Headaches

Headaches? You know, the ones you get from being overworked. Bending your neck down too much to read, write and create something that's sitting on top of a desk/table and for continuous hours you labor on it to get a step closer to your finishing goal. That's where we're left at the end of the day. Stiff necks and disillusioning headaches. At the end though, you always end up hurting the thing that you need the most, your neck and hurt, especially repetitively behaving this way throughout decades. We all end up with strained necks and the never going-away headaches that leaves us near being handicapped.

Then there are those times when the task is relatively simple--at least not difficult, however the people you are doing it for, or helping around with just ends up making it nearly impossible with their questions, desires and "needs" that you must take care of. All the things they end up asking are things that are heavily taxable. They end up leaving you with the headache without the satisfaction of having actually achieved essential for your own goals, or anything in general.

Those headaches are the worst, well the second worst considering the headaches that are caused by helplessness. The things that are oppressing and weighs you down and the things that you can do very little about. Those are the nagging ones that puts you to sleep and wakes you up in the middle of your sleeping keeping you up until the early hours of the dawn, making you regret every wrong step you've taken. Now try to lift that rock off your shoulders if you can that is.

Ecstasy

Getting work done is ecstatic. Getting more work done then listed on one's to do list is even more ecstatic. It's also ecstasy to see a blank white page that is staring at me whether from a computer screen or a paper waiting to be filled, to be written in/on. The pages of a new book that I have not yet highlighted and have not written on its pages to remind myself of the important points. These are all exciting to me as I seek to learn and to well perhaps leave my mark on it. Finally I say each time. Sometimes they collectively tire out my fingers, hand, arms and eyes. My neck is often stiff and sore. My back hurts often from standing on chairs all day long or sometimes all night long writing and reading. My right hand goes numb often due to over use, my fingers are almost always swollen due to this. But that's okay. I accept and embrace these physical handicaps for the feeling of getting closer to my goal, learning one more thing, staying within the limits of my things to do list one more time.

That being said, what is even more thrilling is writing book reviews. Now, I know these don't do much for many people, but they are an essential for me. It's a great way to maintain one's library and a quick read of these reviews often reminds ones of important details quickly to be able to rethink about something we've read in the past, sometimes with joy and sometimes with dread.

Each novel I read will usually include a page of paper with an overall thoughts, views, opinions and deciphering of the said novel. This helps me organize my thoughts and quickly remember old facts that might have been pushed under to clear some space for the new information I might gain (eventually, hopefully, that is the goal of everyone right?) I also love maintaining an online library so that if I am away from home for a while, I can always see what to buy next without having to wreck my brain over what was it that I had last read and wanted to read next, should I take a break in between books for longer than a week. Any excuse to write I tell myself. Including in online reviews of those books for such sites as B&N for example established a little bit more of my tone and my style of writing. Not to say I write properly and that my voice has settled in or that I am writing in the right voice to begin with, but it is at least helping me develop my own writer voice which will surely come in handy when writing essays, reports, reviews and eventually fictional pieces.

I wrote quite a few of them tonight online. I feel rejuvenated, refreshed and well, a little giddy about it. At this point the only thing that is capable of giving me happiness--times are rough people.

Sometimes, to me it's surprising how the miniscule things that no one cares about keeps me sane and allows me a glimpse of happiness, while sometimes grand gestures leaves me in awe but unhappy and looking behind the act to find something that will eventually make me miserable. Most often it does. It's not so much person based either. Grand gestured pulled by people I adore have offended and hurt me tremendously over my 24 years of life on this planet.

My grammar right about now is probably horrible as I had not written seriously for a while and that I have not been on great terms of understanding with my Grammar Bible book. It's late and I am sleepy, so my grammar has gotten even more lazy than it usually is. Hopefully I haven't made too serious offenses and that it is in it's essence readable.

Walls

Walls are sometimes great and other times, at best are oppressive. Sometimes we seek the safety of the four walls so we can hide from the others and even ourselves--anything we deem as dangerous or that can hurt us we wish to leave it outside of our own four walls. It can be our great sanctuaries; where we can be anyone we want to be. Filled with things that makes us:us, the things we love, adore, objectify, worship and find worthy enough to place in between our own four walls.

