Sunday, October 19, 2014

Fall, Back

I know Deecaf Writing is not supposed to be a medium to appeal to your sense of sight but more so for your intellectual pleasure only and maybe a little bit for your sense of touch. Because, you know...my words touch your heart. Just kidding (and secretly hoping that I am not) 

I am going to have to sidetrack from my purpose today because I don't think anyone can decide when and how inspiration will find them. I have yet to tame my creativity in such way that I can control it. I simply can't, yet. So I can't find inspiration and usually end up waiting for it to find me. Sucks, really. I have to work on that. Until then it found me yesterday in the form of fall colors and a photo-story was born.

We spent what was supposed to be the last warm (ish) day of fall outside yesterday, at our favorite spot in New York City; our neighborhood. Upper West Side and its big green baby, Central Park were both gorgeous yesterday and both looked sort of yellow, orange, brown. I like calling fall colors earthy


We were down on earth yesterday and it was beautiful.

Our street was the first to welcome us into the world of fall. 

 


Pumpkins took their place.

And so did leaves.

Then came the park.
Whether you looked up
or down
You saw it all.

 
Whether you stayed
 or walked
you found colors of life.
Sometimes in the shape of a monk walking amongst us
and reminding with every step he takes of the monk within.

  And sometimes in the shape of notes.
Living is how there is music everywhere you turn in this city.
And with that comes dance like you just don't care.
Or you know...just do this.
Because...why not?

How life and death coexist. How it is not always sad
for sad can only be when there is happiness to compare it to.

How babies get to really live on the weekends
and be cool on their own.

Because they know there is always someone out there watching out for them.

It seemed that whether lost in thoughts on one's own
or lost in each other together
Everyone was living in today
With a dream for tomorrow.
Sometimes to rise high
Sometimes to stay down low.

Fall was beautiful yesterday and men were ready for it.


Happy falling.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Weekend Woman

Too often, I thought about why instinctively I didn't want to dress up on the weekends but down. I have finally come to the conclusion that it's probably because of all the rules I know I will try to abide by and I refuse to do that. On the weekends, I refuse trying to choose the right clothes and right accessories to go with those clothes and, of course, right shoes to wear; whatever right means.

I'm a simple, regular person really. I suffer from regular, modern woman problems, perfectionism being the most dangerous of them all. It makes my life more difficult than it needs to be and I'm working on letting go of things that don't need to be perfect, such as weekends. I have decided to free my weekends from the responsible chains of perfect people's perfect norms. Weekends just need to be more me and less perfect.

Before, I might have tried to put on a public pleaser weekend combo of skinny jeans + striped sweaters + big brand, colorful leather bags + shoes. Anything less than that would put a standard perfectionist into stress-induced coma when walking into a Zara store or the local sushi spots. Now, I see the whole picture a little differently. Something along the lines of this:

Weekend skinny jeans: OK, I'm going to have to assume that they're from GAP. Let's not kid ourselves. They always are. Why would I want to look like GAP is my grandfather's last name and I just have to carry the family legacy into future generations by wearing moderately washed, skinny jeans? No, my grandfather's last name is not GAP and skinny jeans hurt after a satisfying meal.

Striped sweater: Usually of wool+lycra combination (because lycra makes everything fit), slightly on the lighter side, sweaters with stripes. Stripes of course have to belong to the same color family but can be at varying shades. As if they're allowed to be different from the rest of the sweater but still bound by the rules of it. If stripes decided to revolt and scream of completely different colors or if they were not straight stripes at all but just wiggly lines, nobody would chose to buy them. Why? Because they wouldn't be perfect then. They would be wiggly, duh. Weekend dresser, world owes you everything for knowing that stripes are meant to be nothing but straight. Stay strong.

Big brand, colorful, leather bag: They speak, don't they? You can actually hear the leather say "I matter in this world" as you walk among strangers, who can't take their eyes off your bag. One glimpse and it goes on to say " I spend more on cleaning my pet's stools than you spend on your groceries. That's right, my dog's poop is more valuable than your food. It probably smells better too". When your arm candy starts talking a mile a minute, just remember it was made in China and there's a high chance that in reality it's only 50% real leather. Rest could be overfed chicken shit for all you know. Wait! It could be right about the poop part after all. 

