In my house, we had no unexplained rules. My parents often had decent reasons for the household rules and any new ones had to be justified. It might seem condescending to imply that my parents had to back up their decisions but I believe their behavior instilled very sound seed in my and my sister’s personalities.
I’ve always tried to have sound reasons for my actions. More importantly, I’ve always paid attention to the reasons behind my actions. Before I did something, I’d think about why I wanted to do it. As an overly emotional person, I know it’s extra crucial for me to make sure I stop and think before I act or decide.
But this is not about whether I think before I do or not. It’s more about for whom I do it.
I’ve met many people who make decisions based on other people’s criteria. People who choose careers because of popular demand. People who wear a certain type of clothing cause their crowd thinks highly of them. People who decide to lose weight cause someone makes a comment. People who move to another part of the world to follow a person they love. People who change their personality to fit in better.
I’m sure most of us are guilty of one kind of such decision making at one point in out lives. Fitting in is such an integral part of living in a society.
Having said that, I also hope that we all grow up and figure out our mistakes. The fact is doing something for others is never a good idea. In some cases it’s a blaming disaster waiting to happen, in others, it’s even worse.
I have friends who have chosen their college majors on what their families decided for them. They finish college and a few years later, they finally face the fact that they never wanted to do this in the first place. Now at a minimum four years of life has been lived satisfying their parents’ wishes, possibly even more. These people consistently have a hellish time trying to figure out what they want at that point, cause they never thought about it when other people were busy doing so.
In the cases where people follow a loved one around the world or change weight/hair/clothing for others, all it does is mask the actual issue. And by the time, the person realizes what’s going on, it becomes the other party’s fault, ruining the entire relationship.
You should do things for yourself. Pick a career you know would make you happy. Or meet your goals whatever they might be. Lose weight cause you are ready to and you want to. Change your hair color cause you want to try something else, not cause your friend said you’d look better blonde. This way not only will you think about your actions more, but you’ll be secure with your decisions.
And you’ll have no one to blame.
Oh, and, hi Ryan! =)
Previously? Nice People.
I hate nice people.
Is hate too strong a word? Ok, let me try again.
Nice people make my skin crawl.
People aren’t nice by nature. We all have good sides and bad sides. If you ever meet people who claim they’ve never harbored negative thoughts, I guarantee you that they’re lying. Or even worse, they might be fooling themselves.
I am in the process of dealing with someone who is nice. He is so nice that he never challenges anything. He won’t give his opinion on the matter discussed. He sits on the corner and nods. When asked if he agrees he will utter “we’ll see.”
I hear those little words and my brain translates them to, “I know it’s a stupid idea but I’ll wait until you fail so I can rub it in your face.” Which, of course, drives me absolute bananas. This way, he never says anything so his ideas can’t be wrong and those of us who put ourselves out there by presenting our thoughts are open for criticism. And he never said anything, so he is not mean or difficult.
And I feel bad talking to him cause what am I to say? He didn’t bash the idea. If I ask him to express an opinion, he says, “I will when I have a strong one.” So I feel like yelling, but I bite my lips. What has he done wrong?
Nice people force you to become mean. Since decisions have to be made, the complacent person forces the other person to dominate. You are the one who has to resolve matters. It might sound like it’s fun to make all the decisions but trust me, it gets old.
Being so utterly nice is a copout. It’s making sure that others decide for you. That others take the risks and possibly face the consequences. It also means that the complacent person is suppressing the negative thoughts, which often come out in forms of major lashing out. Even if it doesn’t, it still annoys the crap out of everyone else.
Even before I met this person, I used to hate nice people. It’s so incredibly fake to be so very fucking nice. I’m not saying don’t be considerate. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being understanding, courteous, and kind. But there are times when you need to say your opinions. Times where you disagree. It’s human to have your own thoughts and feelings.
Have a spine for God’s sake!
Previously? People We Choose.
At a quick glance, the men I’ve been with have nothing in common.
People say who you hang out with says a lot about who you are. In that case, I assume whom you date says even more. As opposed to our family, we choose our friends and significant others.
