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Ankara, Turkey
I'm just a sociologist astonished by the marvelous sense of humor of the universe! So, why not be a bad hat?

Sunday, January 6, 2013

painted over melancholia

This was on my wall. It had also a sort of hand made frame. Both the writing and the frame was the artistic products of Pi's procrastination. She did this while we were studying for the final exam of Social Mobility. Still it can make me feel sick to remember that night as I had another final exam at the same date and could not sleep for more than three days.

A sunny but dry-cold sunday morning... I woke up before the sun rose and then realized "I'm home, slept in my room but on a new bed, bigger and wider than that of the teenage years of mine". Now, it's unusual that a tune is coming from downstairs, from the saloon. My parents have never been a fan of any kind of music and never heard they listened particularly anything at home. They've had got cassette (Tracy Chapman, Tanita Tikaram, Bob Dylan, Sezen Aksu, Zülfü Livaneli, and Carl Orff's Carmina Burana) in our car but never at home. It is now strange to me to hear my mother listening Turkish Classical Music this morning. It's coming from the TV though. And I do not have a fucking clue about who is singing.

my door
Home has changed a lot and I was barely at home in the last five years. My parents got recently divorced, at the beginning of the 2011. I was in Germany then and when I came back, I found three detached 'individuals' from each other. Then father married a younger woman, mother got mad, weakened and lost 20 kg, and brother was trying too hard to attach himself to an imaginary family again. On the background, so called 'Arab Spring' was rising, Mubarak was down and the next would be Gaddafi; and everyday someone from opposition in Turkey (mainly journalists and writers) was getting arrested and charged with being a member of a terrorist organization, police brutality was increasing - it has never decreased before though -, Kurds, leftists, political liberals, and republicans were on the target and still they are. I was only watching and trying to adjust myself to all of these changes, which happened during my absence, and which was happening in my presence, at the same time. Without digesting the "what happened" yet, I was trying to swallow the "what the fuck is happening now". Above all, I was supposed to finish my MA thesis on the edge of this burn-out. Spending two years in Germany, a relatively politically stable country, and having relatively drama-free personal life in there, returning 'home' which was not there anymore was kinda painful.

The house was in mess as well. Walls needed to get painted;  floors, kitchen, bathrooms, windows... everything needed for renovation. Along with my mother, the entire house seemed to me in a deep melancholy, stood hardly up and unable to move on. I think I ignored them both and moved to Istanbul, then was in Van as a volunteer after the earthquake, then back and forward between Istanbul and Ankara. Found a job in Ankara and moved back to my mother's house which is one hour away from the office. Hilarious, indeed.

When I was first back from Berlin, I faced with my old room filled a lot of books which do not belong to me and there were no room for my own books. The walls remained as they were, except a picture removed. My whole teenage period was drawn on my walls - like my first nude drawings, anarchy signs, notes written by my friends who came to sleep over... I was so far away from that girl... and this was not a new thing that I stayed away from home. I did not spend so much time at home when I was in college which is also in Ankara. I was staying mostly at friends' places. No need for a deep analysis, I was running away from that conflictual environment where my parents pretended like a family. I did not witness any physical violence or any curses to each other but trying hard to stay together was exhausting enough for them. The same disputes every morning, like a frozen-clock ticking only between the same two seconds...

I don't remember when they exactly became such a miserable couple but I remember well the times when we were a really happy and exemplary family; or, I was just a child and not aware of the lack of love between them. Still, I can not imagine a family, a husband... Becoming a family or getting married seem to me like the end of the world, like a door opening through the misery. 40 year-old-friendship was their marriage, and ended up like the one of teenage-lovers.

After two years from the divorce, finally, the house got renovated, which was another painful process for me as I have to go to work everyday and there was physically no house for a long time to stay. I found shelter under the roof of my brother's girlfriend. The day before my room got painted, I saw the posters and drawings were taken off my walls, and quotations and some notes with dates appeared under them. I totally forgot that I wrote the quotation from J. Wilkes on my wall. I saw the giant drawing of a tree which was not even covered but I was not aware of its presence. Similarly, the rasta man I painted next to it. Anarchy signs on my door and walls... all appeared like old friends visiting to say farewell to me. After painting, all are gone, only the quotation from Wilkes remained. My brother and mother told me that the painters painted over and over again but it kept popping up under all whiteness. I found it a little enchanted as this quotation was so peculiar to that 'saucy' girl I was and now is the only remnant of her. And it can't be painted over.

A week ago, when I'm back from New York, I found my furnitures rearranged, as proper for an adult woman not for a teenage girl. There is a mirror in my room now - this was one of my bizarre rules that I have never let a big mirror in the room for years. I have a big bed and a toilette table. All these changes freaked me out first because it appears to me that this means a long-term residence in this house. All I wanted for years regarding my room was done just before I am about to leave again. I still did not unpacked properly and still feel like a stranger, a guest in this house. Another first world problem: I have a well-furnished room but I can't feel comfortable just because I don't feel that I belong to there. Maybe I should better just shut up and enjoy it till the day I leave.

friends' drawings and notes

friends' drawings and notes

friends' drawings and notes 

I dreamed about that I would marry this man when I was a little girl. I had found it in an issue of National Geographic. One of the articles was about Kelebekler Vadisi. It is a valley in Southern Turkey, and sailing was the only way to get there back then. It was  full of the damn hippies at that time and is now full of god damn hipsters. His name is Fatih, was living on that Valley, and saying "I've got food and wine here, don't need anything more." Yeah, damn hippies!


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