Big brand, colorful, leather shoes: By color, we certainly don't mean black/beige/white or gray, do we? Unless any of those colors are combined with a flashy neon stripe - because we like stripes but you already know that- we are not OK. We must have a bright color. World doesn't get it. We're in desperate need of a bright color to complete the perfect weekend combo. Because that's how wild we go on the weekends. Because we're fun and fun must come in unusual colors. Hey, we are not boring even though black/beige/white or gray is all we wear on week days but that's just because we're professionals. On the weekend, we are fun. By this logic, professionals cannot be fun people but let's not confuse ourselves with all that now. Lord, give us more red/green/purple and hopefully some yellow flats and oxfords or else we are destined to fail at everything. 

Instead of the perfect weekend combo inflicted on modern woman by societal norms of perfectionism, I chose me. At least on the weekends, I will not look anything like everyone expects me to. I will step outside in my PJs if I feel like doing so. And no, I will not brush my hair, not that I have much of it left. I chopped it off because society expects women to have long hair and also because my showers now take 5 minutes instead of 55.

When you see me strolling down the street on the corner of Broadway and 80th street, please don't assume that "I don't give a fuck". It might very well be that I find my PJs and unbrushed hair combo very appropriate for the weekend. There might also be days when I walk out of my apartment looking like Rita Hayworth did back in the 40s. See what I mean? 

I might dress up or down or hang in the middle. Whatever my perfect is what I shall carry out. There is nothing wrong with liking skinny GAP jeans either by the way; they might be your perfect. Let's just not dress for fitting in but more for self expression. Let's care a little less about crowd pleasing and be more interested in being pleased. 

Perfectionism comes with many rules. I don't like rules. I like to live a little, at least on the weekends.

DA

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Kadinlarin Rengi Pembe

Bu yazi vibratorlerle ilgili degil ama icinde birden cok vibratorun gectigi dogrudur.

Hikaye West Village civarinda basliyor. Gunlerden havanin tipik Mart aylarina gore inanilmaz guzel oldugu bir Cumartesi gunu. Cumartesi dediysek yanlis anlasilmasin, haftasonu kavramiyla ozdeslestirilmis “bos vakit” utopyasindan cok uzakta bir gun bekliyor genc kadini. Zaten hicbir zaman anlayamadi neden cumartesi gunlerinin ta pazartesiden baslanarak dort gozle beklendigini. Haftaici vakitsizlikten yapilamayan ne kadar angarya is varsa hepsi haftasonu yapilmiyor mu? Buna ev islerinden tutun da, yok efendim kocanin yeni isinde giyecegi ceketin pesinden kosulmasi da dahil tabi, ya da bir gelinligin.

O guzel cumartesi gunu onun “bos zaman” doldurma gorevi de bu olacakti; son olmasini umdugu ilk evliliginde giyecegi gelinligin provasina gitmek. Bir kadin icin pek heyecanli, pek coskulu gecmesi sosyal normlarla soylenmeden emredilmis bir olaydi bu gelinlik olayi. Eger evlilik basli basina dipsiz, kara bir kuyu icinde sonsuza kadar duser gibi hissettiren bir endustriyse, gelinlik o kuyuya atlamak icin disaridan tirmandiginiz bir merdivendi adeta. O sekilde kandirip sizi ve cuzdaninizi yuttuktan sonra bir daha asla salivermeyecegini aci bir sekilde anladiginiz sinek yiyen dev bir bitki. Kendisi bu merdivenleri cikip kuyuya atlayali bir iki ay olmustu. Dustugu noktadan geri donusu olmadiginin da farkindaydi ama en azindan endise seviyesini hafifletmesi icin arkadasi Dee’yi yaninda istemisti. Ne de olsa D harfinin uguruna inanirdi.

O satafatli gelinlik magazasinda bulustuklarinda 10 dakika gec kalarak gunluk programinin gerisine dusmeyi basarmisti bile. Icerde onu bekleyen Dee onu gordugu anda suratinda dev bir gulumsemeyle “Ne o? Evlenmekten vazgectin galiba” dedi.

“Ay sorma! Ben vazgecsem de bu gelinlik benden vazgecmeyecek! Dua et ustume tam olsun.”

Saka yapmiyordu genc kadin. Gercekten neredeyse acip ellerini Allah’a yakaracakti. Gelinligin ustune tam olmasi gerekiyordu yoksa sonu basi belli olmayan masraflar katlanarak devam edecekti. Zira satafatli gelinlik magazasinin fistik hatunlari bedavaya kumas kesip bicmiyordu. Evet satarken  Guatemala’daki orta boy bir ailenin yarim yil yasamasina yetecek kadar para istemis olabilirlerdi ama bu iki cm etek kesip, iki cm de gogus kucultmenin bedava yapilacagi anlamina gelmiyordu, ya da mantikli bir fiyata. Elbette akla en yatkin secenek bu basit islemin de bahsi gecen orta boy ailenin bir kac ay daha yasamasina olanak vermesiydi. Basit bir oran meselesiydi, hepsi bu.

