Thursday, November 27, 2014

New York Subway Stories #1

May 16, 2014 07:07pm

...Bu sirada yaninda oturan adam durmaksizin sakizini balon yapip patlatmakla mesguldu. Tas catlasa 30'larinda olmaliydi bu adam.

"Hey Allahim yiaa" diye gecirdi icinden.

Ciplak ayaklariyla camurlu sularda uzun esek oynayan cingene cocuklarin cignedigi gibi cigniyor sakizi igrenc herif. Kim yatar bu sulukle acaba merak ettim!? Para karsiligi yapan bulabilse bile mesela - vah yavrum- eminim bu adamdan sonra orospuluk meslegine bir sure ara verecektir zavallicik. Evet, evet! Orospu emekli eder bu adam ve sakizi...Kalk git yanimdan! Aaay! Daha gelmedik mi 72'ye!?.. Nerdeyiz biz? Burasi neresi?  Neden sakiz diye bir sey icat edilmiski sanki?..

Ic sesinin tum benligini kontrolu altina aldigi bu saniyelerde 34'e varmis olduklarini gordu. Tabiki Fulton'dan binip hemen karsisina oturmus olan o sempatik deli de tam o sirada ayaklandi. 

Yanlis anlasilmasin, 34'le bir alip veremedigi yoktu ama eger metro kullanmayi karsisindaki adam kadar iyi bilen bir baska deli daha varsa su hayatta ve bindigi metroyu icinde sizip kalmak icin degil de gercekten bir yerden bir yere ulasmak icin kullaniyorsa, 34 kesinlikle o kisinin duragi olmaliydi. Orasi delilerin parti mahallesiydi cunku. Bir de Macys'in. KI Macy's e gidenlerin yuzde seksenbesi turist, geri kalan yuzde on besi de deli olduguna gore (yuzdelerden cok iyi anlardi) problem yoktu. 34 delilerin ve Macyscilerin mahallesiydi. 

Bu derin dusunceyi kafasinda onayladigi saniyelerde PAT!? diye bir sesle yeniden icinde bulundugu korkunc metroya dondu. Cingene adam sakizi sisirip sisirip pat PAT PAT!? diye patlatmaya devam ediyordu. Tam adama donup dik dik "omrumu patlattin yeter!" bakisi atmak uzere kafasini cevirmisti ki 72'ye varmis olduklarini fark etti. 

Cin+cingene fuzyon iskencesi burada sona ererken karsi platformdan gelen 1 trenini gordu. Her seye ragmen simdi ne gibi manyaklar gorecegini dusunerek heyecanlanmadan edemedi. 

DA.

Friday, November 14, 2014

Zor Is Komedi

Ingilizce kitap okumaktan biktim deyip elime gecen ilk Turkce kitabin Ingilizce aslindan ceviri bir kitap oldugu gecenin hayatin bir cilvesi olmasi gerektigine inanip, herhangi bir dilde hicbir kitap okumadan uyumaya karar veriyorum. 

Cem Yilmaz anlatmisti sanirim showlarinin birinde, ya da Sahan Gokbakar. Cok da fark etmez.

"Komedi nedir?"

Nedir?..

"Komedi, icmek icin plastik siseden bardaga su koyup sonra plastik sisenin dibinde kalan suyu icmektir."

Kisinin ilgisini belli bir amaca dogru yonlendirip sonra beklenmeyeni yaparak sasirtmak miymis yani ? Olabilir. Ama eger oyleyse o zaman belki de hayat beni bu gece guldurmek istemistir. 

Gulmedim.

Kaldi ki komedinin pet siseyle, cam bardakla falan aciklanmaya calisilmasi da hosuma gitmemisti. Her seyi de baside indirgemeye, icinden derinligi sokup atmaya gerek yok. 

Bazen birak derin kalsin.

Ata Demirer'in komediye yaklasimini o yuzden sevdim sanirim. Gecenlerde oturdu ya cilingir sofrasina Ece Temelkuran'la, hani oku bitir bir daha oku bir roportaj cikti ortaya. Orda demis trajedi kolay, zor olan kotu olaylarin icindeki espriyi gormek diye.

