Moved

I am no longer maintaining this blog. I moved all the contents here https://pinarwennerberg.wordpress.com and continue posting.
Hope to meet you  there. 

Fear of Life by Alexander Lowen

"One day I read a book and my whole life was changed". This is what Orhan Pamuk writes in his book "The New Life".  That is a difficult book, it cost me a lot of time and energy to understand, if I did at all...

But. 

Recently, I read a book.  

My whole life was changed. 

No. 

Just, everything fell in place...It is a book by Alexander Loewen called the "Fear of Life". It is a book that you find searching in the category 'Psychology' in Amazon. It is such a coincidence how I landed on this book... I am grateful. After having read the book many things fell in place. Even my education on English language and literature :) The book discusses the Genesis, the Fall and the Greek mythology extensively.

I found this book because of tango. How could you tell...I stumbled upon a blog one day called the Tango Principles. The author was talking about a therapeutic approach called Bioenergetics and how it helped  him overcome the tensions in his body. Being the curious person am I went on reading. The founder of this school called Bioenergetic Therapy is Alexander Loewen. He has numerous books and is the founder of the institute with the same name.

I started reading him. 

A lot.

It is a beautiful book which wakes you up to yourself and to life, if you let it. A few years ago I may not have understood many things I read, or connect with. But now everything falls in place...

Loewen's main message is that we cannot be happy if we ignore our bodies and operate only with our minds. Yet, our cultural society and the civilization drive us to do so and reward us when we do so. We are all after success, money, titles, possessions because we equate them to happiness and security. 

Are they?

If freedom is happiness, how free are we when we have all those things? 

He says we don't need much to be happy, we just need to ensure that our 'self' is aligned with our body. Meaning listening to what comes from our heart,  core and physical body and not only or mainly from the left side of our brains. 

So true. I had to think back about my life and decisions...everything I decided with my heart and 'belly' felt right and made me happy...All decisions resulting only from rational thinking turned out to bring me unhappiness sooner or later...

Why do we do that though? Why do we ignore our instincts and always go with the mind? Because the civilization and acculturation educates us to do so. But then, Loewen says, our bodies are so much older than our minds. They are the products of millions of years of evolution, they have been through things.

Our bodies know.

All we need to do is to trust them more and let go...

As Long As You Live I Will Continue to Live

'Yes grandma' I would reply every time my grandma told this to me. She would smile, happy and content.

My grandma and I were born on the same day. 

May 6. 

Just that her birthday was 50 years earlier. 

I was apparently so much in a hurry to arrive and everyone was so much trying to get my mom to the hospital in time that nobody, not even my  grandma herself, realized that it was her birthday.

We always celebrated our birthdays together. 

Two cakes, hers with 1 more candle than mine. 

And she would say 'as long as you live I will continue to live'. 

'Yes grandma'. 

I can no longer see her smile.

My grandma and I were one. 

She was our home, and my country and my roots.

She was strong, beautiful and full of life.

My grandma always said that on the day she passed away we should not be sad nor cry, but we should celebrate. Celebrate the fact that she lived the life she wanted to live. She wanted us to drink raki and cheer for her.

My grandma always told me whenever I felt sad, I should wear my best clothes, wear my best make up and jewellery, look at the mirror and tell myself how beautiful I am. Then go out so that everybody can see me. 

My grandma never went outside without being at her best. Never.

And how beautiful she was.

She would look at you directly at your face, right into your eyes, and would tell you what she wants.

She would walk into the restaurants by herself, no matter how empty or crowded they were, nor if there were only men inside, and would lunch or dine the food she liked. 

How self confident, yet humble she was.

She liked the chocolate cake, I liked the strawberries.

July 17 2015. 

It has been eleven days, you continue to live.

How to Make Hard Choices by Ruth Chang

Another talk on TED, which came with an epiphany in the end. I love such stories, or such talks for that matter. This one is about making hard choices.

I have always been interested in this subject: making choices or decisions, because I repeatedly find myself in that situation. So this fifteen minutes talk spoke directly to my heart. It made me think about my own hard choices in a way I have never done before. 

Ruth Chang says that there is something we have misunderstood about hard choices. These are not a source of agony, a reason for sorrowful days or sleepless nights. Instead, these are chances for us to personally grow as human beings. 

"Understanding hard choices helps us uncover a hidden power that each one of us possesses."

I had to think about this. 
Really? Is that so?
I have had so many sleepless nights in my life because of the hard choices I had to make. All for nothing? But then I reconsider my thoughts, and yes I agree with her.
Each time I made a hard choice and started living with the consequences, I felt better. So much better. This was not only because of the feeling of relief I got, but also because of having managed a difficult situation without breaking, and because of being in control of my own life.