Elbette gelinlik ustune tam olmadi. Evlilik oyununu toplumun harcama kurallarina gore oynamayi bastan kabul eden kendisiydi. Simdi ne diye evrenden ona azicik da olsa yardim etmesini bekliyordu ki? Pamuk eller cebe gidecek Guatemala'daki aile teoride bir iki ay daha doyabilecekken pratikte gelinlik magazasinin dikis nakiscilari belki o yaz Gutemalaya tatile gidecek, biraz lokal kahve icip biraz alis veris yapacaklardi. Belki o yerli aileden bir iki canak comlek alirlardi da kendi parasi dogru yoldan olmasa da dolayli yollardan o ailenin cebine girerdi. Simdi dolayli olasiliklari degerlendiremeyecek kadar doluydu kafasi gerci; gelinlik ustune tam olmamisti.

Buyuk dugunleri normlastirmis evren ayni zamanda minik belli kadinlarin buyuk memeli olmalarini da normlastirmis olacak ki olculeri alinip ustune en uygun olacak bedende dikilmis gelinligin memeleri ancak pek gosterisli, dev bir Soprano icin tam olabilirdi. Bu kucuk kadinsa 9 yasinda annesinin gece elbiselerini deneyen kucuk bir kiza donmustu. Acil mudahale gereken bu ani tek basina yasamaktansa yaninda arkadasi Dee’yle birlikte yasiyor olmaktan mutluydu en azindan. Hayatta boktan seyler oluyordu da hepsini tek basina atlatmak zorunda degildi insan.

Iceride gecirdikleri 1 saatten sonra evlilik asiri dozuna maruz kalmis iki kadin yeniden yer yuzune, gun isigina kavustuguna memnun bir sekilde sen sakrak West Village’in kalbine dogru yurumeye basladi. Konulari is hayatiydi elbette. Zira New York’ta kadinlarin temel konusu buydu: kariyer. Tabi beraber gelinlik denemeye gitmedikleri anlarda...

Bir de eksikleri vardi, kahve. Ikisi de sabah gozlerini actigi andan o saate kadar hala tek yudum kafein almamisti ve ikisi de bu durumu acilen degistirmeyi oncelik edinmisti. Biri telefondan lokal kahve dukkani ararken, oburu blok koselerinde her an bir Starbucks gorebilirme ihtimaline karsi gozlerini dort acmisti. Sonunda kahvecilerin McDonalds’i mucadeleden galip, iki arkadas ise ellerinde buzlu kahveleriyle Starbucks’tan mutlu cikti.

Kahveyle saka olmazdi. Ozellikle de Cumartesi sabahi gelinlikcinin birinde 1 saat gecirmis ve cuzdanini biraz daha acmak zorunda kalmis bir kadin icin. Ama tam da oyle bir anda neyin guzel sakasi yapilirdi biliyor musunuz? Seksin. Evet, her ortamda insani guldurmeyi pek guzel  basarmis seks o ortamda da gunu aydinlatmada yardimci olacakti cunku rotalari onlari sans eseri vitrini pek guzel donatilmis bir seks magazasinin onune cikarmisti. Genc kadin pek siki takip ettigi “modern yasam ve kadin” temali blog Refinery 29’da birkac ay once gordugu renkli vibratore vitrinde rastlayinca iceri girmeleri kacinilmaz olmustu. Blogun o kadar ovdugu aleti yakindan da gormesi gerekiyordu. Cunku biliyorsunuz vibratorler artik seksin kadin icin tabu olmaktan cikip, zevk alarak yasayabilecegi bir ozgurluk haline geldiginin kanitiydi adeta. Yillar once sadece kadinlarin kulaktan kulaga aktardigi silik fisiltilar simdi en cigirtkan renklerde, sehirlerin en kalabalik semtlerinde, vitrinlerde ve internetin her kosesinde milyonlarin kullanimina sunuluyordu.  Sirf bu bile kutlamaya degerdi.

Iki kadin kuafore girer gibi rahat girdikleri seks magazasinin kapisinda bakislarini utanarak kendilerinden kaciran adama bakip nerdeeen nereye diye dusundu. Dunya gercekten de dogru yolda ilerliyor olabilir miydi?

