Love

"Because the world is round it turns me on
Because the wind is high it blows my mind

Love is all, love is new
Love is all, love is you

Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry
Because the sky is blue. " 

from Because by Beatles

Just came across the blog of two people in love.

I knew her as a "little sister" of a classmate" in my early 20s and there she was a collegue in my mid 30s. Elegant, moderate, graceful.. She became the image of model female in me. A charming young woman,  no more a little sister.

I knew him as a manager at work. Serious, a hidden fun, creative, solid. He was very helpful, gave me generous  advices in my next job. A bright young man.

He wrote on their first date " I am 14 years older. Do I really want a relationship again?.. What if I get hurt again?.."

I found in his words, Love that was mine once with my older lover.

Oh Love.. Love.. We inhabit you. We are you. We were you and we will be you.

Oh Love, I will be you again.

But for now they are Love. So inspiring, so bright, so fearful, so right.

A Baby Sleep and Don Quichotte

It was a very hard day for me in the middle of which I felt like Don Quichotte (which means: nuts, making a battle in every corner with the unseen enemy, ashamed of her own reactions).

But then the sleep and the trust of the new baby cat helped me to think back about serenity and confort.

I have been working hard to be able to cook in the new kitchen. Today my new home smelled baking börek in the owen.

A special day where at the end of 4 months, I could cook at home.

Many New(s)

I have been quiete for a long while.

1- Me and the cats, we moved to my parents basement flat in October. It took me months to find back the beautiful light on a photo taken.

2- I have started to go to sewing classes. I knew NOTHING about sewing but I sew a skirt on my first lesson and my second project is a coat (!)

3- This is our new family member, our baby chinchilla cat that Thomas acts like a leopard with and roars most of the time.

4- I dated with my primary school friend. All I remembered from those times, was that he was the only one who wanted to become an astraunot like me and that I liked him. It is good to be given the chance to go back and to see although it does not last long, it was a beautiful fly to try.

5- I had a chance to visit Arabia again with the precious company of my new knitting friend Bob.

It is good to feel your feet at the end of all the roads.

New Moon

The new moon tonight is told to symbolise "our feelings of Home, safety, our conditionings from childhood, our capability of intimacy. I reread this now in the colorful and lovely banualagoz.blogspot.com as I entered home and plugged in my computer.

I was late for the class(I was there towards the end) but did not miss at least, Banu's special New Moon course of Kundalini Yoga. The affection and the light of Banu embelished the evening. The united force of the participants was heard, their souls together formed this undescribable magnetic field. In my belated first kundalini yoga class, I was between mockery, maze, awe, admiration, peace, purification and lately tears when it came to pour the water behind and receive the new waters of the river.

Two days ago, I decided to stop playing the music I was bored with, embrace my lesson and get ready for the new day and hear the new songs played.

This afternoon, I met Leyla in my sister's new restaurant and was amazed by her energy. Especially her  unexpected way of grabbing people passing by. Her energy to catch "now" and her pleasure of tasting the fusillini pasta.

The yoga class ended singing all together May the Long Time Sun; once for the ones we were leaving behind(tears), once for our "now" and third and last one for our wishes:

"May the long time Sun shine upon you,

All love surround you

And the pure light within you

Guide your way home."

And I have to leave you behind, you that I wrote posts for, in the hope of creating a body of this absence.

May the pure light within you, guide your way home, because I couldn't.

I have a new day tomorrow. As blue as Leyla's eyes.

And I have my arms. My healthy arms.

Hallelujah

(Photos courtesy of Banu since I was busy doing other things)

J'ai atrrapé le bouquet - I caught the (bucket :))

Alors on danse ! - So we dance !

with fave dancing shoes on

 ~ FIN ~

Alors On Danse - So We Dance

Tonight is the wedding night of O.
I decided about my dress and very dancing shoes for the party listening to my favorite party song this year: Alors On Danse from Stomae (Sorry for not being able to attach he video but still you can click here and listen to my song and dance)

I thought of checking the lyrics in the internet and I got even more connected to the song in the morning of today where I will escape from my mundane troubles of home by dancing. Here is my very amateur translation:

Who says study, says work / Qui dit etude, dit travail,
(N/A)Qui dit taf te dit les thunes,

Who says money, says expanses /Qui dit argent dit dépenses,
Who says credit, says beliefs /Qui dit crédit dit créance,
Who says debt, says usher /Qui dit dette te dit huissier,
Yes, says sitting in shit /Oui dit assis dans la merde.
Who says Love, says kids /Qui dit Amour dit les gosses,

