notes from the astronomy tower – ii

Well, here I am again.

It seems that I am drawn to write by this mechanism, whatever unbeknownst to me, at least annually. It might be genetic. It might be defensive. It most probably might be escapist. It might also be total bullshit. Whatever it is, in the end, it feels strangely good, almost as good as the imprint of a pen on my fingers after writing something I’d like to read years later. Almost. And it is just as much bittersweet though, that I find fewer things to write and even fewer words to use.

There are some things the online fortune-tellers never fail to predict: something new is on its way, right at this moment. And it is left to your imagination and current longing to whatever it can be. Right now for me: it really feels like that, the inevitable consequence of nature sequentially processing the life forward. “And for every ending, there is a new beginning”.

It is almost comical that the every-day routine I often failed to appreciate is what makes me the most intrigued nowadays. I know there were days I was immensely grateful for being under the sun of the city I had loved the most. And I know there were days passed in a hurry, without a second glance to the sky, already forgotten about the existence of stars. Lately, though, I feel awake or more like being awakened. Lately, every time I’m crossing the bridge, it hits me in the sweetest possible way, a smile finding its way to my eyes, that it’ll be hard, -and achingly so- to say goodbye to this city. The city who knew who I was once and transformed me into the person I am now – in a way that only a few cities are able to do – cities that breathe, and are sleep-deprived, ragged in every other corner, but unmistakably hold themselves high no matter what, like İstanbul.

Every corner is interwoven with memories of sad and happy and each scene alone or crowded – usually with people I knew, people I cease to know, people I have a vague recollection of: people from past, from present, people that I pray that always be with me. Each corner comes with a flavor, like the smell of chocolate in Çengelköy and the taste of fried mussels in Anadolu Kavağı. They are precious and irreplaceable. And it hits me again and I am in a daze, that how lucky I had been all those years.

Weird as is, just like the author of this note, this story comes in two parts. Then and now. Then had just finished and now have already started. And it starts in a city and end in another.

Now that I am where a new story has already begun, a city that is a thousand kilometers away from where another just ended. A city where a docile river welcomes wild geese, familiar faces for half-centuries, but also forlorn souls, strangers, and foreigners just like me. It feels like I am in a movie of some sort, and I am as much there as the geese are. Wanderers like us, that do not speak the language, but curious enough to set their feet to the unknown lands. Which is a secret between us and this might be what camaraderie is.

Time has this funny way of twisting things into something older, way older than that they feel. But this is not how I feel right now – I feel younger than I have in years. Die Anfängerin. That is who I am right now – a wonderstruck kid, a beginner. And I think, that is a good way to be to start a new year.

notes from the astronomy tower

It’s been a long time, my friend.

It’s me, always me, basking under the eternal moonlight of the life’s so-called mysteries. Chasing the time, not in the literal sense though, more like tripping over my own feet on every three steps or so, and trying to get up, get up, and get up, over and over again. Just to  grab something that’s far out-of-reach and to hold on every little hope like dear life on my way.

But once in a while, there are clouds. Enourmously underrated, magazine-cover quality, too fictional to be true, those purple clouds. So purple that makes you wonder? How was it again? Reality?

Once in a while, there are steam-boats, too. Relieved from the faceless crowd  of  rush hours. Carrying handful of  passengers to enjoy the rare outburst of the sun on such fortunate winter days.  Then, there is İstanbul.  A thousand-year-old child.  My worn-out, delicate yet strong  İstanbul. So old and still full of life,  and what’s more beautiful than that? Still shy from the welcoming sun though, centuries after centruies, chasing the fog out of his sleep-deprieved eyes, just awoke from a long-forgotten dream. A dream of an age where the heavy golden curtains of the palace opened to the thousands of boats in the Bosphorous. Princes and princesses alike  running in the gardens without a fear. A dream of a city, behind the walls: streets buzzing with all-too many voices of unique melodies, mixed with spicies and hot meals. A dream, the old-kid forgot but reminded on such days, where the sun bathes the earth with dusts of hope and the Hagia Sofia and Sultanahmet quietly whisper to each other, in a long expired language tales of all kinds of people, incredibly beautiful in their own unique ways.   A dream so vivid that İstanbul loses its reality. How was it again?

Yet another time, there is melancholy.  Such a greedy little monster, isn’t it? Feeding on the battles you lost and the battles you never dared to fight. The battles you thought you won, but never fought at all. Best served with  rain-soaked tunes all the way  from Aegean Sea. Friends, long forgetten, newly lost, ones you can never be with … no matter how hard you try.  Memories, you never forget, freshly aching, random outburst of happiness, too. Too many movies, not enough books. The things you never knew. Like: To love in the long cold mornings of St. Petersburg. A defeated matador in a hellishly hot Spanish summer. A woman singing a sad tune, a tribute to the lost children of the wars all over the world.

And then the forest.  The soothing touch of the green.  That magical tune came all the way from Prague, from the tiny streets of Old Town, telling the tale of the Golem and Rusalkas. It is not that hard to imagine: on an ordinary Tuesday night, getting home from work, thinking about what you should cook for dinner,  and all of a sudden, you realize that you have never seen somewhere that fascinating, greeted by the hundred-year-old trees in that simple road you take everyday. It all comes in a rush, the rain, the green, the melodies and you are left wondering. How was it again? The reality..