Bir ellerinde kafein, diger ellerinde renk renk, sekil sekil vibratorler kikir kikir bir saga bir sola giden iki kadin pek egleniyorlardi.  Bazi modellerde eglenceye magazada calisan genc kizla genc adam da katiliyordu. Pek cok modelin nasil kullanilmasini gerektigini cozmus fakat bir tanesine bir turlu anlam veremeyen satis danismanlari o modelin nasil kullanilmasi gerektigine dair teoriler uretiyordu. Bu sirada modellerden birinin fazla gercekci calistigini dusunen genc kadin bu yuz kizartici ama komik sahnenin kesinlikle paylasilmasi gerektigine kanaat getirerek modeli arkadasina gostermeye gitti.

“Dee!! Suna bir bakmak zorundasin. Tusu surda bir bas da gor bak ne kadar komik.”

“Ay! Bu ne be? Aaay bildigin elime bosalicak sanki alet!?”

“Hihihihihihi. Ayni seks yapan bir adam degil mi bu!”

Bu kadar gercekci hareketler biraz fazla gelmis olacak ki Dee’nin akli eglenceden uzaklasip, New York’taki yalniz kadinlarla ilgili derin dusuncelere kayiverdi.

“Iste...” dedi. “Dusun burda kadinlar ne kadar yalniz, bu is bile ne kadar kolay hale getirilmis. Renk renk, cesit cesit, elini kolunu sallayarak gel buraya, sec begen al. Ister en gercekcisi olsun ister normal adamlarda olamayacak kadar basarili, gercek disi modeller olsun... Her seyin bir cozumu uretilmis yalniz kadinlar icin resmen”.

Bir yandan arkadasini onaylarcasina kafasini sallayan genc kadin ote yandan da “Allahim!” diye dusunuyor. “Iki kadin bir araya gelince seks magazasinda bile iki dakika dalga gecemiyoruz. Hemen yok kadin problemleri, yok modern zaman yalnizliklari. Elimizde cingene pembesi vibratolerle yalniz kadinlarin nasil mutlu olabilecegini cozmeye koyuluyoruz sanki bir iliskisi olan her kadin cok mutluymus gibi”.

Ne olursa olsun insanlarin dunyanin pek cok yerine gore epey ozgur yasadigi bu sehirde o gun vibrator almadan magazadan cikiyor iki kadin. Eglenip gulmusler, keyifleri pek yerinde. Belki hicbir zaman bir vibrator sahibi olmayacaklar ama gerek yasalarla teoride gerekse sosyal normlarla artik pratikte boyle bir ozgurlukleri oldugunu bilmek bile –o an farkina varmasalar da- kendilerini cok iyi hissettiriyor.

Magazada ne kadar cok vakit gecirdiklerinin farkina varmayan iki kadin disari ciktiginda saatin farkina varip acilen adimlarini siklastiriyor. Gitmeleri gereken bir brunch randevulari var. Yasalarin ozgurlestirdigi ama ondan daha da onemlisi kendi kafasinin icinde ozgur olmayi basarabilmis bir genc kadin daha var onlari bekleyen. Yaninda da yeni evlendigi kocasi; karisinin ozgurlugune kendi ozgurlugunden farkli bakmayan, ote yandan ailesinden gelen dini gelenekleri cok hosuna giden, onlari yasatmaktan gocunmayan, modern ve cok zeki bir adam.

Genc kadin cumartesisinin geri kalanini bu ekiple brunch yaparak gecirecegi icin cok mutlu. Akdeniz Avrupasi’nin en guzel tatlari tabaginin uzerinde, Sufizimden tutun da emlak yatirimciligina kadar pek cok sey konusabildigi kafasi ozgur arkadaslari etrafinda otururken kisa bir an gozlerini pembe tavana dikip, disaridan soyle bir kendine bakiyor.

“Bugun de ne cok pembe gorduk” diye dusunuyor...Kadinlara yakisacak sekilde uysal ve pozitif olmalari icin onlara dayatilmis bir renk pembe. Ne kirmizi gibi edepsiz, ne de siyah gibi baskin. Bir donemin en mantikli secenegi. Kafasinda kacinilmaz bir dusunce sekilleniyor ve keyiften resmen tavana bakmakta olan suratina kocaman bir siritma oturuyor. Eger diyor kendi kendine “Bugun artik kadin kadina canimiz viski istediginde viski, kokteyl istediginde pembe bir Cosmo icmeye gidebiliyor, ve hatta canimiz zevk istediginde pembe vibratorler kullanabiliyorsak, belki pembe gercekten de bizim rengimizdir. Pozitifiz dogru. Her zaman umutluyuz o da dogru ama ne sanildigi kadar zararsiz, ne de masumuz biz. Insaniz cunku. Gunahsiz insan olur mu?”