Say allways, and say divorce /Dit toujours et dit divorce.
Who says relatives says the grief 'cause problems don't come alone /Qui dit proches te dis deuils car les problèmes ne viennent pas seul.
Who says crisis, says famine, says the one third of the earth /Qui dit crise te dis monde dit famine dit tiers- monde.
Who says fatigue says wake up still deaf from the eve /Qui dit fatigue dit réveille encore sourd de la veille,
Then one goes out to forget about all troubles /Alors on sort pour oublier tous les problèmes.
Then  one dances /Alors on danse… (X9)

And there you say that it is over 'cause worse than this would be dying /Et la tu t'dis que c'est fini car pire que ça ce serait la mort.
When you finally think that you managed it, then there is more /Qu'en tu crois enfin que tu t'en sors quand y en a plus et ben y en a encore!
.. /Ecstasy dis problème les problèmes ou bien la musique.
.. /Ca t'prends les trips ca te prends la tête et puis tu prie pour que ça s'arrête.
But this is your body, it is not the skies, then you shut your ears /Mais c'est ton corps c’est pas le ciel alors tu t’bouche plus les oreilles.
And then you scream even louder and it persists /Et là tu cries encore plus fort et ca persiste...
Then you sing /Alors on chante

Being Thomas

Thomas.. Anyone that has visited our home so far would understand why this post is dedicated to him.

Not many people understood why I was living with Thomas.

And one day my cousin, who has just got divorced, opened up to me, saying "you know how I am now, I am exactly like Thomas". Until that day, I didn't hear anyone who was feeling the same way I was for my pink eared wild cat.

..

When I was asked how many pets did I have, I used to answer: "I have a cat.. and there is the cat of my cat(meaning Thomas)". He was so wild that when they moved here in this appartment with me, Thomas did not let me touch him, not even let me get near for at least 8 months . He would hiss.

It was funny, I was feeding him and was yet quite scared of him at nights when I was alone with him. It was a matter of guts to leave the bedroom's door open when I was going to sleep.

I must even confess that there has been times when I was hoping that he would get lost or fall down so that I would get rid of him in a way I wouldn't do anything wrong against him.

Even as a kitten he was fierce (click here to see the video), I was unable to feed him with its kitten bottle, since my hands were scratched so badly, by reflex I wasn't able to hold its tiny body in my hand.

Before we saw him, we heard him. It was the voice of some weeks old kitten. He cried for 2 complete days, constantly. His mother never showed up. He was left to die.

Our siamese cat Chocolate insisted on having the kitten inside, coming and going to the kitchen door to him, begging for something from us. So Thomas was taken in  not only to be cured but was supported because he was the friend of our friend Chocolate, our soulful siamese cat.

Thomas had his name from a swiss journalist I knew, looking exactly like him when he was a litttle kitten. We couldn't warm him up nor heal him despite the efforts of the vet. The thing that saved him has been Chocolate.

So Thom learned everything through Chocolate, and thus he needed so less even nothing from us. So, he was never tamed.

When visitors would come he would get lost. It took him long to show up in my presence even.

In years, he learned to get near. He would meow, restlessly, would yearn for that touch but was terrified by any attempt. 

Thomas has been the perfect picture for me how scary we are when we are scared of nearness and trust and how we would hurt the hands coming to us. How many had I torn till I surrendered in love?

A wise man told me once that trust is a link that has to be started by one taking the risk. So there were times where I took the risk by letting him smell my hands, put my face near to his.

Today Thomas has still his caves at our home, his favorite spots away.

There are mornings where I wake up and find him awake, just some centimeters from my nose, staring at me, probably while I am sleeping.

I love him.

..Missing his glance when I am out. 

Love him even more when in any condition he would run to come to me when he is called or when my chest gets wet from dribbles from his mouth when I cudddle him.

It took long, it took work and unconditional giving for those dribbles of pure trust.

My Home as a Tupperware Catalog

I lately found the winter 2008-2009 catalog at home while organising to get ready for the moving. And I remember the day I received it and how magical it felt to see that it was as if Tupperware published my home that season.  This absolute feeling of completeness is called happiness.

We buy products looking at some photos, commercials, catalogs, envying that life in there, that home. And we want, we want to have these people, be these people, have these products, the decoration in the pictures, that life which are there for the photo shoots ad commercials and soon to be demounted.

What if the life you mounted, your home appears to be what those catalog tried to capture?

What if when you loose it?

What if when you find your self able to mount many lives, many beautiful homes out of yourself?

What if all catalogs vanish?

What if you are robust but not necessarily complete all the time?

This is the way I feel today. And this is what this blog has been the log, the story of this humble achievement.

Pieces of Me

On a very angry morning at men,I condemned my self to the streets of Beyoglu as probably all women with the same condition did in its history.

