I simply haven’t had time.
The demanding jetlag refuses to leave. The upcoming wedding has been looming in the not so distant future and the details change hourly. The only thing we know for sure at this point is that Jake and I love each other. Which, I guess, is all that matters.
We spent a weekend talking to three cake people, two photographers, four caterers, two florists, and a band. The amount of money that spills from these people’s mouths so easily appalls me. The amount of work required to do a really simple wedding has begun to overwhelm me. I just want people to come and to have a good time. Is that really so hard?
This weekend is another several-hour drive to meet the officiator. I know it will be over soon. It has to be. May is approaching rapidly. Thankfully.
I came home to an envelope from my job, requiring that I fill college applications and get recommendations. I’ve graduated from college too long ago. I don’t have any professors to write recommendations anymore. My Wall Street boss can’t really speak on behalf of my capacity as an educator. Not to mention the ten hour exam I will have to pass next weekend. I can’t really understand why I do this to myself over and over again. I must truly enjoy major challenges or loathe comfort.
I haven’t even truly begun the apartment hunt, another overwhelming block in my hourly rising battle of getting things done.
So, you see, I want to be pithy. Instead, all I can be is amazed at my ability to keep complicating my life and marvel at my pleasure of torturing myself. Why do I keep striving to make my life more complicated? Why can’t I just relax and enjoy life for a change?
I’m reading “Fast Food Nation” and put it down for the supremely unchallenging Grisham. I sit and watch TV. I run around and repeat details of my wedding to a million strangers. I am tired of giving my address and phone number out.
Things will calm down soon, right?
Previously? Jetlag.
I don’t get jetlag.
This August, I will have been living in the United States for ten years. During college, I used to go home twice a year: Christmas and summer. Since my nephews were born, I’ve been trying to go home as often as every three to four months. With that many trips back and forth, one can waste a lot of time over jetlag.
During the week I spend at home, I don’t even switch my watch to Turkey-time. I just keep adding 7 each time I glance at it. Impractical, you say? Well, habits are hard to break. I feel like if I don’t change the watch, I will be in tune with both time zones at all times.
Ahem.
We came home two nights ago and as of 7pm tonight, by body is screaming “Please please let’s sleep.” My brain tries to explain to my body that if it could only hold out for a few hours, life would go back to normal much more quickly. And yet, here I am, staring at my computer, forcing myself to write an entry.
The truth is my brain is almost completely shut down, making it impossible for me to come up with something pithy or funny. Okay, so I’m never funny, but you get my point.
So I spent ten days in Istanbul. Our parents got along really well. I took over 300 pictures. I spent a wonderful night chatting with my sister until 3am while the kids were sleeping in the same room. I found a beautiful wedding dress and comfy shoes. I got my invitations printed. I bought shoes, skirts, dresses and pants. And lots of books. I read the Time Machine and finished most of the Count of Monte Cristo. I had a wonderful hot chocolate with my best friend, Levent. I got to see my best friend Milka and her son Moris. I had an amazing engagement party. I got wonderful presents. I slept, I relaxed. I felt glad to be alive and thankful for my life.
So, I spose if the cost of these incredible ten days is a bit of jetlag, I could do much worse.
I’m off to bed to doze off while I read the rest of the Count of Monte Cristo.
I promise to do my best to get awake and pithier soon.
Tho, I am leaving for Boston day after tomorrow.
Previously? People Watching.
I’ve been a member of metafilter since September 8, 2000.
It appears I have posted twenty-five comments, more than half of which are replies to the one link I posted. One could easily deduce that I’m not an active member of the site.
The fact is I read the site almost daily and, often, several times a day. And I don’t just use it for the links; I read the comments, I look at the links. At times, I even print out some of the more interesting conversations so I can read and think on the subway home.
While reading the interesting goings on at metafilter tonight, I realized what I love about the site so much. I’m the sort of person who likes to people-watch. I can sit for hours and observe the people passing by and I also love making new friends, finding about their ideas and thoughts. Metafilter gives me the luxury of both without having to leave the comforts of my home.