Neye siritiyorsun diye soruyor arkadasi. Hic diye cevap veriyor genc kadin. “Kadinlarin rengi gercekten de pembe galiba. Ona guluyorum.


Not: Bu yazi icin evrenin gizledigi bir ironiyi gun isigina cikarmada bana ilham veren Duygu Daniels’a sevgiler! Her cumartesim seninle brunch yapip sufizm konusarak gecse.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

New York'ta Bir Pazar Sabahi...


Sabah kafasinda Domates Biber Patlicaaaan, Bir anda butun dunyam karardiii cumleleriyle uyanmisti. Butun evi Baris Manco sarkilariyla yankilandirmak icin cok guclu bir istek duydu. Derhal bilgisayarina saldirdi ve Onu bu sarkiyla uyandirdiginda kendisine sicacik bir gulumsemeyle cevap veren bir adamin yaninda yatiyor oldugu icin icinden Allaha bin kere sukretti. Domates Biber Patlicaaaan dese neden bahsettigini, nasil bir sanatci, nasil bir ’88  Turkiyesi, Adam Olacak Cocuk, tum bunlarin ne anlama geldigini cok iyi bilecekti sevgilisi. Tipki kendisinin Erzincan Mandira'nin ne oldugunu bildigi gibi mesela.

Bu bilinmezlerle dolu, buyuk elli buyuk ayakli sarisin mavi gozlu devlerle orta boylu digerlerinden olusan dunyada herkesin ve en basta da kendisinin Domates Biber Patlicaaaan’I bilen birine cok ihtiyaci vardi. Bu durum aralarindaki iliskiyi diger herkesinden daha ozel kiliyor muydu peki? Sonucta Turkiye’de Erzincan Mandirayi da Baris Mancoyu da cok iyi bilip, bildiklerini birbirleriyle paylasabiliyor olmalarina ragmen hic anlasamayan bir suru cift yok muydu? Sonunda asil onemli olaninin ne kadar cok sey paylastiklari degil paylastiklarinin bir omur onlari ozel kilmaya yetip yetmeyecegi olduguna kadar verdi ve kalkip kahvaltiyi hazirlmaya basladi. Yumurtalar fokur fokur kaynayan suyun icinde katilasmayi beklerken, kendisi Domates Biber Patlicaaaaan ezgileri arka fonda domates keserken yumusacik bir pazar sabahina basliyordu.

Monday, February 17, 2014

La Grande Famiglia

As I am sitting behind my kitchen table and listening to Macy Gray song "Glad You're Here" all I can think of is my family and here is why.

It was the summer of 2007, July 2007 to be exact. We headed down to south of Italy as a family; all the way down to the tip of the heel, to beautiful Lecce. We went there because my cousin's wife was from there and they were renewing vows.

Like all big families, our most efficient and fully functional time limit together was 20 hours max; not even a full day. What followed after that was a complete circus. It was a mental -and even physical at times- war, where every side from different generations has a very valid point to make and be understood. Speaking of generations, there were 4 of them at this Lecce vacation so you do the math for level of absurdity that might rise and rise during simple conversations that start with a "Good morning" because that was enough. As the sun rose and our day began, so did the craziness.


We were always together and we each had problems of our own. I, for one, was stuck on pilates and yoga those days. I really wanted to wake up at sunrise and climb to the roof of the villa we were staying at to do yoga with the first rays of the sun. But I never could because we were always drinking gallons of wine at night and laughing like the circus monkeys we were as a family every night so I never could wake up the next morning. Big problem to have, I know...

Ali, my cousin's son of 7-months at the time had his own problems as well. Just because he was 7-months old, we didn't ignore his feelings. Feelings are important in my family, we prioritize them before anything else.