It was quite early and deserted hours for Istiklal and seing the entry of the new Botero exhibition I was very curious about, I jumped in.

And found pieces of me..

and of even Thomas unexpectedly.

Isn't this what  a piece of art about, to find pieces of you in the pieces of art in a divine peace and to heal.

So I spent more than an hour healing, looking at more than 60 paintings and a documentary about my new, dear Fernando and taking pictures for this post.

The day ended in peace, in the streets with street music,

and a good turkish coffee watching the passangers 

 

Don't You Have Time To Think? *

Don't you have time to think? I have had more than I should lately.

And the spark came yesterday as I was capturing the moments of the graduates' day  of Sainte Pulcherie High, my secondary school then.

It was only ten years ago on  my way back home from the hospital where I left my sister struggling with the sudden deadly disease, it was only then that I realised that the school yard was much smaller than I remembered.

But those doors always welcomed me.

My registry to this old girl's school was an honouring family "thing" and we were all so excited that summer of 1983 for my first day at school in September.

My parents were so proud of my efforts I gave to success in the exam .

The second thing I knew after the name of my secondary school was the "spotless cleanness" of the white marble stairs admired by my mother. But my favorite place have been the whitest loos with tall windows looking at the dirty backstreets we were never allowed to stroll. There were only ladies at that time and I was wondering which loo the unique male at school have to use, our professor of religion, distinctive wiith his very manly voice in the official ceremonies when he had to accompany our weak voices for the national anthem.

My school has been a temple to me not only beacause it had a chapel inside or 4 old nons waiting to put us in order in the early mornings at those white marble stairs.

School was better than home where somehow in this small building from the 19th century, I felt safer than at home and able to look at any truth enlightened and armed with what was there in those old books.

And when my last day at school came at my graduation year, I felt as clueless and orphelin as a child, out of the arms of her mother and life seemed so crowded as the dirty back streets from the window.

And some things have changed.

While some remained the same

Like some strict rules and our oak tree in the yard I noticed, as my friends were busy chatting about their actual lives.

I was more into leaning back and watching.

I stayed there up in the stairs contemplating our oak tree and the diverse population dancing down below. Although pruned too much, less green with less leaves, to me it looked like the sacred tree of life with young and younger lives that it went through.

And I was there watching until my old professor came up and asked what I was doing there. We were her first students. She told me she celebrated her 25th year in this school last year. She got married in time and had two sons, one 23 the other 17 years old now. We walked downstairs together as we talked. She introduced me to her new collegues and young graduate students.

The night was falling. I remained there watching each and every movement of the younger crowd dancing under the oak tree. I was surprised to see their lips synchronised with the lyrics of those new songs they sang heartfelt and together. Those songs I must have heard, somehow, somewhere, everywhere but never noticed the lyrics

Where did I leave learning the lyrics of the silly funny songs? When did we stop dancing together like them? When was I left alone? Were my friends too busy being parents and all ? What was taking me from joining them now singing and dancing? Why wasn't I on the dance floor?

Neither courage nor strength were the answers. The only reason  was "this time I gave to think" about these questions and the quest for the answers.

I realised that two young girls were insisting on something in the big party noise to the new professor I was just introduced to. I asked him almost shouting to be heard:

- Qu'est-ce qu'elles veulent? (What do they want?)

- Danser. (To dance) he answered promptly.

He  didn't join them, remained there watching.

He might have had this time to think.

This time out of time.

I did my best. It took some wine and some more time there watching and I invited, through the end of the party, the new school master which turned out to be a nice gentleman and a good dancer.

We exchanged smiles with the young professor.

The moment I felt standing there like our oak tree, felt pruned too much with less leaves, I left the party ,when the music was ended and the boys were gathering the equipment.

* "Don't You Have Time To Think?" is the sweet autobiographical book of the bright physicist Richard FEYNMAN

Doorstep - Letting In

The reason I was not writing since my birthday post is very understandable: I lost my job again.
When my boss told me the company is not doing well at all and they can not afford my salary that was ok, but when I heard the words "we have to close this position" that, that seemed like a joke.
It will feel as unreal to you if you would read my previous post. 
Well, nothing to do. I gathered my belongings and rushed home to join H that learned about the cancer diagnosis of her mother.

All these words, what do they have to do with a doorstep?
Well it was in that awful rainy weather that I returned home in a hurry with all those bags full of my office stuff, in the doorstep of the building sitting there looking for my keys in all that clutter that from my back I heard this voice for me: "what is that does not exist in a woman's bag?". I turned, this was the waterguy, smiling with his limpid blue eyes. I wiped my cheeks and avoiding my face I said " oh, yes, what is it?", he replied "order!" and laughed.
I knew him from before. His name was Mesut which meant "happy" but somehow I saw the deep sorrow in his immense blue eyes before.
It was only in the lift that he learned about my day. He was sorry to hear. He said that he has blue days as well and that the ones we love are the ones that hurt the more. He told me about how he overcomes bad days like these, with his glass of red wine going to his favorite hill or with her 3 years old daughter.