Including Jake, I’ve had four men in my life. Each had different heights and weights, with different colored hair and eyes. Different economic and religious backgrounds. Different family structures. Different levels of intelligence and motivation.
There are commonalities. Three of them had colored eyes and wore glasses. Three of them were scrawny and tall. Not that these things matter. Their personalities were each completely different. Most people who’ve met all four are quite confused at my lack of consistency.
But not me.
When I think of these men, I can tell exactly why all three were able to capture my heart.
They made me laugh.
I’m not sure why other people choose partners, but I tend to pick people that I think complement me. I look for happy men who will push me to try different things. I pick men who are more comfortable in their skin. I figure if I choose someone exactly like me, not only would it be no fun, but I wouldn’t be able to grow.
The men in my life have all introduced new worlds to me. They made me see issues from a totally opposite perspective. They made (and continue to make, in Jake’s case) life delightfully interesting.
When I choose friends, I tend to do a little bit of both. I have really close friends who have a similar background, value structure and family life to me. I also have friends who challenge my thought process, my beliefs, my lifestyle and my choices. If I surround myself only with people who agree with me, I don’t believe I’d realize my mistakes as quickly. But all my friends have the same sense of loyalty to friendship as I do.
I think the people we choose to be with does say a lot about who we are and who we strive to be and with whom we are willing to associate.
Look at your life. Are all your friends the same? Why did you pick the people in you life? What do they have in common?
It’s always good to know.
Previously? At the Movies.
And April has come.
Have you been reading my daily tidbits?
Have you noticed the weekly pencam shots?
Just making sure.
Every now and then a movie comes and it totally blows your mind. I am so glad that I dragged Jake to see Memento. Even though I knew the subject matter to be disturbing, I’ve been dying to see this film ever since I heard about it. Not to mention the amazingly fascinating site.
Memento is a rare example of a movie which combines an interesting plot with artistic shots. It forces the audience to interact with the movie in a similar manner as the movie’s main character. It pulls you in, keeps you attached and has you trying to put the pieces together the entire time. Just when you know who’s good and who’s evil, you find out you’re wrong. Just when you think you understand what happened, you find out you’re wrong. And you leave the movie more confused than you began.
I hate movies that don’t end. When the plot is not resolved, I leave the theater with an empty feeling. I get aggravated like I was cheated. Memento left me with a million questions. I still don’t know what was fact and what fiction. And the most important part of the movie didn’t get resolved. Yet the minute the credits started rolling, I smiled. I loved the ending. I loved it cause the plot didn’t really matter. The experience did.
I’m so glad such movies are made.
Especially when they also make incredibly moronic ones such as this. Argh.
Previously? Celebration.
Isabella Rosselini has a new perfume. As I watched the program where she was talking about the process of making this perfume a reality, she said that her logo for the perfume was that it should be a scent representing not this mystical thing that we strive to be but who we really are.
Which, of course, made me think.
There is an entire set of products whose job is to make us look and feel better. Perfume and makeup are easy to recognize members of such a club. Most of their function is in distorting reality. In hiding the blemishes and highlighting the strengths.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
For all intensive purposes, striving to be better is wonderful. It gives you drive, motivation and direction. Nothing wrong with a healthy dose of self-competition.
Healthy being the operative word.
I think these industries have gone so overboard that we feel ugly without make-up. We feel obligated to buy seventeen skin products to look decent. There’s nothing wrong with trying to accentuate the positive and go the extra mile on special occasions. As long as they don’t distort our idea of who we are.
I know many people who won’t even buy milk without putting makeup on, or wearing heels. Argh. Looking spiffy is nice, but who you are is so much more than that and why do you really have to be this “mystical entity” all the time?
I like the idea of celebrating who we are. Putting light makeup, dressing comfortably, being happier in your own skin. I wish more of us did that. We’re so busy being fed the person we have the potential to be, that we never enjoy being the person we already are.
It’s like people who live for the freedom they’ll have once they’re retired but their entire life is torture until that moment. We live in a society where plastic surgery and diet programs thrive. One where size 2 is the norm and one where normal-looking people are never good enough. Images get doctored, blemishes covered. Views are skewed.
What’s so bad about just being you?