I like to be able to click on a topic on a controversial issue and see tens of viewpoints and at least a few well thought out opposing arguments. I like the wide range of its members. Geographically. In age. In background. In priorities. In just about every which way. It’s the kind of varying audience that would be almost impossible to arrange in real life. Talk about getting to do some quality people watching.
I read about all these people getting fed up/frustrated/emotional about the changes in the site and making their dramatic exits and it makes me ponder. I’ve observed all the changes in the site too and there are days I get annoyed because there are too many links and not enough quality conversation. There are days I feel like it’s all crap. But then a neat topic starts up and I remember how much I love it.
I guess a people watcher never really gets emotional cause she’s observing and not really an active part of the crowd and hence feels less of a sense of belonging. Hence less of the sense of loss.
Or so one would think.
All I can say is that if Metafilter disappeared tomorrow, I would be really really sad. And if I can feel this way as a member who mostly watches from afar, I can only imagine the sorrow of its core participators.
Previously? Chocolates and White Dresses.
I went wedding-dress shopping today.
My mom, my sister, one of her little boys, Jeff, and I filled in the car and drove to the other side of town. Jeff was coughing a bit and my sister’s doctor is in the same neighborhood as the dress shop so she tagged along. Since his brother got to go to kindergarten instead of the doctor’s, Jeff was feeling bummy and didn’t talk to us in the car.
After we made it to the dress shop, he decided he wanted some candy. He didn’t want to wait till we left the wedding store, he said and since we knew it was going to be a while in the store my mom went across the street and bought him some mints and some chocolate. The cute little two-and-a-half year-old sat quietly and chunched on his mints while we looked through collections of white dresses.
A half hour later, I put on the dress that we liked the most and turned to Jeff, who was now munching on a chocolate bar, I asked if he liked my dress. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Should I buy it?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Will you give me a kiss?’ I asked. He nodded and to the anxiety of my mom and the sales woman walked over to me in my white dress with his chocolate bar and gave me a kiss on each cheek.
He did not touch any of the dresses and when his bar was finished, he raised his hands and told my sister that her hands needed to be washed.
Not all kids make a mess.
I got a kiss from my nephew, found a pretty dress, arranged my invitations and even found comfy and pretty white shoes.
Today was a good day.
Oh, and the flight over was just fine. It feels good to be home.
Previously? That Time.
It’s that time again.
It might seem to you as if I go home very often, but to me, if feels like years have passed since the last time I saw my little nephews. My sister. My parents. My brother-in-law. My friends.
This time it’s even more special than usual. This time we have a celebration. This time we have Jake’s parents and his siblings. This time we get to take our relationship to the next level. To a more permanent one. This time I get to shop for wedding dresses. This time I get to prepare invitations and maybe even party favors.
All of that fills me with anxiety and excitement. But mostly happiness.
This will also be the first time I’ve been in a plane since the day before my birthday. I don’t even want to say the date that seems to roll off people’s tongue’s so easily lately. It hasn’t been that long and I personally haven’t adjusted all that well just yet. At least not well enough to have made it part of my vocabulary.
I’ve never been afraid of riding on a plane. When I was little, my mom would hold my hand on the plane, her palms sweating right into mine. I would tell her that there’s nothing to fear, the chances of something going wrong are very low.
I’m uttering the same words to myself now.
I’m not sure things are back to normal. I’m not sure they ever will be. But I am sure that for as long as my family lives that far away, I will regularly have to get on a plane and travel over the Atlantic Ocean. I don’t intend to let anyone stop me from being able to do that.
Especially not when it means I get to hug the two little boys I miss the most.
I will try and update frequently from home, but as always, no guarantees, so in the meantime feel free to browse the archives, leave some fun comments, or contact me personally.
And keep smiling.
Previously? Smut or Substance.
I like to read. I love to read.
I like to listen to music. I like to go to the movies. I like to watch TV.
Until I moved to the United States, I didn’t realize that there were a whole list of movies/books/etc. I could never admit to reading/watching/etc. It appears, here, there are two sets of people: one. people who have no standards, two. people who only read literature or watch small budget/foreign movies.
It appears I don’t belong in either.