He was polite and said he had to leave for new orders and left with his warm words. I was sweeping my tears.

I went to the shower to leave soon for H. Best thing is to cry in the shower when you don't know what to do now and you are sort of collapsed.
The door rang, I wondered who it was.
It was him.. with a bar of chocolate and a bunch of water bottles in his other hand.
I hugged. And thanked.
...
The days that followed, I was busy but I had a plan.
But I could not contact him since he was not working for my water company I realised.
It was only after second time where I had this magnet of another water company that dropped when I opened my door of my 2 cat populated home, that I realised it was him and he was trying to contact me as well.
The photo above is taken this morning, my very human touch, M and my cat and my new water bottle.
He was surprised for gift package for his daughter and the small note I wrote for him as well as a letter of appreciation to his company where I explained the reason why I converted to their water.
After I told him my part of the story after he left, he told me his.
The day afte he left, he had a terrible car accident where people were surprised that he survived.
In his hospital room, he saw a dream where he wakes up and sees me as a nurse, my smile and a bar of chocolate that I hand to him saying "this chocolate will make you feel better and ease your pain."
What a beautiful story to write back to you..
What a life..
Such a healing of strangers, in a doorstep.
Where indoors, it is the ones that we love the most, that hurt the most

A Very Happy Birthday

The night before my birthday, somebody knocked on my kitchen window, some gigles and then the candle lights on a delicious cake. Can there be a better surprise?

So we paused as my favorite chilren's book series heroin Aysegül (Debbie in English, Martine in French) by Marcel Marlier and Gilbert Delahaye which made me believe in such a beautiful world.

The morning after which was my birth-day, we all agreed to go out for a modest breakfast in the junction of the Black Sea and the Bosphorus that you can see behind H on the photo.

Although we born as "one" and we die as "one", we need our happy crowd along the way.

Laughed loud, ate all well and paused for the occasion.

Aren't birthdays about this happy crowd in life?

The night when I was going back to my bed, I realised I felt so happy and safe like our little hazelnut in her mom's arms.

I remembered my birthday last year, not a cheerful one at all. As an abondoned amusement park in winter.

Having lost my job with 260 employees in the company due to the crisis, friends and family came in but there was a silent sadness in the air as the boyfriend didn't show up, neither called. A birthday of sudden losses.

We own so much to our happy crowds. we must never stop being grateful about them.

On Valentine's Day

I caught this insant this morning after leaving mom's.

"oh those women I loved, they were not there anyway

they were wearing rain as the autumn
if I were to cuddle a bit, they’d turn to be kids
if I were to leave, their eyes froggy by the fear
oh those women I loved, they were not there anyway
such a loving has not been lived


no, do not think that they stopped thinking about me
still now and then their letters get here
they were not real they were hopes each
an old song or may be a verse
oh those women I loved, they were not there anyway
such a loving has not been lived


they held my hands in my solitude
their whisper far away makes me shiver
as if they were clouds in the sky
who knows where did they fade away
oh those women I loved, they were not there anyway
Such a loving has not been lived


Atilla ILHAN
Ben Ne Kadınlar Sevdim
through my broken translation"

As for me, I have been very loyal to my very loyal lover.

From weeks ahead, I had already bought my self a lovely present and a ticket to Alle Anderen movie in the festival which I strongly recommend as I really liked this evening as a perfect deep and fun way to mull over the loving process and the reflections on the relationship.

After the movie, I treated my self with a beatiful dinner and a glass of vine in my nice restaurant.

Hope your Valentine Days are all good as mine.

I smell Lolita Lempicka.. from the gift box.

Good night.. sleep tight

Today Istanbul

I have been under the spell of Istanbul's sunset and chat with starngers and took photos near Kabatas. The best photos I have taken, I believe are the ones of those strangers that I will send to their email address that I was given and not quite have the right to publish.

If isolated from the chat with strangers,

Kabatas is ferries and rush

And keep in mind, ferries mean seagulls

Always..

Kabatas is this unique beautiful break in the sunset by the clock tower of Dolmabahce Palace

Kabatas is the parliament blue and the gold 

colors of the enlightening on monuments in the evening sky

 Kabatas means my decent meatball guy Hasan in his colorful workbench

Out of home as I read the last pages of the nice book of Aret VARTANYAN: A Breath of Istanbul