Here I will start with the murder of the choir.
Let them not go on with telling the story.
I want to stop the flow of history, I want to get out of drama.
To control the flow of time, the destiny of the world. “

Morals according to Medea

“Through the snowy beech forest
in the night I walk around.
Filled with melancholy,
give me your hand, where’s your hand?

Nazim Hikmet Ran

“We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory”

Louise Glück

I’m walking again on a tree-lined road. I am sobbing as I walk. I touch my face; I think there are tears on my cheeks. My sobbing was in my head only, and there were no tears on my face. I look at the sky. I don’t remember which teacher said once that looking at the sky brings lightness. And it also unites lovers. I think it’s something like killing two birds with one stone. That is why I don’t look up at the sky every time I feel anxious. Although, to be honest, I have no intention to fall in love. But along this road, the branches of the trees close the sky. If I didn’t like the tree-lined roads so much, I would be definitely angry and would never walk so much. For example, I don’t like at all going to the plazas. I always have the impression that the timeless and lifeless buildings towering in that gloom will suddenly collapse, melt and slide together with all their floors. And when collapsing, they will catch me and drag me down with them. I have such fear in my heart. As I walk this road, I keep dreaming about the trees swallowing me so that I could mix with the soil. How horrible it sounds, like I want to die.  But it’s not like that at all.

The wooded paths give me an uncomfortable feeling of peace. It reminds me of my childhood Yeniköy. It is a quiet afternoon; the weather is warm. The fishermen are on the shore, there is always fish on the counter, the same person is always standing there. His face is always red. I’m on the swing, I can see my mother sitting on the bench. The wind blows in my face, my hair is tangled, but I think they dance in harmony, like the hair of a cartoon princess. With this excitement I want to gain more momentum on the swing. As I start swinging higher and accelerating, I see my feet in the sky. It seems that if I speed up a little bit more, my feet will touch the sky and I will be able to walk there. I share my thoughts with my mother and she is silently assessing my imagination. She is not hiding my paintings, but then our neighbor comes and says: “This girl will be the next Picasso” and immediately he adds a new word – dreamer. I guess, it’s something good, that I am not afraid to speak my mind. They say about me, that I am a “smart-pants”.  My relatives keep saying that if I was born a boy I would definitely achieve a greater success. I don’t understand it. I ask Myuqremin about it. He is not too much older than me, but there are things which girls don’t understand, right? I trust him, because he is a boy. He stares at me for a long time. He says, it’s stupid and leaves. This “it’s stupid” phrase seems to give a start to a new era for me. I was five, he was eight. We used to talk with each other, but in fact these were not real talks. He could read and write. I didn’t go to school at that time, but I could read. I was getting upset, because I learnt to read well before the school and it was considered as something shameful. Why on earth I needed that skill? Because, Myuqrem was given gifts every time, and everybody were praising him as if he was doing mighty deeds. I didn’t want any gifts and to be praised at all. But when I was saying that I could read, every time I had the same response: “You are too small, you cannot read”. Then they were giving me a piece of paper, for checking and then every time they were surprised to find out that I could smoothly read everything. After that, they were examining my writing skills. Finally, they were coming to a conclusion that I knew everything by heart, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to read so smoothly and properly.

I knew their reactions by heart. I didn’t take the adults very seriously, but didn’t like other kids‘ reaction. Whenever they heard that I could read and write, they got that sort of surprised expression on their faces. When I was praised, another expression – this time of anger, was appearing. And when finally, the proofs that I learnt everything by heart were presented, a mean expression was there to replace the previous ones. But, I have never seen such an expression on Myuqremin’s face. Only his eyes were getting wider and wider.

But there always was a distance between us. It was a fear of the known. Maybe parallel to this silly thing we started to think together, because I started to share with Myuqremin such things which couldn’t fit in my head, the things that I  thought was nonsense, but couldn’t admit it even to myself. I couldn’t admit it to myself, because a personal opinion , in my case, was an issue. Girls were long-haired, but short-minded. The things said by girls should have been approved by someone les. We didn’t know, but our husbands did. If there was no husband, then our brothers knew. If there was no brother, then we were doomed to remain ignorant. Men… Without you I would have been impossible to reach civilization.

Also, no one loves those who know more than their age demands. The things get more complicated, if the things they say make the opponents to think or to reconsider their knowledge.

During one of the regular visit to the relatives, aunt Fazilet’s “transfer” was organized in addition to the main/base/core team. Though, religion is an abstract concept, withing the family an attempt was made to embody/transform it into fear. Love and fear seemed to me like two synonyms, but it was incomprehensible to me. How can anyone be afraid of someone they love or why do they want to be close to someone they are afraid of? According to aunt Fazilet, we must love God and fear Him. There is no reason. If you deviate from the path of God, then God will punish you. But why. No explanation. She decided to ask me a very philosophical question: “What do you think God is, Fatma?” I answered with great confidence:

God is everywhere,
Aunt Fazilet is happy.
God sees us everywhere.
Aunt Fazilet confirms.

