On the surface life is good.
I wake up every morning with a smile on my face and sleep in my eyes. I brush my teeth and comb my hair. I pick my clothes for the day and prepare my bag.
On the surface all is well.
I walk from class to class, sucking in the new information, feeling my brain swell. I try to mold my mouth to fit the mouthpiece and make the reed vibrate just the right amount. I sign. I force my brain to think in Japanese. I work. I go from meeting to meeting, talk about the system and our vision and the multitude of requirements. I sit at my computer and reply to email. I code perl. I write queries. I read through the specifications of the messaging-based programs the department recommends.
On the surface successes outweigh the failures.
I come home and watch the TiVo. I call a friend or two. I read a book or two. I stare at my computer and read about other people’s lives, thoughts and interests. I hug Jake. I talk to my bird. I write.
On the surface I smile.
I go to bed. So does Jake.
On the surface life goes on.
I hear the consistent exhale and inhale of his breathing.
I cry.
Previously?Socially Unacceptable.
My relationship with alcohol has always been a rollercoaster ride.
In Turkey, we have no drinking age. My first real boyfriend liked his vodka on the rocks and he liked to have it often. And he hated drinking alone. We spent many nights at bars, he with his Vodka and me with the only alcohol that would slide down my throat: Safari with Peach Juice.
Even back then, I never drank wine or champagne.
After I got to college, I was completely freaked out with the fraternity scenes. Even though social drinking is big in Istanbul, I’d never seen people drinking for the sake of drinking before. In Pittsburgh, I stopped drinking altogether. They didn’t have Safari there anyhow.
For no logical reason, my second boyfriend also enjoyed his alcohol. He was a large man who could down several beers in a minute, and he worked hard to prove it.
When my first boyfriend got drunk, he’d stop being so shy and share his deepest emotions with me. So I didn’t mind his alcoholic habits so much. But things weren’t so simple with the second man. He seemed to have more anger and resentment than the typical teenager. Alcohol brought all this suppressed anger to the surface resulting in urinals being pulled out of their sockets and water fountains being torn off. As I said, he was a large and muscular man. Unfortunately, it also resulted in lots of emotional, verbal and physical abuse. None of which helped an already self-deprecating person.
We tried to go to several Alcoholics Anonymous meetings together, but it’s impossible to quit for someone else. He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t do it. Or he wouldn’t do it.
It took me too long to realize that I would never be able to fix his problems. But I finally did. I got out.
I’d never been a major drinker, but after him it got much worse.
The first time I got drunk was in Jake’s dorm room with Wine Coolers. Since I hated the taste, I downed them really quickly and they went right to my head. The burning sensation was so strong that within minutes I ended up taking off all my clothes. Everything was suffocating me and had to be removed. Thankfully the only other person in the room was Jake’s roommate.
I’ve always thought that I should drink. Everyone else did. Not drinking made me boring and I hated being boring. I’ve tried just about every kind of wine and alcohol. I’m able to drink Midori Sour, Archer’s and I can do shots since they go right to my stomach. But no wine, no champagne. And I’m careful not to get drunk since it’s not really socially acceptable to remove clothing at public places. Just the physical activity of drinking is difficult. Let alone the emotional baggage I’ve attached to it over the years.
One of the nice side effects to growing older is that drinking is less a part of our social surroundings than before and I don’t feel as pressured to try it.
Champagne? No, thanks, I’ll have the water.
Previously? Ketchup.
A few years ago, a really good friend of mine was going through some rough times. Instead of calling me to share and lean on, she segregated herself more and more from her surroundings. At one point, she even stopped talking to me altogether.
When I found out about her problems, later on, I was very hurt and angry that she chose to avoid me. I thought that it said a lot of negative things about our closeness. If she couldn’t come to me when she was really down, how could I say that I was there for her?
Over time, she worked through some of her issues on her own and started calling me again; we got back to hanging out and chatting. And I never brought up the distancing herself issue. Even though, deep down I still didn’t fully understand her reasoning and still felt hurt about it.
On Thanksgiving Day, I woke up with pain in my lower back and have been unable to sit for longer than ten minutes at a time since then. I have taken a multitude of medication, which is supposed burn right through my stomach. My nerves are doing the native dance of some foreign tribe.
