Posts Tagged ‘life’

What a Fatherless World

Posted: September 3, 2017 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , ,

It is the night before Eid. People post about it, talk about it, how it brings solidarity or how it should bring etc… aaand there is this song sang by two girls in Brussel as part of International Festival of Language and Culture’ 2017 festival.

 

Ben yoruldum hayat gelme üstüme,

Diz çöktüm dünyanın namert yüzüne,

Gözümden gönlümden düşen düşene,

Bu öksüz başıma göz dağı verme.

 

Je suis épuisé la vie, ne viens pas sur moi,

Je me suis agenouillé face à ce monde lâche,

Dans mes yeux, dans mon cœur tombé tombant,

N’intimide pas mon innocence.

 

It hurts yet something forces me to listen again and I do…it hurts again and I promise myself not to listen to it again and it ends…a brief release and I struggle with myself in seven long seconds…once more, once more, begs me my inner voice and I hit the play button once more…I listen it hurts a little deeper especially when the black girl sings it so soulfully and so painfully…her heart cries and I hear…and it finishes…okay I say this is it…I must cheer up it is the Eid night…but the black girl still cries in my heart and I feel urge the urge of sharing the song and I do…I send it to someone who hides his heart and plays smart…and he is too far from where I am…and the song travels to Switzerland in matter of seconds through whatsapp…and there is this painful silence which dies to bring back the song to my mind and it does…and I start listening to it again…wait impatiently for the black girl to cry her heart out and touch mine and she does…but something is different this time…I begin listening to it through the ear and heart of my friend and imagine whether he would feel the soul of the song like I do or not…since it is after midnight I get no reply from him…maybe tomorrow I say as the song ends…

 

I see the piece of paper my neighbour sent me the other day when my stomach refused to take all that nonsense which my mind accepted to tolerate. It aggressively forced me to throw out everything even a glass of water not only through my mouth but also my nose for two long days…yes I knew that it was a psychosomatic reaction and I did not want to remember it, but this piece of paper and the number on it…it came from the man with a white hat…he wanted to help…and I have not called or texted him yet…

 

I hold it, register it on my phone…and then he appears on the screen and I hear the black girl again…and the last expression on the face of my friend who had to go to Switzerland…the man with white, the black girl and my friend…they all become a part of the same story in that song and I listen to it again.

fatherless girl

 

Ben yanıldım hayat vurma yüzüme

Yol verdim sevdanın en delisine,

O yüzden ömrümden giden gidene,

Şu yalnız başımı eğdirme benim.

 

J’avais tort la vie, ne le jette pas contre moi

J’ai donné chemin à l’amour le plus fou,

C’est pourquoi de ma vie parti partant,

Ne me fais pas baisser la tête.

Loss…defeat…regret…loneliness…humanness…and life…the song is about everything that is painful about being a human…and that hurts human beings. I decide to call him in the morning and I sleep with the voice of the black girl echoing in my heart…

 

I wake up and it is Eid. I greet the sun with grace before my mind turns itself on and continues from where I left it last night. I drink water and put the kettle on to make a cup of coffee. I drink it as I design a post for the quote of the day…if the projection is true, I say and stop…then why do people happily own compliments and personalize them so quickly, I ask…will anyone reply…I don’t really care, I let them project and I project…

 

I text to the man with a white hat to say how kind of him to send his number upon hearing my gastroenterological ordeal which was actually psychosomatic explosion of my whole year.He immediately texts back to say how nice it is to hear from me on a beautiful Eid day. He sounds desperately lonely and hungry for sincere human connection.I can hear screams of his heart in his messages…he almost sounds like the black girl in that song and I cannot bear anymore…I invite him to my place…I ask him to share half of the first day of the Eid with me…and he happily and expectedly accepts it.