I like to read what I like to read and I tend not to worry about what others think about it. I read John Grisham and I read Charles Dickens. I’m not embarrassed of one just like I’m not particularly proud of the other. I don’t read Danielle Steel and I don’t read James Joyce or Hemingway. I believe that you can’t judge something unless you’ve actually done it. if you’ve never read Sydney Sheldon, can you really say that he sucks? If you’ve read even one book, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but I know tons of people who are happy to bash a novel they’ve never read, a movie they’ve never seen.
I think when you have the whole attitude that surrounds the mindset of ‘I’ll only watch movies that are small budget and independent’, you’re automatically ruling a whole set because it doesn’t fit into criteria that you’ve preset at a certain point for a certain reason. It’s such an exclusionary mindset. But that’s their problem. What people choose to deprive themselves from is completely their own problem.
I mostly mind the people who judge you for liking something they define as low quality. There is an entire list of music you should never admit to listening. And God forbid you enjoy some mainstream writer or movie. Which means you have to walk with your head down in shame and hide any part of you that might find the movie fun or the music entertaining.
Why are people so judgmental? Why do people have to categorize themselves? Why can’t you read comics and literature and Harlequin all in one and still be a high quality human being? Why do you have to wear all black and adhere to strict rules just to be intelligent?
I love Disney. I love cartoons. I enjoy watching teenage movies and TV shows and music.
And I refuse to be called stupid or non-intellectual.
Previously? Point of View.
I’ve realized that, like many others around me, I’m a victim of ‘limited point of view.’
I remember years of torturous childhood experiences and pain just to be able to hang out with the group of people I was initially thrust in. My parents’ friends’ children. These people, purposefully or not, made me feel worthless on a regular basis. They made fun of my looks, my habits, my opinions, my preferences. Just about everything. They hurt me so much and so to the core that I can recite most of their words even today. I can even tell you exactly where those words were uttered. But I couldn’t even perceive the idea of not hanging out with them. I had no other friends. If I stopped trying to fit in this group, I’d be completely alone. It felt as if I had absolutely no other choice.
A few years later, an opportunity presented itself and I was able to find a new group of friends more accepting and rewarding that the previous, which helped me regain some of my long lost sense of self and allowed me to find even more appropriate friends. The hardest part was straying from the initial path.
Looking back, it’s easy for me to say that I should have left even sooner, I should have made friends of my own. But the fact is, at the time, my limited point of view did not allow for that possibility. It’s hard to seek something that doesn’t even cross your mind, or something that’s clearly not an option for you.
The same thing happened when I graduated from college. Having wanted to study computers since I was ten, I immediately found a job as a programmer and got on the path to ‘success.’ In the first few years I had a lot of tough times. Worked many weekends and late late nights, dealt with irresponsible and immature bosses, took a lot of the stress home with me. There were many times I spent hours crying from frustration and loss of hope. Even though my family and loved ones told me to quit, I never considered it to be an option. I didn’t really see a way out.
It sounds stupid now, but it truly was a lack of point of view at the time. I was so locked in my path that it seemed unthinkable to waver. It took a long time for me to come to terms with my unhappiness and I had to get really miserable before I started taking initiative. And literally within the week I moved into my new job, I wondered what took me so long. I realized that it was easily possible for me to be happy at a job and that I was insane for having suffered as long as I did in my previous one.
Hindsight is always 20/20.
I am now standing at another crossroads in my life. Another case where I am struggling to look at my life from another point of view. Giving up a lucrative job and one that appears successful and amazing to others. A job that I enjoy. This time it’s for a bigger cause. This time I don’t know if things will work out. I’m feeling the same anxiety I’ve felt before. The fear of leaving the comforts of my chosen path. I’m struggling to let it not get to me.
I’m trying to stand on my table and look at it from a different point of view.
Previously? Shortchanged.
“We sometimes ask our students at The American University to list twenty famous women from American history. There are only a few restrictions. They cannot include figures from sports or entertainment. Presidents’ wives are not allowed unless they are clearly famous in their own right. Most students cannot do it. The seeds of ignorance were sown in their earliest years of schooling.” – Failing at Fairness by Myra & David Sadker
My friend Ashlie used to refuse to read novels written by men. She told me that her high school and college education was male-dominated and she had decided that she needed to compensate by reading many of the women authors that get neglected within our schools.
