that this summer isn't a horrific mess. I am grateful that I have my family and my boyfriend will be coming soon, and we have nice days ahead.

But...

It's still summer. It's still clouded with uncertainty and blahness and don't even get me started on the heat. I can't stand heat. People might complain about warm weather and humidity but I hate it. I don't use the word hate, in fact I recently had a conversation about the word hate and how strong it is and how it shouldn't be tossed around carelessly because words are important. It is with complete certainty and absolute calm that I proclaim, I HATE SUMMER. I hate the hot weather, I hate the humidity, I hate the lack of energy and clothing choices it gives me, I hate not having anything to do, I hate being alone all the time, I hate that my options for not being alone involve me tagging along awkwardly with others, I hate leaving my family as will inevitably happen at the end of it, I hate it.

Summer sucks. That seasonal depression stuff is the exact opposite for me. Most people get it in the fall and winter when there's less sun, well you can take your sun and shove it where it don't shine because I like it that way. I don't appreciate people calling me a psycho for recoiling from it and from warm weather because personally, I think you're just kidding yourselves.

The only thing I like about summer is that I can swim in the sea. The sea is frigid cold.

I'd rather the salt burn my eyes than sit under the sun and burn myself any day. Tans are for people who want to look like beef jerky. I don't. I hate the atmosphere of summer by the sea. I hate the people, I hate the loud music, I hate the noise, I hate the cloying smell of perfume that fills the air. I'm talking in particular about Bodrum. Bodrum is in southern Turkey and my family has a summer home there. There are enough bedrooms to fit all 14 of us (on my mom's side) and guests and the cook and it's right by the sea; the garden leads down to it. It is glorious and I've been bitching at everyone to make plans to go there this summer too. But in the last few years hotels and clubs have popped up all around it. And thus we have the aforementioned list of hate. Let me give you an example of the sort of people that we have the joy of being surrounded by, every time we go. One particular plane ride down there, I was sitting next to this woman. She had ample cleavage she showed off with an unflattering top, a stupid large hat, dark sunglasses that she did not take off once, and every few minutes she would spritz herself with her cheap perfume. God, I hate cheap perfumes. They smell like plastic and sugar. She killed my sense of smell and I can only hope she didn't do permanent damage to my cat's. All she was missing was a cellphone glued to her head. Which she turned on as soon as we landed and started whining into it almost immediately. Behind me and in front were a group of men. They wore their trendy colorful shirts with the collars unbuttoned and had even more choking amounts of cologne on than the woman, and every so often would demand more drinks from the stewardess. They got so loud and so drunk on that 40 minute flight that it went past amusing to just kiro. Our version of a guido.

I don't hate these people. It's not their fault they're morons. I just hate their actions and that they believe this is what constitutes success and "coolness."

They're always present but in the summer, it seems like they get a license to multiply and assume the full-annoyance position.

I can't wait for my birthday in September. My birthday sucks beyond measure every year but it seems to act as the big finish. One final hurrah and from then on good can flourish again.

I Hate Everything About You

This post's crabbiness is brought to you by the '90s wonder that is Ugly Kid Joe's, "Everything About You." Did you know their name spoofs another one of my bands'; Pretty Boy Floyd. Fun facts are fun.

The subject of my annoyance today is etiquette. No, I am not a 90 year old woman sipping tea with my pinky finger sticking out. Nor am I a finishing school graduate because, let's face it, if I were I wouldn't swear so much in these posts. But I have a bone to pick with certain people and I assure you, manners are not subject to just the elderly or the fussy.

Texting, Blackberry messaging, emailing, cell phones, actual phones, and even regular mail, are all there for us to keep in contact. Not to mention, we have instant messaging, skyping, and God forbid we use this last, desperate measure; actually talking to people. These sources are all there so that we can remain part of what we see as the "civilized" world all the time. You can access the Internet on planes now because of those certain individuals whose precious lives are too important for them to turn off their cellphones for even the duration of a flight. I have no problem with any of these (except, come on jackass businessman, just switch. It. Off. It's not hard and I have enough paranoia about flying and dying without your added wireless interference. Believe me, most of you are probably so uptight, no one really misses your absence anyway so just hit that button and give everyone, including the phone and me, some peace) especially since I'm so averse to talking to people, I'd rather contact them via writing via any of the above sources rather than actually call them.