On that particularly beautiful Lecce morning, we were going to this south Italian beach about an hour drive away from us, which was supposed to have been one of the best beaches in southern Mediterranean coast. Caterina, my cousin's gorgeous wife had rented this big ass van to fit the crazy Turkish family in and the way she was driving that giant thing through and around tiny Lecce streets, where a man could barely walk through still blows my mind to this day. I think to drive that well, you have to be a little insane, aka Italian. There were about 10-15 of us in the van. My aunt Nilgun was holding Ali, who started crying so loudly and suddenly that we thought she dropped him on the bumps, which obviously was not the case. Truth was far funnier. Ali's diaper was put on too loosely that when the little creature's food came out on the other end as little pieces of brown shit, he sort of...pooped on himself and on my aunt's arms and hands and probably a little bit on her dress too. This was followed by inevitable chaos inside our van of mobile screams and laughter, which continued on with conversations such as:

My aunt looking at Ali and the brown pieces of poop all over her saying "Can somebody please give me a napkin or wet wipes or something? STOP! Stop laughing and help me" to which Ali's grandmother replies "Nilgun, wait a second! I should have something in my bag. I'm looking for it. Wait!" and throwing angry looks at her husband - Ali's grandfather- saying "Teoman, what did you do with the napkins in my beach bag??" to which innocent and clueless Teo replies "I didn't do anything with your napkins or your beach bag!? I don't even know what's happening right now!" Nilgun's husband, which makes him Ali's second degree uncle or something, I don't even know- is laughing up his sleeves at his wife, who is still covered in baby poop and meanwhile my cousin and I -not Ali's father, my other cousin, with whom I share things like age, size, looks, astrological signs, both main and rising signs- taste in food, men and chocolate as well as mindset, are only laughing and not really partaking in the collective but pretty dysfunctional efforts of helping Nilgun and Ali, all the while Ali screams louder and louder because not only is he covered in shit but now a van full of people are also laughing at him; sorry with him at the situation. Regardless, kid is more and more upset at this whole thing and the hasty grownup, who couldn't even manage to tie a diaper properly. Why oh why did he have to come to earth as part of this family!? Oh dear God! We felt for him. Like I said, we were a family, who prioritized feelings before anything else, including cleaning shit apparently.

Yes, we were La Grande Famiglia that summer, mix of crazy Turks and cool Italians and we all had different problems. We were just perfect and unbreakable. Everyone managed to contribute a piece of themselves to the chaos and also gained their share of craziness from the mix. I have been to tropical rain forests since then and been on luxury US trips on the company Amex. No vacation has ever been as refreshing and rejuvenating as the Lecce trip I had with my big family. We were an invincible team together, half Turkish half Italian, constantly making fun of each other and hugging so intimately for so long that an American would have probably sued someone for incessantly violating his/her personal space.

One of the most beautiful memories I left with from the craziness was Macy Gray...I had been listening to her captivating voice for quite some time even before this vacation but it was my cousin and other cousin's husband, who introduced me to one of her older songs. Until then, she had accompanied me on many sad nights alone and really happy days together with friends. Her voice had this weird resonance, which completely ruled over me. She was a lion trainer and I was a lion turned kitty with her voice, no joke.

Back then, I was mostly listening to The Big, her 2007 album and we didn't have Spotify yet so any efforts to discover a new artist and his/her grandiose of talent would have to come from one's own dedication to do so, which was definitely not as easy as typing up someone's name on the search box and having everything he/she had ever produced listed right in front of your eyes, chronologically or by popularity as you wish. No, we were still in the dark times then. Facebook was still not as big in Europe as it was on US soil; Napster had lost its legal battle long ago, leaving peer-to-peer sharers confused and Limewire the only reasonable source for music sharing. Therefore I wasn't quite aware of her gem of an album, On How Life Is and in that album, that song...A song that had such a staggering impact on me that I literally did not listen to any other song for about 2 months. I was obsessed. It was Do Something that did this to me. After 7 years and countless times of listening to it, I finally had the unforgettable experience of listening to it sang live by Macy Gray the Graytest herself the other week in New York, two nights in a row. It was by far the most amazing, most unforgettable, most unreal musical experience of my life of 29 years. I can only hope to get to that level of concentration and amazement in anything else I do from now on. That was my peak in life, which I will write about separately. 

Today, Macy Gray reminds me how much I love and miss my crazy Grande Famiglia. Without family love, one hardly feels like one belongs to something or somewhere. You might have learned the indescribable importance of family through an abundance of familial system of emotional support or through lack of it. Either way, you can only try to achieve it yourself when you start your own family. I consider myself very lucky to have learned that through abundance of family relationships that are unique to mine. I'm sure Macy Gray the Graytest had her own unique family history to support her through rough times and make her write songs as timeless as Do Something; lyrics wrapped inside melodies that traveled all the way from her heart to mine and made me write this up today.