Cok hakli, suan esprisini kaybettim bulamiyorum hayatimin. Hayir, sikildigim Ingilizce kitaplari Amerika'da gecirdigim uzun sureye, sonra elime gecen ilk Turkce kitabin da Ingilizce'den ceviri bir kitap olmasini Turkiye ozleminin ikinci elligine, yapmacikligina ve geciciligine gonderme olarak kullanmiyorum. Hele hele hicbir sey okumadan uyumaya karar vermis olmamin iki kita ortasinda kalmis, caresizlikten ne saga ne sola gidemeyip okyanusun dibini boylama hissine benzetmekle yakindan ilgim olmaz. 

Ben sadece trajedi kolay diyorum. Komediye saygi duyuyorum ve o yuzden ne okuyorum ne de uyuyorum. 

Yaziyorum.

DA

Monday, November 3, 2014

642 Things to Write About from Chronicle Books

So Chronicle Books, which happens to be one of my favorite publishers for Sunday fun-time reads, recently came out with a self-written book to uplift aspiring (or even established) writers' creativity and maybe even help unblock them if they are feeling that way.

I love it.

Love the idea as well as the execution. It was prepared overnight with ideas pouring in from the writers at The San Francisco Writers' Grotto. Overnight, mind you. 

There literally are 642 topics you could write about. The minute I set my eyes on this book, I started filling its pages with stories. Here's one to begin with. 

A houseplant is dying. Tell it why it needs to live.


Dear basil leaf,
You cannot die on me. I brought you home from Trader Joe's last June because of how you smelled. Your energizing scent took me back to my summers in Italy, where we would sit at the garden as a whole family doing nothing but watching the dog being lazy and cooling off in the shade with music in the background coming through the open door all the while smelling fresh basil.
I wanted to watch you and to pick your oldest and largest leaves to put on my pasta on those rare occasions we cooked. But I was most excited about the idea of sitting next to you on the fire escape and reading to you on hot summer nights. 
Then the heat wave came. 
I went out two nights in a row because I just couldn't stand being at home. Wasted on both occasions, I came home too carefree; too tired to care, really. 
I forgot to water you even though I secretly knew those nights must have been when you were most thirsty. I guess I was testing your limits, like I test myself sometimes...
Fucking heatwave, fucking tests...
You passed.
I love you now more than ever and I promise to never test you again.
Of those silky, vibrant, green leaves, only one little, light green, baby leaf survived today; telling me that it's my turn to face the test now. It's my potential to survive that needs fulfilling.
If you live, so do I. 
You cannot die on me. Not today, not in this life time. Together, we will survive and thrive for an eternity and then some more.
DA


They also published another version of the same book for younger writers and even another one for artists, who like to draw.

What would you write? Want to find out?

Dee

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Perfectly Equal

Let's talk about women for a second. To some, it might seem that it is an overly discussed topic by now but fact is even today we're not talking about them enough.

When it comes to women and their rights, we observe that there has been massive improvements in the world within last 100 years. 84 years ago for instance, women were given the right to elect and be elected for the first time in Turkey; a huge achievement some of us take for granted at times. United States did the same in 1920, when almost half of its population were women (51 million women vs. 53 million men). Take a second to try and acknowledge this if you can. Half of 105 million citizens cannot participate in making decisions that directly concern and impact them because law doesn't allow it and worst of all, that half remains silent about this shameful absurdness. When we turn to the UK, picture doesn't get any prettier. It was only 1928 when women over 21 finally were given that same right at the end of a 56-year old struggle, roots of which date back to 1872. Life expectancy in 1872 was averaging at 40 years, which means for women of that day, fight to improve their lives would have to continue for at least two generations. It is only understandable why only a limited number of women were willing to spend their entire lives volunteering to join the fight back then. A world state that might seem comical to modern women when it is in fact tragic.

As a person, who believes in freedom and perhaps thus found herself in New York, it is not surprising for me to read that women's rights movement  in the United States originated in this very city. After all, everyone here is free in one way or another. Take city's mice for instance. They're pretty free to take an afternoon stroll down Central Park alongside of city's habitants. In fact I wholeheartedly believe that they too see themselves as city habitants not because of the complex and old subterranean subway and sewer systems they call home but because they feel free here. Bugs are another similar kind of species that cannot give up the freedom they found in New York. Trust me, if Franz Kafka lived in New York back when he was working on Metamorphosis,  he couldn't have imagined himself as a tortured soul stuck in the body of giant cockroach because his entourage didn't understand him. No, sir. His novels would potentially be so much happier. Take E. B. White's Here Is New York for instance. It was published roughly 30 years after Metamorphosis and everyone and everything you find in the book are free. Free to do whatever they wish; free to feel however they want. Even the women.