I can’t say she doesn’t have a point.
Today, I can name many fantastic authors, but if I look back upon my formal education, with the possible exception of the Bronte sisters and Jane Austin, I don’t believe we studied any women writers. Female scientists? Marie Curie. That’s the extent of the list I was ever taught. Can’t even think of one female mathematician or physician. Historical figures? Short of presidents’ wives, I got none. Well, there’s Anne Frank, but I’m not sure what category she falls under.
Quite pathetic if you ask me.
I was never explicitly told that just because I am female, I’m not supposed to be good at a certain field. In elementary school, I rocked in math and the teacher never made me feel like that was a bad thing. For middle and high school, I attended an all-girls school so obviously there was no male-female competition there. But I have consistently been interested in the male-dominated fields and I have never felt intimidated by the men around me. So I always thought that maybe I grew up without gender discrimination.
The fact is, gender discrimination is there all the time. I didn’t avoid it. Most people aren’t even aware that they are biased. I, for the most part, haven’t internalized it. ( Though, I did internalize a whole lot of other things.) Just because it didn’t destroy my life, or at least not in the ways I’m aware of, doesn’t mean the bias isn’t out there. Doesn’t mean it isn’t important. And it surely doesn’t mean that it doesn’t affect many others.
Can you name twenty women from American history?
Previously? Good Mate.
As I explained yesterday I’m not very good at coming up with ideas on what to write lately, so I decided to use the aid of some hardware. I bought If and a bunch of other several books in college when it was fun to talk about such random issues with random strangers. To be fully honest, I don’t think I’ve cracked the book since then but this seems a good time as any.
So here’s today’s question: If you had to name the single most important quality of a good mate, what would it be?
Honesty: I think honesty is at the root of any healthy relationship. Even though it can be mean or not-so-fun-to-hear at times, but it’s still better than any untruth. Maybe this is exceptionally important to me because I worry too much and am not always completely self-confident. Ask any paranoid, the stories he or she is capable of coming up with are way worse than any awful truth. Honesty is also the core of trust and once you lose trust, what exactly do you have left? If I know that my partner is being fully honest with me at all times, all the extra layers of garbage are automatically peeled off and we’re communicating at the most fundamental of all levels. An honest mate is a mate who respects me and values me.
What other qualities?
Compassion: Someone I can lean on. Someone who will care for me and take the time to listen to me and understand me. Sounds cheesy but I think most people in the world want to be understood. Someone to listen to what I’m actually saying. Someone who will just hug me when there’s no good option. Someone who will choose to be by my side through thick and thin. Someone who loves his family, babies and animals. Someone who’s not embarrassed to kiss me in public.
Laughter: Someone who makes me laugh. Not much to say here. I love a man who can make me laugh.
Intelligence: I like people who make me think, people that give me different opinions, people who have interesting hobbies, people who can introduce me to new worlds.
How about you? What’s the single most important quality that you care about?
Previously? Quiet.
I don’t know what happened.
To be fully honest, it’s been this way since September. I just can’t seem to find something worthwhile to say. September and October were spent in confusion, disbelief, and applications. I honestly cannot even remember November.
December had me interviewing, brought a proposal, a promotion, a job offer, more holiday food, and a lovely New Year’s eve. All in one month.
January turned my life upside down, sent Jake back to work, meant we’re definitely not moving to Texas just yet, brought on some begging to make my new career work, and meant hours and hours of work planning for the upcoming wedding.
February so far promises my first flight since September, an engagement party in Istanbul, and more wedding arrangements.
Through all this, one would think I’d have more to write about. More to think about. More to feel. More to blabber on and on. But somehow I don’t. Most days, I sit on the computer, trying to come up with something fascinating, something interesting, something readable. And I end up with nothing.
I’m not exactly sure why.