Art is beautiful, isn't it?

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Happy Dance for Georgia O'Keeffe

I am at de Young Museum right now. I haven't looked at the art yet, except this building itself is a work of art. I just purchased my magnets -I have to do that everywhere I go, it's my favorite travel cliche- and a notebook from the "Artistic San Francisco" series. My museum shopping spree is followed by a hunger strike and so here I am, sitting at the museum cafe trying to feed my stomach with food and my soul with a very refreshing and liberating glass of Sauvignon Blanc on this lovely San Francisco afternoon, two glasses in fact. As soon as my soul is fed, I will go exploring. 

Today I am hoping to meet Georgia O'Keeffe up close and personal for the first time. I'm frenetic. First time I've ever heard of her name was when the heroin addict tattoo artist girl mentioned it to her lover on Breaking Bad. I might have heard of it before but this must have been the first time the name hit the right corner in my brain that I never really forgot after that. I made a little mental note somewhere in there and now universe brought her right in front of me. I become a very happy person when such coincidences occur. It might even be the only time I become truly happy, like deep inside happy, and reach my husband's usual level of cheerfulness. He is happy and cheerful at heart and at all times. I, on the other hand need my small miracles in life to stay focused on Zen-level happiness like that. Today is my miracle day. 

I had actually made up my mind the night before. I was trying to make a decision between going to the de Young Museum or vintage shopping. A decision made easy once I thought "Stop breathing in and out Vintage Shopping and start using some of that oxygen in the air." I am addicted to shopping anything vintage because it's always an adventure in itself and I feel like I own a part of world history. Problem is I like art more. So I found myself at the museum, which opens at 9.30am. 

I planned to wake up with my husband at 7am; have breakfast with him and send him off to work like a good housewife, just so I can take an early trip to modern art museum, breaking all rules of being a housewife like a bad anarchist. After the museum, I was going to skip vintage shopping; come back to the hotel, grab my in-cabin luggage -thanks Delta for pushing me to travel light- and hit the road to come back home to New York. I was so smart, I had it all figured out. Only problem was I was dumb enough to forget yet again that life is a schizophrenic monster who only does whatever the heck it pleases while you make plans. Life cancelled my flight. 

With a new flight scheduled for the next day and really strong vocal cords, I did only what any sane woman with plans for the day would do, I did my own version of happy dance on the bed, which involved some jumping up and down and obviously screaming songs of joy at the top of my lungs. Sorry next door neighbors and front desk staff, whom might have gotten angry calls from my next door neighbors about my screaming. I don't know. I had one full day for fun all to myself and absolutely no time to waste; I left.

I walked to the museum, which took me two hours. During these two hours, I sent 129 photos and a few videos to a very old and good friend in Ankara all the while walking as if she was walking right next to me. A normal person would probably be very bored at first and furious by the end, probably would have turned their phone off too. Luckly, she is not a normal person; she's my friend. Once we arrived at de Young together, she dropped me off and went back home. 

As I'm sipping my last drop of wine, I think I have satisfied my soul's hunger. Well, until dinner that is...The museum cafe is crowded and San Francisco is flawless. Georgia O'Keeffe? She must be all eyes and ears, waiting for me, wondering which painting I will start my tour at. Museum curator probably thinks her layout makes all the sense in the world and that all visitors must follow her sequence if they want to make this a fun experience. Me? I avoid systematic approach to art at all costs. Walking up and down aimlessly from one corner of a museum to the next is my approach. I like surprises, not rules; not when it comes to art.

Right now, I am in a rule-free zone, where I have become one with my own thoughts in my head, hearing the voices of the crowd like background noise from afar. Moments of perfect solitude within a crowd. Or maybe just two glasses of wine, who knows... I do want to get up and start exploring one corridor after another, walls full of timeless human soul but I have a problem. I am too obsessed with documenting  and sharing present moments with loved ones that my phone reaches the danger zone of 1% battery before noon. I must find a way to recharge because though I enjoy moments alone, I am not a lonely woman. I have people who care about me and who wonder what I do. I have a partner in crime, who will commit life with me until the end and I have a friend for life, who will commit crimes with me forever. I need to keep them both informed of my whereabouts because you know, life without crime would be boring and crime without a partner would be worthless.

Thank you God/Allah/Buddha and all the rest, for art, wine and cancelled flights.