 

I have a look at my novel’s murder scene again…It is good but my hero still seems passive…I wonder how I managed to make the villain look like a hero…my friend texts back from Switzerland and celebrates my Eid. He does not sound like so cold but still distant…I know he did not feel the song…how could he…he is too lucky to have an empathy for someone’s loss or defeat…so I stop listening to the song through his ears and heart yet he is still attached to it but not to voice of the black girl this time…he is attached to the cold girl with little or no wound in her soul who sings with the black girl. I look out of the window…it is a sunny yet cool day…I feel ready to walk out of my home and I do…

 

I want to buy a really good desert for the man with white hat and I do…I feel the peace and joy everywhere I look somehow…strange I say to myself…why do I feel so happy…because of the man with white hat…what is so special about him for God’s sake…how and when did I put him in such a great place…yes I did see him many times, he just lives in the opposite block on the floor five…he looked broken, kind, reserved and strong despite his old age and that is fine…but that cannot be the reason why I almost feel thrilled, I say to myself as I walk around the shopping mall. I buy him a big cup that is as white as his hat and many other things to eat for a week…I return home, put everything in the fridge, tidy the house like I have never done before…no I don’t worry about what he would think about me or my house but I still want him to be comfortable. And he knocks the door all in whites.

 

He is wearing white t-shirt, white trousers but not white hat to my surprise this time. He walks in with a big smile. He is wearing big black rimmed glasses and he has a beard in French style just like the little blue scarf around his olive skinned old neck. It matches with is blue sandals and I like it. He kisses me and it does not feel strange straight after walking in.

 

“Hey, so nice to see you,” I say after feeling his soul and smile. I know he is as excited as me but of course I don’t know his reason just like I don’t know mine. I offer him a place to sit and he sits on the white sofa. He has a small plastic bag in his hand. He opens it and takes out a packet of white chocolate…I don’t like white chocolate but I pretend to love it and thank him in the sincerest tone of my voice…and I smile. He smiles back and I can see he also studies me behind his big glasses. I can hear voice of the black girl echoing in my heart again but I try to ignore her.

 

“What would you like to drink,” I ask him. He takes a tiny little jar out of his small bag this time and holds it in the air.

 

“This is the tea I always drink, it is combination of many herbs,” says he and hands it to me. I find it rude but I still smile as I walk towards the kitchen.

 

I put the kettle on and walk back to him. I sit next to him, I cannot sense any sign of danger or he hides it well, I am not so sure. He has so many lines around his small eyes which happily smile despite his pain that speaks to mine.

 

“I had a major operation two weeks ago,” says he and looks at me. I know he needed compassion two weeks ago and I know he still needs it… and I give him with no word.

 

“My doctor friend told me not to have it due to high risk of death but I had it,” says he and smiles again. “Actually I unpacked my hospital bag when he said the night before the operation but I re-packed it in the morning and went to the hospital,” said he and stops.

 

“I wish I knew you back then…I would have go with you…stayed with you in the hospital,” I say. He looks at me…he feels my heart but cannot speak.

 

“It is okay…I said to doctors before the operation that they should kill me if they know that they disabled me somehow…because they said that there was a high risk of losing my legs if I survived,” he says and smiles again. I can see he still cannot believe that he is alive.

 

“Unbelievable, isn’t it,” I ask. He laughs.

“Yes…was unable to sleep, my leg was always in pain…now I sleep and wake up…nothing happens and I laugh…I sleep again to see what happens…nothing happens and I laugh…I laugh nonstop,” says he and laughs.

 

I go to kitchen and bring him his tea with the desert I bought for him specifically. He likes the fact that I have made some preparation for him. He takes it, I bring my plate of desert and tea and sit next to him. Strange I am wearing white shirt, too, I realize suddenly.

 

“I stayed in Switzerland for thirty-seven years,” he says as he feels close to death. I wonder what really brought him back to such a chaotic country like this one but I don’t ask not to hurt him. I know how it feels to hear that question.

 

“Yes, I met many people who divorced their partners for no reason but just to go back to where they were born and die there,” I say instead but I realize that that was even worse than an offense. But he jumps to that and agrees with me. I become unsure of his honesty. I begin to believe that there is certainly another reason but let him continue…

 

He checks his phone and says:

“My son from Switzerland…he celebrates my Eid.” And he shows his picture. I don’t tell him that I know him, I tell him how handsome his son is instead. And his picture appears in my mind, my heart gets warm in the sweetest way after seeing his breath taking, sublime God given look. And I resent God for not giving the same beauty everyone equally. His father hears my heart and explains. He tells me about his son. How handsome, how fortunate, how free yet how idiot he is. He tells me how he was fined because of raping two girls in one night.