Ruth Chang says that hard choices are hard because none of the alternatives is way better than the other. Therefore, even small choices can be hard. Whether to have chocolate ice cream or creme brulee can be a very hard choice indeed, if I like them both and if I am craving for sweets in that moment. 

So what do we do?
We take the safest option.

We decide to become engineers than artists, because statistically the probability of getting a job as an engineer is higher than that of an artist. So, we take the safest option, because we fear that we are too stupid to understand the better option if the choice to make is hard. We prefer not to take any risks and we go for the option that is rationally comforting.

This is the very mistake we make. Remember, in hard choices no option is better than the other. We simply do not know...How can we know that engineering makes us happier in our future lives? Unfortunately, there are no fast forward and rewind buttons for life. So, does it really make sense to conclude that engineering is the better option?

What goes wrong here is that we are confusing rationality with values, and think that everything what is essentially important in life has be decided and acted upon based on rationality. In other words, when deciding about important things, we think that we should be able to quantify and measure them to eliminate all kinds of uncertainty and mistakes.
But how can we? Isn't future by default uncertain?

Values are about feelings and about attitudes towards life, so they are truly subjective. Our love for our family, or our passion for a job are fully subjective. These are not quantifiable, therefore not measurable. Or can we say, I love my mother 3 kilograms, I want to become an engineer 5 cubic meters...? So, if we cannot quantify, how can we know one is better than the other? We cannot.
And the mistake we make is that we think we can...

"Understanding hard choices helps us uncover a hidden power that each one of us possesses."

Yes.
When we have hard choices to make, we cannot use our reasoning and rationalism because that doesn't help. What we do instead, is that we create reasons for ourselves to make the choices we make. Precisely this makes us to the people we are. Our ability and power to create reasons to do the things we want to do, to pursue the careers we want to pursue, to marry the people we want to marry, to live in the countries we want to live...

Imagine a life where we have no hard choices to make, because everything is justified by reason, there are no uncertainties, there is never nothing to question...What a boring life would that be?

How could we be the people we are without the choices we make?
Through the hard choices we make, "we become the authors of our own lives".

Ruth Chang: How to Make Hard Choices

What does 'context data' actually mean?

For a while I have been thinking about what context in data science exactly means, because it may mean so many things. Quite often we use context as a joker word or a variable (because it is vague) to describe many things. This happens especially then, when we are not sure what those many things are. 

So what is query context or user context in Web search? We can say, everything about the query or the user. And then what is everything? For me, the only more concrete bit there is the about part, which implies some attribute, i.e. something that is external. For example, weather forecast is a query, which is in English language. Hence, it has a language attribute, with a defined attribute value English. So, language is about a query, therefore it is an attribute, and therefore it is a part of context data. Context can be a quite subjective concept too, in that, what I understand as context can be different than yours .

Recently, I came across to a blog post, which nicely discusses what context is, and I thought it was quite helpful to have a bit better understanding of it. Here is the original post: 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/daniel-newman/contextualizing-big-data-_b_6366014.html. 

The author discusses it from a product and customer point of view. So, when reading replace product with query and customer with user. Accordingly, context data has three compositional parts: demographic data + historic data + situational data.

Demographic data (this is about ‘who’ the user is):

• user preferences 
• his/her query patterns (long queries, short queries, questions, use of numericals…) 
• behaviors (how long does s/he dwell, how often quick back, how often and quickly does s/he change to another search engine)
• what other digital channels s/he uses (Twitter, Instagram, Facebook,…) 

Historic data (concerns past records of user interaction):

• the set of earlier queries
• whether or not they were satisfied (click vs. quick-back)
• type of queries (e.g. popular, unconventional, multimedia…) 

This data also acts as a way to predict the behavior and future actions of users.

Situational data (this data is about the ‘now’):

• the current geographic location of the users
• devices used by them
• other current online activities as can be inferred by the preceding/succeeding links e.g. login to FB (social), Amazon (commercial), Twitter(social), Courserea (education) etc. 

This data helps gain an idea of what are the current preferences of the user are, or what are they looking for at a particular time.

Hoping this helps one or the other to have a bit more well-defined understanding of what context may mean, ideally in many other contexts that are quite different than mine.

Sait Faik Abasıyanık - Her and Me

I am running towards you in a boat

to not to die, not to go insane...

to live life; to live far away from all the expectations 

to live...

It is not warm the memory of her lips; no, it is not;

Not the scent of her hair

None of that.

In days like these, when the world is trembling with tempests

I cannot do without her.

Her hand has to be in mine,

I have to look at her eyes,

Have to hear her voice.

We have to eat together

And sometimes laugh.

I do not do, I cannot do without her.

You my ugly girl,

You my bread, my poison;

My flavor, my sleep.