I spend most of my free time lying on the couch staring at the TV. I knit like mad, trying to finish my sister’s and nephews’ scarves on time. I’m trying to keep the wedding thing together. I’m trying not to disappoint my manager and team at work. I’m trying to arrange our honeymoon plans. I’m trying to read up on teaching and study for the New York State licensing exams. My brain is pretty close to turning to mush and I am just barely able to do the context switching when necessary.
Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to write much lately. Any ideas?
Previously? Power of Many.
I have heard that some scientists think that what makes humans superior to other creatures is that we’re social.
I believe in the power of many. In Turkish we have a saying and it translates to, “What does one hand have? Two hands make noise.” Okay, so it doesn’t translate well, but I hope you know what it is trying to say. It has always been obvious to me that two people can achieve a lot more than one, and three in return, can do even more.
Unless we’re talking about developing software.
But seriously, a single person has limitations on his or her capacity, just by the fact that a person can only do one thing at a time, be in only one place at a time. A crowd can disperse to attack the issue from a multitude of angles, bring the issue to a resolution. A single complaint might be whining, but a hundred people complaining often makes it a legitimate issue. Think about class-action suits, they symbolize the power of a crowd over one individual.
A group of people are stronger in pure muscle power as well as brain power. Having more people means more ideas, more points of view, and more experience to draw from. There are many studies proving that if humans grew up without other humans, they would not acquire language skills. We learn to speak so we can communicate with others. Because we live in a society.
There’s also the downside of the ‘power of many.’ There’s a famous psychology test where the subject is placed in a room with nine other researchers and shown two lines where one is obviously longer than the other. The psychologist asks each participant, starting with the nine researches who are acting as if they are subjects, which line is longer. Each researcher has been told to say that the longer line is the one that obviously appears to be the short one. By the time the actual subject’s turn comes up, he almost consistently replies in accordance with the undercover researchers.
Why? Because no one likes to sway from the crowd. Even when the answer is obvious and seemingly certain, very rarely do people want to give the single opposing response. It’s easier to roll with the crowd than to stand your ground alone. “If everyone said the answer is B, maybe I’m missing something. Maybe the answer is B.”
I bet your mom told you that it’s a bad idea to do what everyone else does, right?
Even though it increases the pressure to want to belong, I believe working in a group is consistently superior to working alone. It’s simply impossible to come up with as many ideas and see things from as many perspectives on one’s own.
The trick is not to give up your own sense of being in the process.
Previously? Finally.
I suck at waiting.
I suck at unclear.
I suck at undecided.
As of Saturday, my life was semi-decided, my part of the world was almost completely under control whereas Jake’s was still topsy turvy. I was semi-freaked out but also happy that my resolutions had worked out.
Saturday morning, Jake’s life made a big leap into the world of fantastic. Suddenly, he had options, each better than the previous. It was time for us to sit down and have a talk. A long talk. One of those you-know-you-have-to-but-wish-you-didn’t talks. One where we knew there was no safe path to walk, no one right answer. No one perfect solution.
We talked about the near future, the far future, the unknowns, the what-if, the but-what-about-mes, the beginning of a world of compromises. A few hours into it, I became confident this path wouldn’t lead us to answers. I knew the talk was going nowhere and I was getting more excitable by the minute. I told him we had to stop talking and I had to sleep.
I like to sleep when I feel the depression come on. It’s preferable to the uncontrollable crying. Wouldn’t you agree?
A few hours of sleep gave me all the answers. The ones I knew but was unwilling to admit. It made me realize that I needed to choose us over me and our combined goals over my personal ones. It sounds easy, but let me be the first to tell you: it’s not.
Once the decision was made, Jake’s life switched to steady and all-good and mine got completely destroyed. I had to go back to square one and travel the path once more. I had to beg, pray and wait.
I’m not good at waiting. Since Saturday morning, I’ve been alternating between vegging out in front of the TV and sleeping. I’ve avoided pretty much everyone, as well as my site. I had no motivation to do anything until I knew.
Well, now I know.
And as Heather would say, “It’s all good, baby”.
Previously? Loss of Identity.
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projects for twenty twenty-six
projects for twenty twenty-five
projects for twenty twenty-four
projects for twenty twenty-three
projects for twenty twenty-two
projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
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