The other times though, it can be our prison, forever guarding us from the outside world, containing us within as we move on through life as watches only, instead of participants. There is a great deal of difference when you live your life as a watcher versus a participant. Sometimes we lock ourselves within our own four walls, staring out of our windows as we would through prison bars. We only get to look at the partial picture, we let our fear, our wounds define and dictate us. At the end, we might protect ourselves, unfortunately as much as we've done we also hurt ourselves from the countless things we miss on and the opportunities, people we close ourselves off to.

I don't remember how long it has been since I stepped a foot out of this apartment. I don't remember looking out of the window. It hurts to look, to think, to desire. The consequences are so dire and I fear everything. It seems there is no consolation to this problem. However, my head hurts. It feels like my veins will pop out blood will be oozing out of my ears. Though my desire to be outside, to be doing all the things I am not doing. To have this weight off my shoulders. Yes, that's what I wish, and in the most possible safest, scratch-free possible way. I want to feel the sun on my skin and I want to run on the green grass and watch the moon rise to it's Zenith on a Saturday night. I want to hear the waves crash against a shore, somewhere far away from here, anywhere but here really.

My only consolation is that I am getting a lot of work done. That is all.

Slips

Another day slipped by while I was out. Another one I couldn't hold on to, another day that just runs into the past, a day closer to the future without my consent. They fly away like the red wind and all that is left is the few falling drops of sparkle of the day in twilight as I stare out from my window, wishing I was on top of the green hills, close to the hunting moon and my soul set free. My list of things to do remain unattended, or unfinished, the moments un-lived, unloved and unremembered, unmemorable.

The partial sides of me that don't amount to much hen looking for consensus, but pull me in all directions, torment my heart until the early hours of the dawn. It seeks to fly, it seeks to set it's roots and lay down to a stone walled home with stained glasses and ivy of red and green covering it's side walls like those pictures I find on the internet.

Regardless of it all, the days slips up, out of my fingertips. It's unapologetic--it doesn't care, it's not patient and it won't wait. Time just goes on on this senseless journey in which we divide it up to seconds, minutes, hours, days and weeks followed by months and finally ending in years. Needless to say time accumulates in one direction for us. Years eventually become decades, centuries, millenniums and so on and so forth. People die, others in turn replace them with their own memories, etching their own ideals and values in their golden ages, constantly, one generation after another--even if we don't leave an heir or an heiress behind.

So invisibly we pass through the walls of time, as the sun slips out of our fingertips, sparkles just shine for a brief moment in twilight and we just can't etch our own legacies on this earth nor time.

Aptalca, bos yere ozlemek.

"Cok sebepsiz, cokta aptalca. Tanimiyorum, bilmiyorum seni bile. Ama aklima girdin, hemde cok alcakca. Ozluyorum seni. Ruyalarima girdin, sonrada hayal kurmaya basladim, koyun gibi. Dur diyemiyorum, cunku hafiften yanlizlik ruzgarlari eser gibi oluyor, gelecegi dusunuyorum, hafif bir korku urpertisi iniyor boynumdan asagi. Nedense bir umut gibi buyuye verdin icimde, en derinligimde, bir kadinin rahminde buyuyen bir bebek gibi. Isindim sana, bastan olmasada. Uzaktan. Icimde buyudun, kendi kendime buyuttum seni. Halbuki...halbuki kim bilir sen ne dusunuyorsun benim hakkimda? Istedim sonra seni. Aslinda ilkten beklenmeyen ve istenmeyen bir hamilelik gibi. Ama sonradan, nedenini anlamadigim bir sekilde cok istedim seni. Belki yanlizligimdan, belkide olmeye baslayan umudumdan, kim bilir, belkide sende bir sey gordum su anda mantikli bir aciklamasini farketmedigim bir sekilde. Belki, anca yillar sonra anlayip soyliyebilcegim. Her ne ise, icime dustun, yavas yavas kivilcimlar parliyor, atese donuyor her gecen gun ve ben bu icimde buyuyen umudu, istegi, sevgiyi durduramaiyorum. Korkuyorum artik dudaklarimdan dusucek olan sozlere. Elbette, kalbimden, beynimden bir yerlerden geliyor, buda beni efkarlandirip, saklanma icin beni durtuyor. Kork diye bagriyor icimden bir ses. Ama ayaklarim, sana dogru yurumek istiyor. Durduramiyorum kendimi, Allah'im sen bana yardim et."

