brave mel - not me

i sleepwalked to school for a morning class and was not able to think straight because of a massive headache. the top floor of the school feels like the waiting room of a dentist. it smells like one too. on the walls there are three or four posters of famous movies. as i was waiting to enter my class, i kind of blanked - staring at mel gibson looking back at me with his trademark mad eyes.

every man dies, not every man really lives

it said, behind mel's left shoulder.
i read and repeated in the blur my head was.
it is fascinating how hardly anything can sound impressive and glorious when you are tired.

i guess...
sleepheart, really...that's me.

p.s. btw...allegedly, we almost had a coup d'etat in the country a couple of days ago.
i asked my students what they knew about this and they did not seem to care that much. they sounded as affected by the news as i would be by some impossibly lengthy explanation on quantum theory.
no allende around here any time soon - i am afraid...

eat your peas

i hope that it is not because of some kind of petty, predictable form of cultural exoticism that i now walk around my neighbourhood with the curiosity and amusement of someone observing a newly discovered micro-universe.

the fact i speak a rather "me tarzan - you jane" turkish induces a type of isolation that i have learnt to appreciate.

especially in a context where people tend to -

voice anything they feel, think, despise and adore;

not to mention:

provide unwanted advice to any passer by; greet eagerly; bless profusely; justify adamantly; bicker furiously; sweet talk shamelessly; bargain with a passion - (you name it...)

...

being unable to communicate cajoles you into a sort of "locked-in syndrome state" without much room for interaction, let alone a proper verbalisation of your ideas.

initially i considered this a rather unfortunate circumstance - whereas now i enjoy observing, silently.

social niceties are a must here and if you greet a street vendor once - you will have to greet him every other time you bump into him - else, he will resent it forever.

also, there must be an unwritten rule here imposing as compulsory the use of superlatives.

how are you today? calls for - nothing short of "excellent!!" or "amazingly well!".

i am starting to suspect that answers like "ok" or "fine" can be given only by the terminally ill or by anyone affected by some dangerous deviance.

another classic is (to a foreigner): what do you think of turkey? do you like it here? - which calls for any hyperbolic explosion of ecstatic admiration, preferably paired with some opera like move suggesting you are about to faint or throw up, overwhelmed by emotion.

another unwritten rule is that children trigger exceptional public displays of joy and love - the younger they are the better. if you happen to walk around with a little one - people will stop you, pay compliments, look like they are about to weep, bless him and usually reach out to touch him, stroke him. at times i ponder that, should something like this happen in the u.s. - parents would go psychotic and think they are being hambushed by a bunch of molesters, potential kidnappers and members of some wacky hare krishna sect.

my list of "unwritten rules" could go on for a while - especially because the concept of community is engulfing here: people in fact spend most of their time eating, meeting and socialising...out, in markets, streets, cafes, shops - and from a very young age. this leads to what i perceive as innate street wisdom, with all its less appealing facets of emotional opportunism, killer talent for business, white lies and drama.

yet i find that people here are genuinely very giving, very sensitive, very generous and perhaps less self absorbed and artificial than most people in western countries - and certainly less aggressive, less bitter, less paranoid and prejudiced. i see in them, even in the most comedy, unchecked situations - a very rooted human touch.

i was thinking about all of this on my way home this morning and i stopped by the tiny shop where i buy my fruit and vegetables.

it is run by two brothers - identical twin brothers.

there is something bizarre about identical twins - they might have been cute and interesting as children, but if you see them one next to the other when they are fifty or so - you always get the feeling they are part of some peter sellers' prank. peculiar, to say the least.

these two can be told apart only because one of them always wears a hat.