My psychological state has gotten progressively worse each day since the end of November. Not to say I’m a total mess. Life goes on. I have good days and I have bad days. I have had ups at work, in my personal life and in my personal achievements. I’ve had days when I feel proud of myself and days when I want to hug the world.
But I’ve been avoiding all my close friends. My great friend Cheryl, who sends me encouraging mails almost daily, gets no responses. I haven’t called my best friend Laura in weeks. Emails in my inbox go unanswered for days. Not the ones from new friends, but the ones from old ones. The ones who know me well.
I think I finally understand my friend.
Previously? Dualities.
My sophomore year in college, my friend Jessica recommended a fun book called Life Colors. The book is supposed to tell you your aura color.
You take these extensive tests, which are multi-question and can be answered by “yes”, “no” or “sometimes”. At the end, you add up your replies and pick the category with the most yes’s.
My aura is blue. Hands down. I have a small dose of green, which must be why I can function in corporate America, but I am pretty much the casebook example of the overly emotional, overly maternal blue.
Do I think all this aura stuff is true? Nope.
Do I find it entertaining? Sure, I’m pretty easily amused.
Do I decide anything based on these results? Good Grief, No!
But one of the things I like about this book is that it doesn’t just list the typical characteristics of a blue. It differentiates between two states that are common in most people’s lives. Centered and in power versus being out of power. This certifies that I am not the only person who acts totally different when I feel confident then when I am drained and weak.
On a good day, I am kind, confident, a true “doer” and I kick ass. Nothing can get to me cause I rule. I will do anything in my power to help others.
On one of the many bad days, I whine. I am paranoid and worried constantly. I am insecure.
To an outsider, these dualities might give the impression that I am possessed, but they’re both me and now a published book confirms that possibility. Color me happy!
To add to my delight, Pamala adds that blues like to comfort and counsel people, they worry continuously, they cry even at happy movies, they are bad at receiving compliments, people trust them, they are great promoters of things they believe in, they desperately want to be loved, if one bad thing is said they will remember that over a million positive things, they are often overworked and overwhelmed with responsibilities they create, they are strong feelers and they must learn to love themselves.
It’s good to know that there are enough people like me to justify an entire category.
Previously? Anywhere, Anyone
I’ve always been blamed for being too nice. Too many so-called friends have stepped all over me. But I kept assuming the best of humankind. I insisted on trusting (in a non-naïve way) and giving. It’s not so easy to become my friend, but once you do, I will forever be there for you.
All my friends have told me that this attitude towards others will bring me nothing but pain. While it’s true that I get disappointed and hurt often, I also receive the advantages of having a true friend and a trustworthy companion. It’s amazing how magical a relationship becomes once both parties are non-cynical and open.
So, over the years, I’ve consistently chosen to love with all my heart over being protective and distant. When in doubt I’ve given unexpectedly. I don’t mean to say that I’m an angel. I make mistakes. I hurt people. I say stupid things. But I always try to be the best I can be and I always try to assume the best of people with whom I haven’t previously interacted.
I get bitter when hurt and I get angry, but I know that I’d still rather be me than a selfish bastard. Maybe cause I can sleep better this way. I’ve continually struggled with the idea of how I could be selfish. So have Six and Owen, I think. And somehow I’ve always come around to realize that this is the way I was built and this is the only way I can live with myself.
It all made sense when my psychology teacher started talking about Adler. Adler had this theory, which says that every human feels inferior as a child. So we, humans, compensate by striving to be the best we can be. Trying to be better than others happens when this feeling is perverted. And Adler says that if you’re selfish, then you’re neurotic.
Now, that, I like!
Previously? Shitty Manners.
If I haven’t mentioned earlier, my mom came to visit last weekend. Since I am unable to fly, she took the eleven-hour trip from Istanbul to New York. This inability to sit on a plane extends to other annoyances. For example, my back doesn’t allow me to visit a museum with her. I can’t go shopping either. All we could really do outside is eat and go to the movies. Only cause the theater is close to my house and I could return home if needed.
