A Not So Turkish Life


There’s a drip. It’s raining in monsoon-style bursts you only hear if the door’s open. It transports you back to when you bought the jug catching the elongated drip from the piece of black canvas stuff we stuck to the ceiling with duct tape. Sitting in porches, in window seats, on benches watching the rain. Times, places, memories. 

 I just reread Hideously Kinky. The first was fresh off the plane from Asia, thinking Turkey was a temporary stop. India sounded wonderful. A six month stint in Istanbul then sell sandwiches in cambodia became India first – bought the guidebook.  Just before I left the same friend who’d given me the book sprung a guy on me unexpectedly. backgammon, raindrops, MSN. Crossing in the air over oceans swapping places. Weddings, trips, decisions. I left, thinking Istanbul and I were done, that this was just a cliche ‘what could have been maybe’..wrong place, wrong time. 

I don’t believe in timing anymore. 

Watching sleeping beauty with you I ask “were they good gifts the fairies gave Aurora? Would the story have been different if they’d given courage and intelligence; would they give the same gifts to a prince?” 

I question them, challenge them, demand they think outside the box and yet I’m the biggest cliche of all. 

Fish and chips, mushy peas on toast, roast chicken reimagined with salça mixed in.

Mother/teacher/guide. You twirl hands in the air..I think you’re crazy just like meeeee. 

Cushions piled on the sofa we built on a roof so long ago..”what does kinky mean, mum?”..Karmacoma through the speakers bought for a desk in a house in Chester muffles the answer..lost as their singing bellows out. They dance, spin. Wiggle their bums sing deli deli. Crazy. Crazy is as crazy does. And breathe Mama, you’ve got this. 

Write Mom, call Mummy, use the noun Anne to clarify. Seni Seviyorum token gifts; paper hand print butterfly love. Speak, think, do; t-shirt speak. 

“Mum have you ever eaten bacon? What does it taste like – is it good?”

“Pheasant is delicious, babybum.”

“I shot a squirrel – wanna try?” 

Inside out lasagne, Syrian chicken and rice. Third day beselye leftovers. “And they ate fish as cakes!” “..fish rolled into a meatball shape?” 

Build a house in a forest to live by the sea to just be. dream, plan, wish. Bismillah. wait and see. 

It’s not raining now. 33 degrees on Saturday. 

This entry was published on 05/09/2017 at 07:58 and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

One thought on “Mornings 

  1. arockandasoftplace on said:

    Gorgeous writing. So glad to get your updates.

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