Previously? Trust.
I tend to make friends easily.
Well, maybe not friends but acquaintances. For the most part, I’m outgoing and it’s easy to hold conversations with me. So at a party, I mingle well and make many acquaintances. I’m also often spread thin so I know many people from different situations/commitments. During college, I knew just about anyone in my year and the two years above and below me.
Becoming my friend, however, is a complicated and time-consuming task. Probably as a result of my past, I take a real long time to truly trust a person.
Having said that, once someone becomes my friend, it’s pretty much a done deal for life. I try to always to my best to be there for my friends and make sure that they always feel comfortable coming to me for anything. I’m not trying to boast, I believe that’s what friendship is all about, so I’m no more special than the next person.
So what do I do when a friend hurts me? How much do I forgive? How far is too far?
Such questions occupy my mind at times. Some people would say that you should always forgive accidental malice and others would say friends should know better. I would assume the ranges of unacceptable behavior would change from person to person. I have my own list. What’s on yours?
I’ve lost friends from not having kept in touch. I’ve lost friends from our priorities and routes having split. I’ve lost friends due to large distances that came between us. But all of those are temporary losses. As soon as our paths cross once more, it will be like we never parted.
The ones who’ve hurt me will have a totally different fate. Over the years, I’ve learned to forgive, but I don’t think I will ever learn to forget. I never forget my own fuck-ups, why should I forget others’? To be totally honest, even though I forgive my friends things never really are the same.
That’s the problem with trust, once it’s broken it’s not truly replaceable.
If you break a vase and then glue it back together, you can still see the break marks. As much as both parties might try to ignore them, if we were all being honest, we’d have to admit that you can’t go back.
So don’t fuck with other people’s trust.
Previously? And the Chicks for Free.
Each time I go to another “for women” meeting, I get more and more disappointed in members of my gender.
As a way of celebrating Women’s History Month (which pisses me off in so many ways that I won’t go into it) my firm organized a session on women and money. I ran to the session twenty minutes late cause I had a meeting, so I can’t vouch for the first part of the meeting. But the second part gave me enough frustration to last a few weeks. It also confirmed my suspicions that I must not be female.
The first thing the presenter does is ask people what their parents taught them about money. Several hands go up. Women say: “My dad told me never to pay on a date.”, “My mom used to sing ‘Daddy’s coming home, he’ll give us all his money.'”, “My mom told me to marry rich.”, and this went on and on.
Holy Fucking Shit! Is this the 21st century or not? Every single woman in this room is working at quite a prestigious firm, so we’re not talking people who went to college to find a husband. Or why would they be working?
My mom never graduated high school. My father never finished college. Both have worked pretty much every single day I’ve been alive. Neither ever told me to make the man pay or that I’d never be able to make money on my own. I don’t mean to imply that my parents never disagreed about money. They fought all the time, even though we were fortunate enough to have enough to go around.
My father used to hate the enormous phone bills so much that when my sister and I were teenagers, he had machines installed on the phone lines to cut us off after three minutes (cost multiplies in Turkey every three minutes so the longer you’re on the phone, the more you pay). It wasn’t that we didn’t have the money to pay; he just got irritated by how much we took advantage of the situation. Most money related issues were handled similarly. If we really wanted something we got it but not if it was merely caprice. For some reason, I don’t think that either my sister or I never took anything for granted. We never assumed that all we wanted could be ours. Even now, we’re more likely to not buy something than go crazy with shopping.
So I don’t know whether my parental education on issues of money was any healthier than other people’s but I was never ever told that I would need a man to provide the cash in my life.
The presenter says that a large population of women fear being a “bag lady”. Huh? She claims this is a common fear in wealthy, professional women. Huh? Maybe I’m snotty, but I have never ever had that fear. Or anything equivalent. Is that cause I’m fortunate enough to have a family who’s financially secure? Nope. I know better than to assume that money today has any guarantees. My parents could get sick and that money would disappear literally within days due to doctors’ fees. They could make bad investments. There are a million things that could go wrong. I could even lose my own savings overnight and be forced to start from scratch.