 

“Well he is lucky that he was not jailed,” I say from the standpoint of a man as I have no choice other than that.

 

“Yes…but he had to pay one hundred thousand dollars not to be jailed,” he says. I begin to see why he did not listen to the song I sent him.

 

“God,” I quietly exclaim instead.

 

“I mean he did not force those girls to go to his house, they went because they wanted to,” says he. Well they must have thought that your son was a decent man not a rapist, I thin and what kind of decent man can pull two girls from the bar and sleep with them in the same bed, asks my mind until I utter a word as a response.

 

“Hmm,” I say and try to understand whether he is also a rapist like his son. Was it his dark side that made me curious about him, I wonder as he says:

 

Well…anyway…even that did not stop him tiny bit…he would sleep with 24 girls in 24 hours if he could…he is addicted to women.”

 

“Or sex,” I say.

 

“Both,” he replies but I can see how much he loves his son despite all that as he tells all that with pride in a playful manner. And I understand that he is not really fully matured man despite his old age. That does not surprise me at all…power of manhood corrupts little men and that is okay, I say to myself as I ache in silence again.

 

He shows me his daughter’s picture and his grandkids without any strong sign of emotional connection.

 

“Your wife must be very beautiful,” I say as all his kids are amazingly beautiful and his grandkids.

 

“She was and she was a very good woman but she died,” says he and I know he lies. Only a month ago, his son told me that she was alive. And I wonder what kind of hell I have inside to be curious about such a man with white hat.

 

“Oh I am sorry to hear that,” I say to make him believe that I am some kind of idiot. He relaxes and talks about his job, his ex-lovers and how finds it hard to live here sometimes. I listen and it gets dark outside. I turn the lights on although I love it a little dark. He jumps and says he loves it dark, too but I am no longer sure whether that could be true. He says how much he enjoyed his time with me and cannot go back his lonely home.

 

“It is okay, you don’t have to go just now,” I say as I draw the curtains with the same painful notes in my ears. He stays, despite finding it hard to sit due to his recent disk operation. He has something more to say, I know. He is in pain to say it.

 

“I am actually looking for a woman to share rest of my life with,” says he.

“I am sure you will eventually find one,” I say to him. He looks upset but he hides it. He wished to bring his youth back first and then he made himself believe that he could still try his luck but maybe not so soon, I hear his internal dialogue.

 

He stands up.

 

“I think I better go now,” says he.

“As you wish…thanks for coming,” I say and stand up, too.

He hugs me this time, his expectations look more alive in his eyes. I close the door after he walks out. I look at where he sat, I feel what he has left behind. I feel sad. And I wonder why I wanted to meet him so much. I resent life for not giving me a father like the man with white hat who loved even crimes of his son.

 

I open the window to let what he has left behind out. And I play the same song…the black girl cries I cry…she sings and cries…I listen and cry…what a fatherless world, I whisper as the man with white hat appears in the garden and his lucky son in my mind…

 

Ben pişmanım hayat sorguya çekme,

Dilersen infaz et kar etmez dilime,

Sözlerim ağırdır dokunur kalbe,

Şu suskun ağzımı açtırma benim.

 

e regrette la vie, ne m’interroge pas

Exécute si tu le souhaites, mais je ne dirai rien

Tes mots sont blessants, ça touche le cœur

Ne fais pas parler cette bouche silencieuse

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Dawn is breaking here. Here where I still feel like an outsider. Hence I am never here. Where am I? Sometimes sitting right beside you watching you waking up next to someone else, loving your dreams in her, loving yourself in her, searching deeper meaning of life in your togetherness…but why is there still shadow of worry in the corner of your blue eyes, I whisper in your ears. You walk to bathroom and look into mirror.

“Everything is fine,” you say to the man in the mirror, trying to avoid his fears and invisible tears. You walk into the little cubicle to have a shower. Water cools you and I touch you softly with my deepest love.