"Who Were the Celts?"by Kevin Duffy

It is no secret that I love Celtic culture and in practicality, virtually anything that has anything to do with the Celts. I love their imaginative, traditional stories of the past, their fairy legends and their myths. Not to mention their mythic past that is filled with wars, famine and the consciousness of liberty.

I was at Barnes and Noble on St.Patrick's day and there were great deals on books that were related to Ireland in particular, but also many great titles and from the appearance of things about things that were Celtic. I was able to snatch two great books this year in comparison to one great book last year.

While, I've only started reading this book, therefore I can't actually write a review of this book, yet.  I am overly excited to read through the fourteen chapters that seems a little over reaching in it's aspirations, but rather balanced (not balanced too well), aspiring to give a great sense of the Celts in general from historical to the mythical to the present day.

Considering the fact that I love Celtic culture, it's pretty significant for me to know their history in more detail with more concrete facts rather than my current ball-park knowledge. To include in this, my Scottish protagonist who is a professor of Celtic Studies in a prestigious university requires of me to get in all the way to my elbows of Celtic History and Culture research. With this book in hand I feel a little closer to the ending of my story, a little closer to my protagonist, hyped up and inspired once again.

Ah the affects of Spring.

Sleepless in Rochester

As much as I love my family and a limited number of the Turkish population here (quite a small number in truth) and not much of anything else in Rochester--let's be honest there isn't a ton of things to do here. The landscape isn't all that great either. The whether is about three seasons a day and usually with the majority of it being gray and sulking. Every time I am here I am stressed out to the limit. I become desperate, unhappy and well, rather cranky usually. Rochester oppresses my soul to no end. I feel like a whiny little kid who just can't be satisfied because she had a bad dream, but it is what it is.

While I love spending time with my mom, brother and grandparents people have a way of ticking me off, usually a crude Turkish person who believes she or he knows everything there is to know about life and religion and therefore starts those lunatic ramblings, judgements that goes on and on while spewing out their preconceived notions with their unflattering views of women. Not the best environment in which I thrive. Enough said.

Quality time as precious as it is, with all the other things that takes precedence or requires time here, but not in Wisconsin seems to soak up the big chunks of my day. In return it increasingly pushes me to finish my work at later hours of the day, turning into the night, eventually turning into the mornings. Sleepless I am left, unable to sleep due to the amount of work I have to get done, coupled with my stress and worries my head gets too full to sleep. So sleepless I roam about and I think I am at the brink of death surviving on either no sleep or with little sleep which is driving me into insanity slowly and impairing my judgment at the same time. Even my thought pattern seems to change and I have ceased to think logically about anything which is rather a bad timing for this little experiment of mine, due to the heavy number of assignments I have to hand in on time, coupled with my research and the writing of my research paper.

Rochester, bring me good luck this turn around please!

Forgotten

Easily forgettable. Forgettable. Forgetful. Forgetting, Forgotten. We forget loads of people throughout our lifetime. Sometimes people are like a shooting star. We briefly recognize their existence, later on forgetting they even existed, or that we even meet. In return, there are many those who forget us. Not that there is any particularly wrong with this equation of life. There really isn't.
But the people who make an impression on you, the people you hold on to tend to forget you in return just as you have forgotten countless others who were just hoping for little crumbs of attention and love from you. Life is unjust that way, forever mingling and making things more difficult among human interaction.