So what? Don’t I still have a brain? Even if all technology jobs dried up and I couldn’t get something in my field, I could learn a new skill. How is it that women question their capacity to mold to different situations? And don’t even get me started on the presenter’s opinion on women and math. I’m so sick of women becoming victims and I’m even sicker of women who victimize themselves.
I have many fears, but the ability to make money has never been one of them. It seems that makes me a minority in my gender.
What a shame.
Previously? Unspoken.
Last week, I started reading Dangerous Liaisons. Between that and the Decameron I’m remembering why I used to love such books.
They mastered the art of suggestion.
These novels are dripping with sexual acts yet the word sex is not mentioned once. The creativity of the author in weaving the appropriate words in with the beautifully amusing and intelligent characters makes me smile each time. I love these people. I admire this author. Not just for his ingenuity and wit but for not assuming that his or her readers are dumb.
I have the same problem with movies. What bothers me about recent movies is not as much their lack of creativity as their assumption that the audience is stupid. Characters have no depth, plots are rarely complicated and just about anyone can figure out the ending of most current movies.
I don’t mean to imply that I want movies to have open endings. On the contrary, I enjoy when the story has an ending. I don’t need every single knot tied but I don’t like the ending left to the moviegoer’s imagination, either. But the recent movies are so shallow that just viewing the preview is enough to get the entire plot. There are no surprises.
I’m offended by the implications of the recent movies and novels. Either the authors and moviemakers are dumb or they think that the population is. The characters are so unbelievably one-sided. No good characteristics on the bad guy and nothing bad about the good guy. It’s so sad.
If the characters aren’t going to be totally realistic, like in The Taste of Others, then I want them to be witty. I want them fun and interesting. I want them unpredictable. I want them to be worth my time.
I know it takes longer to read novels that dance around the issues. You need to pay attention to the words, you need to read between the lines. But that’s what makes the reading so much more rewarding. You can read it once and then strip the layers and discover another level of meaning, like in Shakespeare. These novels are fun to read on the surface but they offer so much more to the person who’s looking for it.
Especially since these deliciously wicked people are so much fun.
Sometimes what you don’t say can mean so much more than what you do.
Previously? No More.
You’re always free to change your mind and choose a different future, or a different past. from Illusions by Richard Bach
Many years ago, I went through a Richard Bach stage. I read almost everything he wrote and devoured his thoughts. Until Jake’s parents ruined it for me, Jonathan Livingston Seagull was my favorite book.
After a while, I started to grow tired of his style and his ideas became less and less plausible. For some reason, the above quote always stuck in my mind. Obviously choosing a different future is no big whoop. Most people believe in the idea that they have the ability to change their future.
On the other hand, changing your past might require some more work. I’m not sure what exactly Richard Bach meant by that but here’s my interpretation:
What I call my past is a collection of memories my brain stores from events that I believe occurred. It’s pretty much proven that, in some cases, what we remember is an accurate version of the event and, in many cases, it’s not.
Most popular sayings tell you to forget the past and the future and concentrate on today. They claim you have no ability to change what has already occurred or what’s yet to come. But I disagree. I know that I don’t like the way I remember my past and I’ve decided I’m going to change it. Memory is selective and I’m electing to no longer remember things in their distorted way.
Almost everyone has some horror stories from their past. One kid was teased mercilessly, another beaten by bullies regularly, and yet another had to go through much more severe problems. Some of these people get hung up on their past and others move on. I don’t know how one ‘gets over’ it and the other doesn’t and I’ve always subscribed to the notion that if you’re the type who clings to the past, you can’t just ‘get over it’.
I am now changing my mind. I’ve decided to get over it. And I’m going to. Enough is enough. It’s time to stop holding on to the negative memories. It’s time to remember the good times, the kind people, the laughter. It’s time to move on and make new memories.
It’s time to let go.
Previously? Right Moment.
“Have you talked to her yet?”
“To whom?”
“You know who I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“Look if I wanted to be more straightforward, I would have. Try to think back to our conversations the last time we saw each other.”
She’s silent for a while. I can’t tell if she’s thinking or distracted by something else. After a few seconds, she says, “You mean my mom?”