And since God is everywhere, I’n now going though him, for example, if I wave my hand, I hit the air, but the air, in fact,  is God, because God is everywhere. I started jumping and waving my hands.

Aunt Fazilet is terrified.

In total silence, only the sound of a ball hitting the wall can be heard. Myukremin hits the wall with a ball. My aunt tries to drag me home and the sound of the ball stops.

  They say, that after a certain age the age difference is not so noticeable, but when I was little, even a year difference was quite a big thing.Myukremin was three years older than me. He knew more, could go out alone, he could even go alone to the store. He also had more knowledge in religious affairs. When he knew what I responded to my aunt, he burst into laughter, but quickly stopped. “It’s not like that. I don’t know how to explain, but it’s not like what you said. I know it for sure”. Does it mean that Myukremin also joined the army of those who make statements without explanation? Am I losing him as well?

 18 years have passed since then, but all these memories are alive in my mind, as if everything happened yesterday. The color of the garden trees, the faded color of the plastered wall and the plate with the chamomile on it, which has already become incompatible together with the whole set, as some of the items have been broken. Nobody wanted to eat from that plate, the paint had faded away and it was a little bit broken. And I really liked the pattern of chamomile on it, the rabbit cuddled up with that chamomile. And, of course, the feeling of owning something that everyone ignored/despised. I guess that was the reason why this connection was established between me and Myukremin. We wanted to become the owners of anything. So, I owned the plate and loved it. And Myukremin decided to love me. I didn’t have to make my voice heard to Myukremin and he didn’t have to chase his love either. We didn’t move anywhere, we stayed there, but in the course of the years the plate was broken and according to Myukremin, I was different. Fatma was different, according to Myukremin, Fatma, according to Fatma, Myukremin, according to Fatma, Myukremin, according to Myukremin. It was hard to love two of them.

When were these cords cut? When did worlds and even times stood between us? When did we bid farewell to each other? I am not able to understand. I think nothing happens without a reason. He had his reasons, and I had my reactions. “You can’t go to university. You should stay at home”. This is what he told me and I was unable to deliver him my thoughts, my message. I wanted to study, I wanted to know more, I wanted to cry, I wanted to laugh. I wanted all this, but in fact I wanted nothing. I wanted to see it all.

We grew up together, but he was unable to accept my dream of traveling far away. 

It was too childish and infantile, a feminine desire, youthful fever or temptation. Some people come to this world only to leave it, but I couldn’t explain it to him. But it could be that I explained, but as he said one night, men do not change, men must be stable, like the road. And the woman must accompany the man.

A woman, woman, woman…. I don’t know if any woman ever entered Myukremin’s life without any problem. He was always in chase of the impossible, trying to create his own ways. He could have had an affair with someone in hijab, but why did he separate from me because of having sex? Or maybe he didn’t want everyone to know that he was in an open relationship with someone. One day I simply told him, that he had a lack of self- confidence.

LACK-OF-SELF-CON-FI-DENCE. He didn’t respond for so long that I was scared. All he did was just looking into my eyes.

Throughout the years I was unable to find in myself the strength to confront those looks. He had wide-open, big and deep-set eyes. Expressive eyes. These eyes still could express, but underneath the brows. I remember, when Myukremin was looking at me, I could feel a huge power or lightness on my back. IT helped me to remember that I was not invisible and as if his eyes were saying: “I’m here, you don’t need to worry”. Afterwards, I got a bit angry when I noticed him looking at me, especially at the family gatherings.  I was the observer, accepted by all. This was our deal. And what he was doing was cheating. He used to laugh when I was saying like that. I was in love with his laughter, because it was so rare. And now, I don’t see his smile, I don’t see his eyes. And now I can see only two ambitious outlines instead of his eyes, as if I had stolen something from him. As if he is in the possession of the right to be angry. Now he is again looking at me, but this look makes me crazy.AS if his eyes stick on me and grow in number. I can’t get them out of me, he sees my drawbacks and examines them. He is examining/analyzing me in accordance with his small indicators. He says: “Fatma has read three philosophical books, she cannot be too much deviated from the religion”.

As long as I don’t see him, I miss him and I keep thinking what if everything was different. I keep dreaming of him being with me, sharing with him all the ideas which seems stupid to me, writing stories about the people we meet outside. All these emotions are swinging in my mind until I see him. I feel myself selfish when I see him. I want to hug him and cry. Then I blame myself of spoiling everything. I cannot find and answer.

It could have been that he would stay like that in my life once he had not chosen the path of not believing me. It could have been that he would stay. If he hadn’t say “This all wouldn’t have happened if Fatma wouldn’t have ….., could a professor tell lies?” It could have been so that he would continue to be a friend of mine. If only I wouldn’t have seen how he turned into a man like that. There is no return.

Now I’m walking along that road, constantly sobbing. This time already with tears on my cheeks.