"oranges. three kilos. please." i said in my broken turkish.

as i was paying one of them asked "how do you like turkey then?".

so i took a deep breath and trying to sound convincing (to both!) i just said -

beautiful!, very beautiful!, so so beautiful! - stretching my eyes so open i could feel my skull's sockets vibrating.

jam session

i feel like a walking episode of "casualty" - in a week i have managed to succumb to a terrible sorethroat, lose my voice completely (still speaking in a rather raspy falsetto that makes me sound like a donkey with asthma), burn my right hand while roasting some salmon in the oven and come down with viral flu.

then waking up this morning i realised i could not open my left eye, safely glued together by a sudden bout of conjunctivitis.

naively, on sunday i had the very bad idea of expressing some perplexities on my poor state of health with my students.

they looked at me with solemnity and proclaimed "it is because of envy" - explaining that if you are too well liked and admired people envy you to the point of wishing you and consequently causing you heaps of misfortune. i tried to laugh it off - "c'mon, you cannot believe in that stuff, can you?"

to which they looked at me with the face harrison ford makes on his indiana jones movie posters. "you should not joke. it is true. take refuge in Nazar, the Evil Eye. you should wear one."

in turkey, anywhere you go - in any shop, office, home, cafe - you always see up on the wall, in full display, the traditional blue-eye bead used for protection against envy, also known as Nazar, or Evil Eye. people also wear it on bracelets, necklaces; they sew it on the inside layer of their jackets and skirts; they keep one in their wallets, cars, bags, etc.

slightly startled by how homicidally certain my students sounded i tried to ask the opinion of other fellow teachers; then asked the school director, then the two secretaries at the office and finally the cleaning lady of the school building.

comically, yet tragically at the same time, not only each and every one of them believes in the envy conspiracy - but they all seemed eager to provide horrific examples of the devastating effects of not trusting the traditional faith in Nazar, while at the same time reiterating that "you must get protection from the Evil Eye as soon as possible".

call me gullible.

but not to jinx it 100% - i now wear 9 (nine) Nazar beads on my right wrist (just below the scar inferred by the weapon of mass destruction i use for baking);

a huge pendant around my neck with a blue eye the size of a compact disc;

a tiny one inside my purse.

yet - this morning conjunctivitis proves that Nazar is (blatantly) still failing me.

perhaps he does not like me much.

perhaps he senses my lack of faith in his creed.

anyway...

as i was 'seeing life through rather sticky and hazy lenses', i decided it was high time i overcame my coercively induced state of fear and superstition and put myself in the safe hands of science.

namely, i finally resolved to make an appointment with our family gp, doctor cem (interestingly - to be pronounced as "jam").

the single reason we chose him as our gp is that he speaks english fluently. having said that, i have seen this doctor three times and have yet to understand whether he is a truly good practitioner. and it is my fault actually - since whenever i meet him i tend to get distracted by his appearance.

he is a beefy, stocky man, with coarse skin on his face, square hands and huge, purple lips. there is something invariably bored and kind of sleepy in his glassy gaze, hidden behind the heavy, dark frame of his glasses. he breathes slowly and deeply and combs his hair to the side, yet his hair is so thick and dark that it is hard to see it parting anywhere on his head.

he always wears chekered shirts where the checkers are too big and too red. all in all, i would say he looks like a transylvanian lumberjack - and behaves as one.
with very abrupt, sudden sentences - yet uttered with the sense of benign bravado and comradery of someone who is telling you with pride he has just killed a wild boar with his bare hands.

today, after confirming my conjunctivitis and emphatically ruling out pneumonia, bronchitis and irriversible mutism - he wrote a long prescription and then concluded - with his thick lips smiling with benevolence "all in all - you only have flu. you understand the word FLU?" he asked, his voice spelling the word for me like a slow thunder.

"i guess", i answered.

at 31, i think my wordliness can still stretch to that - fortunately.

as i shook his thick, dry hand on the way out - he grinned pointing at my right wrist and said cheerfully "good on you! you carry nazar. veeeery good idea".
i nodded - looking up at his square face through my foggy eyes.

of course.

very good idea indeed.

a fortunate read

Spent the afternoon reading "A Fortunate Man" (The Story of a Country Doctor) by John Berger.

It is a very unusual, mesmerising book that uses beautiful, journalistic photographs and a very direct, unheroic style of writing to offer a memorable portrayt of a man, a doctor - that leaves you feeling immersed into thoughts of how precious life truly is - even through its most devastating, painful and inexplicable aspects.

I keep on going back to its pages and think that, any young person reading it would be enlightened, moved and motivated to become a doctor.
And not because of any fake mythology created around gp's and their daily life.
On the contrary.
I found "A Fortunate Man" an extraordinarily deep reflection on human ideals, hopes, downfalls and failed expectations.