Those Restless Nights

Sometimes, no matter what I can't seem to write. No matter what I may think, how intense my emotions may be or what I have just come up may be the most brilliant thing I have ever conjured up, I can't seem to write. I have no will to write. This usually happens when I am at the bottom of the ocean, feeling smothered, oppressed and extremely depressed. The times where I let go and wallow in self-pity. Writing down an incomplete sentence becomes one of the most difficult tasks in the world.

Then, there are other times. The times where there seems to be something lodged right in the center of my chest, diving me into two equal parts with sharp, permeating edges. I can't seem to pacify those intense emotions, thoughts and the more I write, the more I want to write. I want to write in my thought journal, in my observation journal, this blog here, poem(s), whip out a first draft essay, a story, then go back and plan everything else...Then I just want to keep writing and keep thinking. Currently, my right hand fingers and side of my palm are hurting and cramping from the overexercise of writing. My phalanges sting with pain and although I want to stop I just can't.

Whatever is there at the bottom of my conscious, slowly and sincerely rising up from the unconscious, whatever kind of burden that I've created and started carrying by my own mistaken notions on my chest, it won't begin to slowly vanish and disappear. I can't seem to whatever it is that I am hauling around within my own self,  it won't drop it on a corner somewhere. This "stuckness", this jumbled mess come off  my shoulders who look wide from the back only and let me be free, light and flutter my soiled wings around, shamelessly. That vibration you get in your rib cage, on the sides, and towards the middle, that deafening ring in your ears, that nobody but you seems to hear,  the thumbing of your own blood in your veins and feeling every ounce of your blood on your cheeks, flushed with a scarlet letter matching to that of Hester Prynne carried on her chest alongside of her infant. Your eyes start hurting from staring into the distant horizon so intently; the white of yours eyes burn, your inner rim feels to be stretched by two tiny hands, but firmly, and tears float of confusion in trying to predict the future; the effort you know will be wasted because you know no such thing can happen; the praying of your own inner self, relentlessly; muttering until the dawn of the night, for one more peaceful day, the fear that you fester and grow because of your own cowardliness and the faith you have that keeps telling you to believe--believe you must and do but the price that comes along with it; by believing you accept your on fallacies and mistakes in which you accept and expect your punishment to be delivered down from the gates of heaven in mere mortal ways you could only understand after years have gone by from your severe divine punishment. In fear of that, it becomes our self fulfilled prophecies; we expect and so it is delivered. Ask and ye shall receive.

So I keep writing, not making any sense to anyone, self included. Well to clarify, I make perfect sense to myself as of right this second. The moment I press Publish and in a few days go back and re read this entry, nothing will make sense to me. I'll question my own process of logic, analytical prowess and my own sanity eventually thinking what kind of a night pulled me down this path that's well trodden down again and wondering when I'll revisit this dungeon that has become a home to me once again.

It's one of those nights that I'll greet the sun before it greets the world and wonder when sleep will return me to it's graces and embrace me sweetly until I am coddled by it like an infant that needs much pacification.

Theraputic books

There is nothing as therapeutic as buying new books. Don't get me wrong, I love make up, nail polish, hair products and skin girl as much as the next girl. Not to sound condescending, I do like being well groomed, prim and proper and looking polished. Extravagance isn't quite my style, however I do like "taking care of myself". That being said, nothing really motivates and heals me at the same time like buying a new book. This said book may be a celebrated or not so celebrated classic novel, short-story collection or a poem collection. It may be a new grammar study book (God knows I need more of those) along with those "How to Write a Short-Story" or other sort of reference book to writing. The cover is always in perfect condition. The pages are crisp and have that musky book scent. Clean margins, virgin of notations, citations, opinions. There is not a drop of highlight. I am a tactile learner. It takes a while for the information to sink in order for me to understand the material--talk about being thick headed. So, new books, here I come, embrace me tightly :)

New Era

The time to pick everything up and the fight begins

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Happy St. Patrick's day!

Yaz, yazmalisin o vakitte, yoksa ucup gidiyor icindeki inci tanesi olmus kuslar.