“God, water is the best miracle,” you say as you walk out without seeing me there.

love letter

You feel nervous all of a sudden as you dry your body because you remember that you left your mobile in the bedroom. Do you cheat on her…yes you do…some part of you is still not satisfied…I wonder what can fill that void of yours because I know it is not who…no one can handle that task. You go out and take your phone without disturbing her. You wonder whether she checked your phone and you look at her with a subtle anger…you know it is not her it is you…you are angry with yourself but you never admit that. You dress up, wear your perfume…everything looks perfect on you until you push them all into the shadow of your pride.

She wakes up, you wear your manly smile that is broken with your pride. You don’t want her to know what power she has over you…you don’t want her to know that she has something you desperately need…you keep telling her “I love you darling,” but she knows how much you mean it and how much you don’t. She smiles and gets out of bed. And this invisible distance becomes apparent to her all of a sudden…you cause it to expand…she feels it but she lies to herself as it confuses her. Why do you still do that to women who come to you wholeheartedly…are you scared of being left alone again…don’t be…not everyone is a mad truth seeker like me…not everyone is in existential crisis like I was when I was with you…not everyone is crushed by dishonesty early in life like and developed some trust issue I had…yes I did not tell you about it, did I…because you assumed that I had never had a wound in my entire life…you never asked…you either could not stand to see me bleeding in words or maybe you really did not care…or maybe all you cared about was to have a beautiful and smart woman standing next to you…you were so excited to impregnate me…lock me in your house with your kids thinking that that was what I really wanted…but it was not…I did not come to this world to bear your kids and spend rest of my life bringing them up just to be rarely appreciated…I have learnt how to appreciate myself, thank you very much…no that was not the life I had in my mind but you never asked…your dream was supposed to be mine…and I was gone while still standing there, staring at you.

love letter

 

“Love you, too,” says she shallowly as you walk down on the stairs. She does not walk you to the door. You secretly resent but don’t tell a word…why would you…that would be too weak…you walk out leaving so many tests for her to reveal her real self…you did that for me , too…I mean what the heck was that for…why did you not talk…did you think everyone was a liar like you were…yes that was it, wasn’t it…but every test you left behind was a proof of who you actually were…don’t do that to her…she might walk away, too, one day.

You get in your car and drive…I am sitting next to you…you vaguely see a butterfly on your left side…you look for no apparent reason and see the empty seat in the middle of enjoying infinite freedom roads generate within you like they used to do…you cannot see anything but you hear a vague voice and look again…you feel drawn and you eventually touch the seat…

buuterfly

“Bloody weird,” you say to yourself and turn up the music. I can fuck your morning joy, making you feel even weirder but I don’t because I still love you…and my love does not dictate you to lead your life in my way…it has never done that to any man I liked…I say l liked because you were the only man who I loved and you still are…I send you love and hold on to my dreams not yours…I send you love and I will always do while pursuing my dreams…while you bringing up your kids…sorry I could not make you one because I could not be cruel enough to push a child into this world just to see how it feels to be a mother…I am working to save them all instead…I do not wish to be the mother of one but of all children on earth…I am working to show them the light…

 


Love Must Survive to Keep us Alive

“I cannot do that my sweet darling,” said she lying on the left side of the bed still naked.

“Why?” asked a voice, no one heard but her.

“Because…because…I don’t think I have a right to that to you!” replied she.

“Then do it for me if you cannot do it to me!” said the little voice.

“I cannot!” whispered she.

“Then don’t say that you have no right to do that to me, say that I have no right to do that to you! Don’t lie!” exclaimed the little sperm.

“I do not lie! What the fuck do you think you will be doing here when you come?” asked she, holding the wet condom in the air.

“What the fuck are you doing there without me?” asked the little sperm.

sperm

“Who the hell are you talking to?” asked he, as he walked into the bedroom half naked.

“Nobody!” replied she quietly.

“Yes you were…you were talking to someone!” exclaimed he with a paranoid face.