This is a short book, modestly described by the author as an ‘essay’. In it a GP working in the Forest of Dean in the mid-1960s comes to life. We read about his encounters with patients and his struggle to respond to their illnesses and lives.

The demanding and fallible humanity of John Sassall, the doctor, is described without holding back any detail. As if this were not enough, the book's photos by Jean Mohr are the visual equivalent of a choral passion. They are nothing short of exceptional. With their silent black and white tones, they portray Sassall at work and in conversation, his patients as individuals and in groups, and the ever-changing dialogue between sky and landscape, both beautiful and full of foreboding.

Sassall began as a blood-and-guts "one-man hospital," performing emergency appendectomies on kitchen tables. He had contempt for distress he judged not real. Gradually, his work made him rethink his values. Sassall began to attend to psychosomatic illnesses. He underwent his own crisis, read Freud, and held his office open evenings, when he offered psychotherapy. Sassall was what Berger called a "master mariner," Odysseus, perhaps, a man with broad curiosity about the nature of the human circumstance - armed with diverse skills and ready for all adventures. The general practitioner was, in Berger's telling, the existential man, facing down death and his own demon.

I found this book astonishing and am only waiting to read it again.
And again.

title 1 or title 2 (discuss)

i love to read what my students say in their essays.

today i gave them two titles to choose from.

number 1 was: "young people should take an active interest in politics".

number 2 was: "is english really the language of the future?"

here are some extracts of what some of them wrote.

(i) "...politicians change their country' s situation in the world. politicians' behaviour is very important for their country's image. first of all, as a country - we want to become better. but to do this we should choose younger politicians. in today our politicians are very old and terrible. also, they put their feelings first in how they manage the country. they always argue. so, they are bad and ridiculous ..."

(ii) "...i don't like this situation...while we are speaking and learning english, i guess we forget our language. today if you want attention - everything is english word. for example cafe's name, supermarket's name, restaurant's name...and another things. i like english. it is a pleasure to speak english and i need to speak english very well..."

(iii) "...we can ask ourselves - what is the thing made english very important and so common? i think the answer is in the establishing of U.S.A. - because U.S.A. became a big power since of their beginning. thus, they forced other countries to speak english and england supported this process because of dominating france. french was the most important and common language until 18th century. that's why they don't like to speak english today. they also do not like the people who speak english or try to. in addition, they also still imagine that french will be the language of future generations. in my opinion this is impossible..."

valentine's day allergy cured by poetry

(YOU - CAROL ANN DUFFY)
Uninvited, the thought of you stayed too late in my head,
so I went to bed, dreaming you hard, hard, woke with your name,
like tears, soft, salt, on my lips, the sound of its bright syllables
like a charm, like a spell.


Falling in love
is glamorous hell; the crouched, parched heart
like a tiger ready to kill; a flame's fierce licks under the skin.
Into my life, larger than life, beautiful, you strolled in.


I hid in my ordinary days, in the long grass of routine,
in my camouflage rooms. You sprawled in my gaze,
staring back from anyone's face, from the shape of a cloud,
from the pining, earth-struck moon which gapes at me


as I open the bedroom door. The curtains stir. There you are
on the bed, like a gift, like a touchable dream.

(SONG - FRANK O'HARA)
I am stuck in traffic in a taxicab
which is typical
and not just of modern life

mud clambers up the trellis of my nerves
must lovers of Eros end up with Venus
muss es sein? es muss nicht sein, I tell you

how I hate disease, it's like worrying
that comes true
and it simply must not be able to happen

in a world where you are possible
my love
nothing can go wrong for us, tell me

(ABSENCE – STEPHEN DOBYNS)
If these lines that I
see appearing on my face
were the lines of a map,
I would be with you now.
If the distance between us
were as tangible as the ice
that I feel, you would see me
sliding toward you, full of
joy at having found you, sorrow
at having been gone so long.
If my memory had the body
of a servant or thief
I would pursue it until it
returned what it had stolen:
already it blurs your face
with the faces of strangers.

holiday guide - turkey (daily telegraph)

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/sunandsea/7213336/Turkey-2010-Summer-holiday-booking-guide.html