Sunday, February 9, 2014

San Francisco: Europe lost in the States

To visit a new city for the first time and to connect with it, to really find a piece of yourself in it is magical without doubt. That is even why men travel, come to think of it...To satisfy the hunger for discovery and connection. 

That first touch, first kiss with a city is what I get excited about when I travel and San Francisco was no exception to the rule. I was very, very excited to be going there. I had read all the cool city guides, and made an extensive list of all the restaurants I wanted to eat at and cocktails I wanted to drink. Even independent coffee and cigar shops had their own columns in my list. Locals' favorites mattered as well as all the typical touristic stuff. After 20 something years of active traveling, I finally have a pretty good idea of how I want to approach my discovery when I see new places. I believe that everybody has their own way of shaking hands with a new place. Some might prefer heavy listing and scheduling while others won't even book a hotel room before they set foot in the city. That's all very personal and personal is great. One thing I have personally learned about traveling is one can never really know what to expect from a new city until one is actually in it. Of all the things New York had thought me - and probably still is teaching- no expectations was the one single lesson I carry with me everywhere I go.

Other people's stories, movies or songs don't really matter. All you can expect from a new place will unveil itself as soon as you actually hear the unique buzz of the city. You know...sum of all the sounds that are very specific to a place. And the smells of course. Every city smells very differently. Only when you unite the smells and sounds of a city with photos you've seen or movies you've watched will they start to make sense. Only then a new place will become unforgettable in so many different ways.

So "Have no expectations and just go to San Francisco" was precisely what I did three years ago and boy did that work!..I fell in love with it. Absolute, unconditional love that brought me back here today. My second visit was just as amazing as the first one, if not more personal this time. On its many long and steep slopes that resembled the ones in Ankara, where I was born and lived until I was 24, I went back to my childhood streets and thought "Well, this feels homey". If you were used to living in a flat city though, you would probably feel like a space shuttle slowly reaching the peak to be launched into outer space. Needless to say my husband didn't fall in love with its slopes but he did love the sea and the seagulls and the sea lions at Pier 39 or anything that had something to do with the sea. Because that was his childhood connection San Francisco presented him. Even when we walked side by side, and stayed in the same room, ate the same food, took the same photos, our San Francisco experiences were still different. That's why discovery is beautiful and could be enjoyed alone just as much as with loved ones. 

One thing everyone seems to agree on about this city is definitely how it makes you feel like you are somewhere in Europe. It's not necessarily European per say, in the way it looks but there's definitely something about it that feels very European. I didn't try to pinpoint why, just enjoyed it. I walked alone on its streets for hours, not feeling tired, only more and more excited as the hours passed. When my feet said stop, I stopped but kept teasing my mind and my heart, sitting at a local coffee shop, trying to name all the smells and listening to its buzz, tasting its coffee; just taking it all in. Ten years from now, if I ever smell that coffee again, I will remember and think of my moments in San Francisco and say to myself, "Damn I miss that city."

A city can also leave a trace in your heart through its people. I will never forget the beautiful and unique houses in San Francisco, maybe because I took 2 million photos of them. But I will most certainly never forget its people and their conversations. Like when I was sitting in that coffee shop, a woman, who looked to be in her late twenties, met with a guy, who wore a beanie and really cool jewelry. Listening to their conversation for the fist few minutes, I thought he was a designer of some sort and was there to be interviewed for a designing gig. They certainly didn't know each other and she was asking all sorts of questions to change that. Turns out they had met on match.com and this was their first date. Their conversation and the connection they were trying to make, made San Francisco only more interesting for me. I made another connection with the city through them, not because I'm on match.com but because I, too try to touch other people's lives all the time and want people in my life who can make a difference for me. I try hard to change and to connect every day in New York so yes, I will most certainly sympathize with two people trying to do the same in a coffee shop in San Francisco. 

This city and I, we became very close friends. The kind of friends you share laughs with, not tears, fears or secrets; not the dark kind anyway. San Francisco has become what New York isn't. It's that good friend, who doesn't yet know me better than I know myself. We never had to go through difficult times together, only fun ones. Nothing but amazing food, great wine and truly unforgettable art, architecture, history...Have I mentioned good food?

Despite similarities -yes, rent is very high in San Francisco too- this city has or will never be like New York for me, my one and only. But it's not so bad either. It's my Europe lost in the States, my connection to a fun past full of good memories and who knows maybe even a future waiting to become my present. Whether I live in it some day or not, one thing is for sure: I will be back to connect with it a little more and yes, to have some more of its wines. San Francisco, you are beautiful in every way. See you next time.