But when you have access to these controls, you have a responsibility to the people you surround yourself with. What, I ask you, what is the point of having ten thousand ways of staying in contact when you can't even bother to do the oh-so-hard task of pressing a button to either pick up or reply? What's the point of getting the latest in obnoxiously multi-functioning hardware when you don't USE it for the basic, simple function it was made in the first place; contact. Okay, it's understandable if not everyone picks up on the first ring. I'm by no means a cell phone saint as I more often forget to take it with me when I go out than not. And yes, some people are considerate and put their phones on vibrate so maybe while trying to appease the general world around them, they don't hear it. Sometimes it's even better to have a small, unnoticeable vibration rather than a squawking, high-pitched version of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles theme blasting until you finally find the phone, which will undoubtedly be in the last place you look; the pocket in bags which are designated for cell phones. However, guess what? Modern technology is so on top of their game, they have a solution for this! It's called the missed call. So even if you do, despite your best efforts, miss a certain someone getting in contact with you, there's evidence that it happened. This is where your responsibility comes into play. Return the call, you inconsiderate jerk.

My grandmother calls me fairly often when I'm in the States. Sometimes, since she has weird sleeping hours too, it comes pretty late and if I miss it, I don't call her back. Why? Because we have seven time zones between us and oh, I don't know maybe it would be better if she were sleeping at 5 am rather than fumbling around for a phone. But I call back the next day. I love my family and I am diligent about staying in touch with them. Not because I have to, but because I want to. Okay, some of us might be functioning on a different plane and not give a damn what the other is doing. That's their business but even then, if I call them or text them they owe it to me to write back. Yes they do, they owe me that much. It's the same with friends and work too. If someone goes out of their way to do something for you, because face it, contact is as much for you as for those who're trying to contact you, you owe it to them to speak up or provide something in return. This is how society works. These are just the simple, unspoken rules you should know and abide by and if you don't want to, well there's the door. Don't expect anyone to do anything for you when you cut yourself off, seal yourself from the world and from the simple human need to know how their loved ones are doing.

I think emails are the bane of my "work" life. So to speak, as I don't have much of one. Everything that I've had to do outside work for, either paying or non-paying, has been through email. I've had one in-person interview and about 4 over the phone and the rest have all been through emails. Which brings me to my current pickle. Emails are possibly the quickest, easiest, and laziest way you can contact someone. They're supposed to be a relief but noooo. Apparently, even that is too hard for the modern, working person. I've had to figure out, on my own, at least three times when people no longer needed my services when they just stopped emailing me. Hey, you know how you could've avoided all those politely professonal, and one actually concerned for the well-being of the party involved, emails? By WRITING BACK. Say no, say go away, hell, say fuck off we don't want you or like you. Too long? Too much effort? Write BYE as the subject heading and be done with it! There is no need to drag something out and play games with someone's mind and hopes (especially mine because I am a delicate flower) when you can spend literally 15 seconds or less to cut them off.

I admit, I have days when I don't want to talk to someone. Or see them. So I avoid things. But I don't let that go for more than a day or two as it is rude. I was raised better than that and I have trouble believing people older than I am weren't. Okay, so if you're my age or younger shame on your parents true, but shame on you too. It's common courtesy to return a call, to inquire how someone is, to check in with family, to answer a question. Couldn't you have figured that out without being taught manners and courtesy? I'm not asking you to get your elbows off the table or to open the car door for a lady, it's replying and using the many available methods you have at your disposal to simply hold up your end of the contact contract. You're human, you should know this. I'm not asking for a lot here, am I? It's not like I'm getting mad at my cat for not sending me a thank you card every time I get her food, I'm just requesting a place that's looking for work to reply back when I'm actually willing to provide them with what they requested. Do you even consider how unprofessional that makes you look?

Putting aside the business and professional side of this, what about the people you know? Friends and family? "I'm bad at staying in contact," just doesn't fly anymore. It's one thing if you don't want to do it. Fine. I accept that. I don't either. We don't have to, "stay in touch," and just see each other when we do. That's absolutely fine, some people or relationships, just function that way. My best friends and I see each other twice a year, at most and we talk to each other every few weeks or so. But hey, guess what? When I text them something that requires a response or vice versa, we follow through! Why? No, not because we're friends, it's SIMPLE HUMAN DECENCY TO BE POLITE AND TO RETURN A CALL OR A MESSAGE WHEN SOMEONE IS ACTIVELY SEEKING YOU OUT AND CAN'T REACH YOU. Your super-cool, does-everything phone means jackshit to me if you can't use it properly, in terms of replying to something or confirming something or just reassuring me that you're still alive.

I'm going to sit here and fume until you write back, certain place I've applied to. And if you don't within a week I will be going CAPS LOCK ON YOUR ASS. No, I won't but it's nice to dream.

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).