Time After Time, Over Again

Here I am, sitting with a cup of tea and enjoying it. No, I am not laughing at it. I wish I could.

I got off from work around 3:45, yeah, I clocked out early once again because I was bored and the other two interns were gone too. I hopped on the bus and came to Sariyer, falling asleep on my way here. I was planning to go home straight away but the smell of the sea was too tempting to not take a walk. So, despite heavy laptop on my shoulder and bag on the other, I took a walk along the Black Sea end of Bosphorus. With All That Remains blasting from my ear pieces, I was happy. I even took a couple of pictures. I was happy until...

The world we live in is so unjust. I don't even know how I feel about that. I find it hilarious in a really fucking sick way, yet I also think it's very sad. See, I believe my problem is that I have too much empathy and I can not bear to see someone suffering. And I find it funny because I want to make myself believe that it's just a temporary situation. However, not so temporary in most cases. Today after I picked up last week's copy of Uykusuz, I saw this middle-aged man trying to explain what he wanted to a cashier: he was mute and I think he had some kind of autism. It was so devastating to see someone trying so hard to fight against the barriers he has whereas we, the dumbass teenagers, are wasting our lives complaining about stupid shit. Well, I’m done with my teen years but that’s not the point. I rushed out of the store. Had I stayed there a second longer, I would have cried. But I guess I was destined to cry. I saw this girl, 15 the most, picking up plastics from a garbage can and putting it in her backpack while telling her younger brother that they should get the highest price for the plastic stuff. I literally ran away from that place; I must have looked like an idiot, with all my fancy outfits and tears. I wanted to help them somehow but I can barely save my ass from being broke, how can I possibly help those people?

It fucking sickens me that the rich gets to play and have fun and these people only get struggle. And especially the way they treat beggars on the street. Yes, some of them do nasty shit like stabbing and pickpocketing but not because they want to. They just have to. I have always stood behing my convinction that humans are essentially selfish - that's what survival requires. But there's good in people. No one really wants to hurt another human. Some murderers get labeled insane, mad, out of their minds. But honestly, aren't we all? In my beloved(!) school, some people crash their cars and buy a new one the next day. Fucking ridiculous. They deserve a kick in the balls. Anyway back to empathy... I used to be worse; at some point, I couldn't stand watching anything that had the tiniest bit of a heart-wrenching story. I've learned how to control it now... at least now I know how to feel empathy for those who deserve it. I know I'm not a good person. I'm not a bad person either. I'm just a person. Just a girl who's trying to make it through life. But sometimes, I simply wish I could be ignorant to the pain and struggle. And Istanbul doesn't make it any easier because we have so much poverty along with the greedy fucking bastards here. Variety scares me sometimes. It scares me so much. And funny thing is, no one around me seems to care.

Feels like I have this kid in me trying to stay young and my obligations want me to grow up. Maybe I grew up earlier than I should have. What I mean by growing up is being aware of your obligations. I went to Canada on my own at the age of 14 - damn, it's been 6 years. And being in foreign land on your own is very scary even though you know the language too damn well. Foster families, yeah but they don't drop you off to your school everyday. They just give you food, a place to crash and some small-talk. That's it. I've talked to a lot homeless people there because they were the only ones who understood me. They were waiting to go home, like me, wherever home was. And I was the scared kid, waiting to go to her family, crying next to a complete stranger. I wasn't afraid of them. I was afraid of being completely alone and homeless, so to speak. And now, I'm living in my own apartment, alone on a Ramadan day when I should be with my family. Trying to take steps and grow up but the kid still longs for the comfort of home. Maybe that's why Garden State always makes me cry.

Andrew Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew Largeman: You'll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place.

Moving on. I know that wasn’t worth a dime, but it was worth a try.

It wasn't our time yet. The blue faded into a dark gray. Red circles crowding around the blue, he wasn't smiling. No longer. With a sigh, he asked me to leave. Leave quietly. And never come back again. I was content with his request. The only thing that tore my soul into two was the fact that it wasn't fair. To either of us. I held out my hand, maybe a last shake just for the sake of the memories we've had. His hand didn't move. I reached out, grabbed his hands and tried to rip them apart. They wouldn't move. Almost as if they were glued together. To the left, to the right, slow motions of his head, the bones grinding against each other and the joints cracking open and closing. "No", he said, "it isn't meant to be." My throat hurt. I wanted to scream at him. Where was my voice again? Gone. Non-existent. Buried in the depths of my reluctancy. He said it was a game of fate. I wouldn't call it fate per se; rather... a series of event which are very fortunate yet ironically unfortunate in some aspects. Silence. Silent screams for a few minutes. The symphony composed by the hurt, the burning tears and the emptiness. I watched his brows pinch into a frown and more bones and joints, he left. For all the seasons, for all the wrong reasons, we were done.

Yeah. I can't write shit.

That cup of tea is cold now. I'll get another cup.

Date: August 26th.
Time: I don't even know, fuck that shit.
Songs listened to: It Dwells In Me, The Prosecution, Sometimes I Just Go For It, The Exit, Crow King, Hack