Today, in year 2014 women in fact live a free life by law -for the most part- but one thing is for sure; the perfect gender equality in our daily lives is yet to be achieved. What is it that keep women from enjoying a free life in practicality even in a city like New York? Or better yet, what do we really mean by freedom? When I personally use the word freedom here, I am not referring to concepts like opportunity or income inequality or the right to practice abortion freely. These are just a few negative examples, existence of which are commonly acknowledged and accepted by men and women around the globe. I want to emphasize a more internal kind of unbalance: the type that is caused by limits women create within and carry as a part of themselves for their entire lives. Such limits may be the root of most inequalities we run into everyday but most frequently in two main areas of our lives: our work and love lives.

Facebook's COO Sherly Sandberg, whose life and success I follow religiously, touches upon this very issue in her first book Lean In. She mentions how women tend to be afraid of raising their voices even when they don't agree with a certain decision at work place. On the contrary men cannot lower theirs because that's just how they establish strength. Even if they do agree with something, they still make statements that begin with "I agree because..." You may associate this with the difference between testosterone vs. estrogen or with sociological theories as to how women need to preserve their passive nature for mankind to continue breeding. To me, they are just excuses. Women need to raise their voices at work place and I certainly don't mean an increase in bitchiness level. I just mean being more authentic and true to their real selves. If they do receive negative reactions from their peers or bosses and feel like they are risking their careers, then we can start saying something has finally clicked. At that point change becomes inevitable and only then we continue to give meaning and strengthen the work of the British women from 1872, who were willing to dedicate not only their life for this cause but also their daughter's lives.

Another aspect of life negatively impacted by the limits we create in our minds is our love life. This could potentially be a more complicated and hormonal subject that cannot be outlined as black and white as our work life. Nevertheless, when you leave sexuality out of it, what is really a relationship or marriage? Isn’t it simply an interactive relation between a man and a woman – or two men or two women? The word has inter in it for a reason. It’s a two-way interface; both man and woman has to be in action together.

How could a passive woman really contribute to betterment of the world and improve herself as an individual if she is confined to her husband’s limits of imagination? If she doesn’t create a useful, productive way to spend her time, whether through a full time/part time job or through her individual efforts to participate in production, not just consumption, how could she really entertain her mind and her body stuck inside her home life? Every person yearns for an identity to define oneself; otherwise the space they occupy in the world might seem purposeless at some point. It is for this immense need of purpose that some women turn to motherhood just because they cannot identify themselves with any other form of existence they are familiar with. This is perhaps the most unfortunate result of self-created limits in a woman’s mind that hinders her freedom within daily life: freedom to choose not to be a mother to feel complete as a woman.

Imagine a world where every single woman believes in and practices perfect gender equality and nobody gives any credit to the idea that being born as a woman naturally means you have to try harder in society to succeed. Who is society, really? Group of individuals, half of which is female. If women free their minds of the limits and rules that are as old as history, they should be doing so for no one but themselves. No societal movement can be as strong as an individual’s movement towards self improvement. Do it for yourself, not for feminism, not even for your daughter. Put the oxygen mask on yourself first if you want to save your infant.

There is no denying that the concept of patriarchal society did exist once but it is high time that we start acknowledging those days are over. In practicality this means that women can no longer be the only party at home doing housework but similarly men are not the only party paying the bills. Women has been and will continue to pick up the bill at a fancy restaurant and men are perfectly capable of doing laundry. And no, they are not automatically expected to make a mistake like mixing colored shirts with whites because, you know...They are men; they are new to this. No, every gender is held up against the same standards in this game. The day that every woman considers herself as perfect equal to every man, men will have no choice but to accept gender equality. By really practicing perfect equality, society will isolate people who insist on basing performance and success on gender. Those people will be looked down upon and similar to every idea that has been ignored, gender inequality too, will have to disappear.


A photo posted by Deecaf Writing (@duyguaktan) on

Dear woman,

Please immediately disregard the argument of not being equal to men but still working to get there. Instead why don’t you start believing that you are perfectly equal to every single man in your life and in the world because no matter how many excuses society keeps creating, you are only as equal as you would like to be.

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.