So we went to the movies last night. To be totally honest, it was a stupid movie, but still, I never realized how much we depend on people’s manners. The couple sitting next to me must have confused the dark setting and Jennifer Lopez’s soothing voice (or whiny as the case may be with her) for their own living room. They kept chit chattering and giggling throughout the movie. After a half hour of this maddening whispering, I turned to the guy and asked him to please stay quiet. I normally hate people who do that but it was truly unbearable.
So the couple practically ignores me and within a few minutes, I am fuming. I ask him to please shut up and he says that if I’m not happy I can move somewhere else. Which is when it hit me that there was absolutely nothing I can do. If the guy wanted to be a totally jerk and talk throughout the entire movie, I have no capacity to stop him. If this were a classroom, the teacher would act as the chaperone. In a museum, we have guards. In the library, librarians. But no one in a theater.
If the guy had turned really obnoxious, I probably could have called someone to kick him out, but there is nothing I can do unless the actions are totally out there. Before last night, I never realized how much we rely on people self-policing their manners. The only reason we don’t act rude in public is cause we think we shouldn’t. Amazing how often that is enough.
And I am really glad it is.
Oh and I passed the Japanese test that I took in November, so I rule!
Previously? Heart.
If you read Metafilter or McSweeney’s , you might have heard about Dave Eggers’s recent clarification. I’ve read several of Dave Eggers’s works and I’m quite a fan. Since I’m not really a humor reader, I’ve always wondered why I like his work so much and while reading this clarification, I remembered why.
Here’s the sentence that goes to the core of things.
David, you wrote that without heart. There is no heart in your piece.
In the end, it all comes down to heart. People who make solid friends, good movies, novels and music all have to have heart. Cause if the passion, the burn is not there than nothing matters. If you can’t be enthused and thrilled and amazed about what you’re doing, why are you doing it? If you don’t care about your friends, why would you have them? If you’re not giving it all you have, you’re wasting your time. And ours.
Tonight, I finally watched Billy Elliot and I loved his answer to the judges from the ballet school. He said dancing makes him feel like electricity. I’ve always admired artists cause they have the balls to do the thing they truly love while the rest of us and just working so we can put food on the table. They have heart.
Another point by Eggers which is close to my heart is the following:
In your correspondence, you sound like a normal, even warm, person, who cares about truth, who enjoys books, etc. But in your journalism your persona is very different. Where does that tone come from? How can any reasonable person speak so snidely about books? Books!
I couldn’t agree more. Each time I read a book critic that totally bashes a book in the most snotty, all-knowing way, I think the exact same thing as above. How pathetic must these people’s lives be that they feel the need to bash others. If they know so much about books, they should sit and write one themselves! I guarantee their viewpoint and harsh judging criteria would change. How much bitterness and anger must these people have to do this for a living?
When I finally finish my novel, that’s all I want out of it.
I want it to have heart.
Previously? The Universe and Me.
Today was a good day.
Last few months have been days of crisis after crisis. Going to work and staring at the screen and coming back home without having gotten my scripts to work. Spending hours trying to make sense of everything that just refuses to cooperate. Not responding to email or phone calls while the do-to list keeps increasing. Some jerk stealing my credit card and using it to put expensive crafts supplies. Classes where I would love to do the homework only if my brain would cooperate.
Wednesday, I realized one of the biggest reasons of my unhappiness at work. Thursday, I got it resolved. I had a very important meeting today, which went so well it was beyond my expectations. And to top it all off, I fixed my script.
I responded to the three most outstanding and most dreaded emails I’d had since November. My friends Judy and Priscilla, whom I hadn’t seen in three years, came to New York so we got to meet and have a long chat. My Italian Literature teacher recommended several books that I’ve been looking forward to read. I got the notary signature/stamp on my affidavit due to the fraudulent charges on my credit card.
As more and more issues got resolved, I felt more energized and fixed even more stuff. Amazing how something small can set off a chain reaction.
Sometimes the universe just aligns to fit your needs and all you need to do is be thankful.
Thank You.
Previously? Silence.
My first official boyfriend and I started dating a few months before I turned sixteen. Before he came along, I’d sort of been dating my best friend but we never publicly admitted it.
So this guy, whom we’ll call James for ease of use, and I had known each other for ages. That summer we spent a lot of time together and finally became exclusive. At the time, there was no such thing as dating in Turkey, at least in my surroundings. You either were friends with someone or you were exclusive.
