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Murathan ’95

Karanlik odada üç gölge;
Ikili ilişkileri kuramayan insanlar,
üçlü ilişkileri deniyorlar.


My Way – For the End is Near

And now, the end is near

And so I face the final curtain
My friend, I’ll say it clear
[I’ll] state my case, of which I’m certain
I’ve loved a life that’s full
I traveled each and every highway
And more, much more than that,
I did it my way…

Regrets, I had a few
But then again, [too] few to mention
I did what I had to do
and saw it through without exemption,
I planned each charted course,
each careful step along the highway
And more, much more than that,
I did it my way…

Yes, there were times,
I’m sure you knew,
When I bit off
more than I could chew
But through it all,
when there was doubt
I ate it up… spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall
and did it my way…

I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried
I’ve had my fill, my share of losing
And now, as tears subside,
I find it all so amusing
To think I did all that
And may I say, not in a shy way,
“Oh, no, oh, no, not me, I did it my way”.

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the words he truly feels
and not the words of one who kneels,
The record shows I took the blows
and did it my way…

Oh, no, oh, no, not me,
I did it my way…


I don’t know if it’s just that time of the year, if it’s what I am encountering here in Turkey or if it’s my hormones playing up or whatever. But I’ve been asking myself more than often that same question over and over; “What is actually that emotion people describe as love?”.

I’m not sure. Through the years I’ve had various definitions of love. Different descriptions of that very important emotion. But I doubt if I’ve ever fully grasped it. Maybe even that is not possible. And it might change with time and experiences.

The only truth in this may as well be that ever since I was born I have tried to find love. Wherever possible. With my parents. With the very wrong friends or boyfriends. With people that deserted me after a while for all the obvious reasons. I’ve tried loving. Loving to the core. Loving in the fullest possible manner. Because I always felt that that particular emotion was missing in my existence. I’ve simply never encountered love in any sense when I was a kid. This is not something to be sad or depressed about. It’s just a fact like any other.

And to be frank, even if that was a fact in my childhood, I’ve never ever felt loved in my life. Of course looking back objectively I must say that there were people that surely loved me. But it never felt that way. It was nearly like I programmed myself that I was not deserving to be loved. I was only capable to give love. Not expecting anything in return. Except maybe to be disappointed and heartbroken.

It’s maybe something I’ve come to think about since experiencing the society here. Where emotions like love are so well hidden from each other. It might as well not be possible to love out in the open in this country. Or even to feel anything besides hidden friendship for each other. But what really is love?

If it is really something I do not feel secure enough to deserve then what? If it’s nothing I can receive but only give? If it’s only something that needs to be hidden far, far away from the public eye? If it’s really a rationalizing of what is possible and what not? Is it really worth it then? Or is it just worth anything? Is it everything you can wish for; to love and to be loved?


I’m 13. It’s summer. It’s the summer we didn’t go to Turkey on holidays.
It’s the first long summer alone. No friends. Nor any pretense of any love around.
I’ve been spending weeks wondering the streets. Walking around.
Occasionally going to the library to get lost in books.
But the emptiness closes in.
Somewhere deep inside there’s a vibrating need for adrenaline. The need to be noticed. the need to have concern. The ultimate need to feel loved.
Maybe it are the books I’m reading. But i want to escape.
Escape from myself. Escape from everything surrounding me.
A plan boils up to make a run for it. To evaporate into thin air. Or maybe just to find happiness.
And that brings out the memory of those Easter holidays at the seaside with my brothers and mother. The happy days that once were in my grandmothers house. Those long hours walking on the beach and in the dunes. The wind in my hair. The salty smell in my nose. The itching sand in my socks.
It’s there that I want to return.
Too find what is lost. To embrace those cherished memories.
But i fail.
Once again I’m dragged back into the obvious. There’s nothing out there for me. Or that’s at least what they tell me when they drag me from the train and send me back to that place that should be a home. But it isn’t. And it will never be that.



It’s not really something you could explain. Many have called it being in love with sadness. Or Melancholic. Or weariness. Or whatever. It is an emotional state where as such rationality should not be.  Reasoning is out of the question. Totally. If one would try to understand this what is a feeling, then they would get lost in words. As it is not explainable. No. It isn’t. One can only poor a fragment of what one feels into words. We can only try.

The feeling in itself is something I’ve been obsessing on for weeks now. The word itself was brought up in the middle of the night while drinking Raki. Obviously. But the emotions itself were not strange to me. But the reassurance that this is rather a collective feeling than an individual one was quite positive. One shouldn’t put it a box of her/his category of craziness or depressives. It is sadness where you are feeling happy about. It’s human. It’s emotionales. Understanding is a big no-no.

Let if be and feel. FEEL!

Crossing the Bridge – the sound of Istanbul

Istanbul, my love… my home


O Istanbul. How you have changed me. How you have given me love. How you have given me freedom.

It’s truly amazing. Never would it have crossed my mind how many emotional loopholes I would have to go through by just being here in Istanbul. It’s even mindbobbling. There’s so many things rushing through my mind, body and soul. I can in no way express it. That may be the very sad thing about it, but till some extend it frees me of having to explain myself so somebody. I can live through these emotions on my own and in al its purity.

It may sound incredibly f*cked. But that is what it is. I feel truely happy by just being here in Istanbul. I do feel. And that is a realization I have been waiting for quite a while now. With these emotions it is bloody hard to even imagine going back to Belgium. I want to stay here. Here in the city of Sultans. In the city I can call home.

(written on the ferry Besiktas-Kadiköy 2/08/09