Bos Entry

Simdi yazdim bu kadar sey, salak sey, kaboldu, pek bir yazik oldu bana, o kadar seyi yazmistim, doku vermistim icimi. Simdi nasil yazarimki tekrardan o kadar seyi? Bahhh. Insanin moralininn bozulmasi icin birebir.

Insanin ruhunun, kalbinin, bir yerlerinde, bir koselerinde guvensizlik cok cabuk olusu veriyor. Inanclari ne kadar guclu vede derinde bile olsa, bazen en kucucuk davranislar, sozcukler, bakislar, insanlarin herseyi tekrar gozden gecirmesine sebep olup, suphelerin dogmasina sebep oluyor. Belki sebepsiz gozukse bile, icten birseyler bizim o anda mantiken yorum yapamicagimiz bir sekilde icten birseyler bizleri tekrar tekrar oneriyor.

Kaybolanlar

Ruhumun, kalbimin, bir yerlerin, bir yerlerin en derin yerlerinde, kaybolmak, yada yasananlarin icimde bir yerlerde tutunamadan kaybolup gidiyor.

Aslinda soylemek istedigim pekte cok sey vardi, ama ucu verdi hepsi teker teker. Duygular degisi veriyor ansizin olmasa bile, aciklamasi olmadan. Eskiden insanin en karsi oldugu seyler, yada benliginin herseyiyle korudugu seyler, insanlar, gun geliyor yerlerini degistiriyorlar, yada disardan gecen herhangi biriyle farkini yitiriyor. Hic birsey sonsuz degil bu dunyada, belkide sadece dogum ve olumun olucagi dogrusu haricinde, vede ayin hep o gokte asili kalicagindan haric. Insanlar oyle yada boyle, bir sekilde buyuyor, bir sekilde kanatlarini az yada cok, oyle yada boyle acmaya calisiyor, sermeye calisiyor. Tabi bunu anlayanlar var, anliyamayanlar var, kimi bunu sevgiyle destekler, kimi ise kostekler elinden gelen inat ve nefretle.

Pek bir anlamsiz, nedensiz, sebepsiz, yonsuz bir entry oldu. Cocukluk ruyalarim birer birer degisti, unutuldu, kimide kayboldu icimde bir yerlerde hatirlanmayi bekliyor. Ama bu bekleyis ne zamana kadar. Ben hic hatirliyabilcekmiyim? Gec mi hatirlicam yada? Neden hic hep onlari hatirliyarak icimizde tutamiyoruz ki? Neden buyudukce daha derinlere itiliyor bu cocuksu dusunceler, cocuksu ruyalar ve hayaller? Gereklilikmi yoksa bizlerin ihmalsizligimi? Bizlermi kendi kendimizi istismar ediyoruz buyudukce, derinliklerimizi kaybedip dahada hayatin o kosusturmali heyecaninda kaybediyoruz kendimize ozgu olan herseyi?
Nerelere kaybolup gidiyoruz biz? Kendi icimizdemi kaybolu veriyoruz her gecen gun?

The little noises when it's calm and quiet sound so loud and disturbing. It makes me question how I can listen to certain things so loudly during the day.

Evimi ozledim

Evli evine, koylu koyune bosu bosuna dememisler. Herkesin kendine ait bir duzeni (bozulan bile olsa) lazim. Herkesin kendine gore bir yeri, ait hissedebilcegi, diledigi gibi davranabilcegi icine cekilip yada icindekilerini disari yansitabilcegi bir yer. Ruhunun koklerini saliverdigi, ellerinin dokunupta kendine benzettigi bir yer...yerler... Rahatlik illa komfor yada luksle gelen birsey degilki...yada herkes icin oyle degil demek daha dogru olabilir. Benim diyebilmek, ait olmak, ait hissetmek, insanlarin nankorlugunu vede bencilligini belirttigi kadarda, ruhlarindaki o derin ait olma istegini cikarir, tekrar tekrar gozumuze sokar gibi burdayim yer, bize kendini her gun yeniden, donem donem ispatlar boyle oldugunu.
Evimi ozledim