So James and I start seeing each other. We spend the next two years together. During this time we had many high points and a lot of hard times. I think that, overall, we had a pretty wonderful relationship. We laughed a lot. We cared for each other a lot and we fought little.
Since I was twelve years old, everyone around me has known that I planned to go to the US for college and for the rest of my life. It’s been a consistent and public goal. In the months before I left for college, James and I spoke at length about the future of our relationship. I wanted to stay together and see where it goes but he said we were to breakup. It wasn’t up for discussion.
So we separated. He took me to the airport on my last day and we kissed goodbye. We did talk on the phone during the first few weeks. After a month or two, I mentioned possibly seeing other people and he totally freaked. That was the beginning of the end. After a freaky few months, we stopped talking altogether. I started seeing someone else.
During the several trips home, I called him and tried to make up. It never worked. He was always cordial but we never spoke more than three words again.
This year, it will have been nine years since James and I broke up and we still don’t speak. It seems like such a shame that I shared two beautiful years with someone whom I loved and gave a piece of my heart to and today we’re nothing more than a “hello.”
I don’t know what, but shouldn’t it be more than that?
Previously? One Life to Live
Sunday, my mother and I went to see Sweet November. I’m not going to talk about how the trailers give away everything or about Keanu’s lack of acting ability.
If you’ve seen the movie trailers, you know that Charlize Theron’s character asks Keanu’s character to live with him for one month so she can let him out of the “box” he lives in. She lives a more liberated life and wants to help him achieve the same. Charlize is lovely. People love her, she’s kind, she never works (at least not during the movie) and she does whatever she feels like. As the trailers showed, Charlize’s character is sick. Very sick.
Which, of course, led me to think, how come we only let go when we’ve got no hope of living? Maybe it is just in the movies. But when I think of my life and the people surrounding me, I can’t see one example of someone who truly does what he or she wants to be doing. Most of my acquaintances work too hard, too many hours in a job they don’t like.
When I tell people that I work part-time the first thing most of them say is, “Oh I wish I had that deal.” But they can. Of course they can. At least most of them. But they’re too scared to ask. Just like I’m too scared to go off and live on a farm.
It seems the rewards are only valuable when the risks are not so high. If I know I’m only going to live fie more years, I’d live my life totally differently. I wouldn’t work so hard, I’d probably still program but mostly for myself. I’d stop trying to lose weight. I’d call my friends more often and spend more time getting to know them. I wouldn’t let any criticism get to me. I would travel to Antarctica and pet the penguins. (Well, they wouldn’t bite me if they knew I was going to die, would they?) I would go skydiving.
What would you do if you only had a few years left?
Previously? Blah.
For some inexplicable reason I seem to be overcome with a mood best described by the word “blah.”
I don’t feel motivated to do anything. A few weeks ago, I was playing around with a new design and came up with something different for this page, but I haven’t had the time, or more correctly the motivation, to implement it across all my pages.
The last few weeks at work have been almost counterproductive. Going to work has become more frustrating than not. I sit in front of the computer and stare at the screen. I’ve been working on the same 3-page perl script and three sql queries for the last month. Concentration simply refuses to cooperate. If by some major luck, something starts making sense long enough for me to realize what direction to take it in, my nerves decide to react forcefully, making me stand up, therefore, knocking out any productivity I dared have.
In a strange twist of luck, I am still coherent during my classes, but I crash every minute in between. I fall asleep in the subway on the way to classes, I plop myself on the couch the second I enter my house. The TiVo and I have gotten real close. I seem to be stuck on Canto XXV of The Inferno for over ten days, now. And the deadline to finish was today. My library books are sitting on a shelf, waiting for their due date. I haven’t even picked up my saxophone in the last five days.
My mother’s here from Istanbul for the week and I can’t walk around with her. The freezing weather makes it ideal for us to take long tours of The Met or Guggenheim but my nervous system has its own ideas of what I should and should not be doing. I’m just tired, worn out and unable to think straight.
In case the writings here have lately been sporadic and lacking in intensity, now you know why. (If you think the writings here have always lacked that umph, my page is prolly not your cup of tea, anyhow.)
Previously? Vive La Difference
|
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
|