She looked at him, read his thoughts and found no way of explaining herself to him. In fact she was tired of doing that. She was tired of narrowing her mind for the sake of their love. Maybe it was the time for her to accept the fact that, they had never intellectually matched. Maybe it was the time for her to be true to herself. How long am I going to narrow down my imagination for him, she asked herself in her silent and deep stare.

“Are you…are you really?” asked he painfully.

“Yes!” said she and sat up on the bed completely naked.

“I don’t want to know about him! Just dress up and go!” exclaimed he.

“You might regret!” replied she and laughed.

“No!I won’t!” said he and put his black shirt on.

“Here!!” exclaimed she and threw the condom filled with his sperms at him.

“What are you doing?” shouted he.

“That is who I was talking to!”replied she.

He looked at her with confusion. “My sperms!” asked he with riddled eyes.

“No, your rebellious sperm!” replied she and stood up.

“You were talking to my sperms?” asked he. No he did not believe: “That is a good try but since when sperms are able to talk?” asked he and laughed unhappily. He put his jeans on, sprayed some perfume and walked out of the room.

His little light brown puppy followed him, murmuring something in her own language.

“You cannot run away from me, I will be in every condom you will ever see and touch!” said the little sperm.

“What the fuuuuuuccck!” she screamed standing in the middle of the bedroom of her boyfriend Jack.

Jack rushed into the room with short of breath.

“What was that for fuck’s sake?” asked he and stared at her beautiful body. He was no longer himself again. He walked toward her, he began touching her face with his right hand while the left stroked her soft and sexy back.

“What was so good about him?” whispered he, hiding revenge and anger in his voice. He killed all her enthusiasm, desire, love she had for him, for their relationship, for life with that tone. And he was still blind to her sensitive nature through which she could detect and sense tiny little differences in him and in everything around her. It was even more painful for her to tell him about all that; she expected him to be sensitive enough to see real her. She questioned sincerity of his love many times but she was not right.

Please visit  Magic Book Writing Project to read the rest of the story that was completed by a very enthusiastic and incredibly creative participant and co-author of the Magic Book Writing Project.

The Magic Book Writing Project is open to everyone, you are welcome to join now to sharpen your creativity collectively.

The first half of the fifth story will be published later today. Are you ready to complete it by the next week?


“Wake up!” a man shouted.

I heard him but I could not move.

“I said wake up!”he repeated more irritatingly this time. But my body, my body was too heavy. I wanted to move but I could not, I tried, he tried, she tried, again and again.

“Are you deaf?” he exclaimed and pushed me with his big heavy hand.

“I hear you but, but, but…”

“But what idiot?” he continued to shout , he breathed in and out, anger was all around.

He banged on the table, my head jumped up. All my body was still numb.

“You dumb! Did you take some drug or what?”

“No, no, but…”

My secret room

My secret room

“But?”

“But, it is too dark, isn’t it night?”

“No it is not!”

“Ouch! Ouch! Ouuuch!!!” He began pulling my hair and kicking my butt. I shouted, shouted and I cried.

“What do you want from me?”

“Who are you?”

“How would I know?”

“Don’t fuck with me? Who are you?”

“I said I don’t know! Don’t you believe me? I wish I knew who I am but I don’t, I don’t I don’t…”

At that point I broke down.

“So why are you here?” he asked.

“I don’t know, where am I? I don’t even know where I am, it is too dark, where am I?”

“Stop fucking with me!” he pushed me really hard. I fell off the chair, got hit by two walls on my both sides.

“When did you come here?”

“I don’t fucking know, I was here when I opened my eyes.”

“Well, they fucking seem open, don’t they? Hahahahah!!!”

“Stop laughing at me!”

“Who brought you here?”

“A bastard like you!”

He began kicking me really hard, I felt the pain in my lungs.

“What kind of sleep that made you fucking forget everything?”

“How can I know that?”

“Well, I am here and I will beat you until you tell me who you are and why you are here!!!”

“But who are you?” I asked as he pressed my forehead with his thumb.

Who are you? he asked.

Who are you? I asked?

Who are you? the dark room asked…

Who are you? the silence asked and answered.

You are…A ray of light entered and another ray, and another.It got bigger and bigger. The man got smaller and smaller.I woke up and he disappeared.

I was love of the Sun…