“Right. You haven’t talked to her, have you?”
“No.”
“You’re not going to?”
“No.”
“But you can’t keep repressing those feelings.”
“I’m not. I don’t care.”
“Are you trying to fool yourself or me? Cause I’m not buying it.”
“I don’t think it’s worth wasting my time talking to someone who’s too shallow to get it.”
“She’s your mother.”
“So?”
“How do you know she’s too shallow? Wouldn’t you be hurt if I thought you were too shallow? Maybe you’re really worried that she’ll understand and still not change. Cause then you can’t tell yourself that she’s doing it because she doesn’t know.”
“Maybe.”
“I still think it’s better to talk things out. Always better to know.”
“Maybe I’m waiting for the right moment.”
“Maybe. And maybe you make the moment.”
She pauses again. “Maybe.”
I don’t want to push her anymore, “I love you.”
“Me, too.”
I put the phone down and hope the right moment comes soon.
Previously? Girlie.
I’m learning to play the saxophone. When I told my dad about the classes, he said, “Are you sure you want to play that? It’s not really a girly instrument. Why not the piano?”
My first reaction was to laugh. I work in an investment bank and I am a computer programmer. Neither of which are ‘girly’ environments.
As a child, I was quite far away from a tomboy. To the day, I have never climbed a tree. I used to sew clothes for my Barbie dolls. I spent most of my time playing with them or reading. I cried often and I was extremely shy. So I spose I was a girly girl.
And then I started school. Since I suck at history and adore math, I leaned towards the sciences and math. I went to all-girls middle and high schools, so I never knew that girls weren’t supposed to be good at math. Or at being leaders.
I moved from one ‘boy-field’ to another. I studied computers at a college where the ratio of women to men is 1 to 7. (thankfully, that’s not the case anymore) I worked at Bell Labs and then joined the investment bank. Never even paid attention to the fact that I was surrounded by men. I guess I never read the memo explaining that since I was a female, I was supposed to feel inferior. So I just kept on doing what I liked, learning as much as possible.
I pretty much suck at all the ‘girly’ stuff, now. I can’t cook and I hate to clean. I’m pretty messy and I hate shopping for clothes. I never remember to put creams on my skin. Makeup is an effort. I have never ever thought of my wedding day. I don’t even know why TV and film producers think that all women dream of their wedding day. Almost all my good friends are men.
I guess I’ve been lucky that no one ever made me feel less important. No one said, “You’re a woman, you don’t know.” And at this point, I’m confident hell would break loose if they do. I may have many hang-ups but being female has never been one. No one can tell me what I can or cannot do.
So after I was done laughing, I replied, “I love you, Daddy, but I want to learn the saxophone and not the piano.”
Previously? Falling Sky.
It’s pouring outside. When we were little, my sister would say that rain is God crying. During earthquakes, she’d say it’s the devils fighting down below. Quite funny, cause we were never ever a religious family.
I don’t like rain. Over the years, I’ve observed that people either love it or hate it. Rain always depresses me. It makes me think of mud. In the non-paved streets of Istanbul, rain doesn’t cause a pretty mixture. Maybe it’s due to my having lived in big cities all my life, but rain is people rushing home, subways overflowing, and the unbearable traffic
I could imagine a beautiful house with large glass panes, facing the ocean, by the beach. In that case and assuming I don’t work or that I work from home, rain might not conjure up such bad emotions. If I lived by some trees, I might like that, too. I love the smell of wet trees.
I suppose the other factor would be the temperature. If it were raining but warm, like in Florida, I could go out in the rain in my shorts and twirl around. I might even do cartwheels. In Turkey, during the summer, we get short, fast showers. I remember many times where I’d be walking at Burgaz from my house to the club as I got caught in one of them and I’d get soaked. And then, just as quickly as it started, it would all be over and the sun would cover the sky, the last few drops decorating it with rainbows. It never bummed me out then, I just jumped in the sea with my clothes on.
I guess it’s closely related to my frame of mind. In the ideal setting, with no work to do, rain is delightful, but in New York, during lunch or the commute home, it’s a pain.
I’m definitely ready for spring.
Previously? Silence.
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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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