Still in Istanbul...

What’s certain is…that since then I can see my memories with colors. As if the time before Istanbul didn’t really happen other than to prepare myself for being what I was at that point.

Maybe before I go on, I should give a screenshot of who you would see if you’d take a picture of me now. If you did it during the weekend, you’d see someone in comfortable jeans, most of the time running after a hectic 20 months beautiful little girl. During the working days, you’d see a concentrated woman, wearing a women’s tailored suit, leading a finance and admin team of 6 people for a multinational consulting company.
In any case, my mind and heart are same. In any case, I am the one trying to do the right thing in each situation. I am in this world. Try not to be off this world. And try not to be in the clouds either.

But, at that time, I was living the experience of my life. Working for one of the (then) Big Six (audit companies). In a mysterious secular Muslim country. Making up my mind about breaking up with a childish too passionate-sick pseudo-bohemian spoiled 21 young man. I was 22 to 23, I think.

In that painful process, I remember myself hidden in a café I would still be able to find, near Taksim, smoking a cigarette. I remember also the sound, the lovely sound of the hocas (priests) calling to pray waking me up at five am. First from the nearest mosque, and going slowly further, getting lost in the distance with the same song....

I remember receiving the evening from the roof of the building where I lived in Kadikoy. I do not remember the name of the girl that used to live with me. It could be Kerem….However, I would love to hug her now, and tell her how much she helped me without knowing….curly, ash-color hair, extremely thin lips, whistling voice, pure heart, smart, privileged mind. I wished I could remember your name. But I only remember you used Aqua d’Gio perfume. Weird isn’t it?

Tel