I cannot do without you!

by Sait Faik Abasıyanık 

(1953)

Sait Faik is a nationally well-known Turkish writer, who is primarily praised for his beautiful short stories. He has written only a few poems, among which the one above belongs to. Just like the other poems he wrote, it is so simple, yet it gets me, probably because of its simplicity. The emotions that come across the simple beauty of the Turkish language he uses.

My grandma proudly used to explain: 'Sait Faik, he was our neighbor...he lived just in this next door house together with his parents. He was young back then. Young. Full of life...'.

He died of cirrhosis.

He wasn't yet fifty.

Below is the original version in Turkish.

O ve Ben

Sana koşuyorum bir vapurun içinde

Ölmemek, delirmemek için...

Yaşamak; bütün adetlerden uzak

Yaşamak...

Hayır değil, değil sıcak;

Dudaklarının hatırası;

Saçlarının kokusu

Hiçbiri değil.

Dünyada büyük fırtınanın koptuğu böyle günlerde

Ben onsuz edemem.

Eli elimin içinde olmalı,

Gözlerine bakmalıyım,

Sesini işitmeliyim.

Beraber yemek yemeliyiz

Ara sıra gülmeliyiz.

Yapamam, onsuz edemem.

Bana su, bana ekmek, bana zehir;

Bana tat, bana uyku

Gibi gelen çirkin kızım.

Sensiz edemem!

  

Naples Part II

I had told you, I have much to tell about Naples. Here is Part II.

I was so happy with my lovely B&B and was therefore full of happy energy. I set out to explore Naples.
I walked all over the place. Until my feet hurt.
I wanted to see the sea as soon as possible. Immediately. Like a little child who can't wait to open his Christmas presents.
I need water. I have to see it, smell it, be in it, live it, be it.

I walked down the street, Via Toledo, and there it was. So, I had arrived at the Duomo, had passed the theater/ opera house, and I had landed on this piazza where the grand blue sea was right below where stood, all in my eyes. I think I stared at it right there for half an hour if not longer.

Feeling comfortable that  my sea was right there, I felt ready to go back to the city and see more of it. After all I could walk back any time, and see my water again. What a relief.
What a city.
I don't know if it is for everyone. Naples is grand; and sad...
Have you read Istanbul? Orhan Pamuk's book about my city. And his.
There he talks about "hüzün"; which is an authentic Turkish word that is hard to translate. It means something close to "melancholy". A unique sense of sadness. He says Istanbul has it. Because Istanbul mourns over its forgone grandiosity. Lost Konstantinople.

I don't know if Napoli mourns. But is has exactly that kind of melancholy.
It was grand.
Now it is tired.
It is like an aged lady, once a diva. And therefore I fell for her. She still has her noblety, beauty, classic beauty, and then some. Her old historical buildings are run down, but they shout at you that they have been once homes to the kings and queens. That princes and princesses were born to their hands.
Such is Napoli.

I walked and walked until I could no more.
I walked in the streets where I could see the bed sheets hanging in between the balconies, just like in those pictures famous for Napoli. It was windy, so that they were swinging in the air, in all colors, big, small, plain, with flowers, with dots...

It was afternoon, I had got hungry and had missed my sea. I decided to have late lunch early dinner somewhere, where I could see the water. I found one such place close to the pier. It was nice and peaceful, and they had not tried to pull me in shouting at me with their menu in English.

My waiter was from India. During he served me, he told me all his life story. That he had arrived there with the hopes of earning much and going back home. It quite didn't happen. Now he was sharing a flat with many others, working to pay for his rent and missing home much. He didn't really know what he should do. He was a very polite, kind and nonetheless positive person. He smiled all the time. And he did it genuinely.
I sat there for a long time, had the delicious mozzarella di buffala native of Napoli (actually I think even Capri, but more on that in Part III), watched my sea and it's endlessly calm blue waters until my eyes hurt. Then I walked back home. Home to my lovely B&B and to Chiara, whom I knew was waiting for me to tell her my today's story.

Naples:Part I

I dont know what is this with Naples.

I mean the Naples in Italy. I had talked about cities affecting me instantly and that I feel connected in a special way. Naples is one of those, and then some.

I have been wanting to write about it for a long time. Now that I actually set down to do that, I see that I will not be finished so quickly. I have much to tell. So, this is Part I.

First time I went there was two years ago. I have always been curious about this city as I had heard and read so much about it. On how beautiful it is, but even more on how dangerous it is. Including the opinions of my Italian friends (northern Italian as you may guess). Anyway, two years ago I made up my mind that I was gonna go there.  And I did.

That was it. I fell for it. Point of no return.

I flew to Rome, jumped on the fast train and continued to Naples straight on. By the time I had arrived, it was evening. Not so much more sunlight. When I came out of the metro station, the first thing I saw was garbage. All over the place. Lots of garbage. Just like it was described in the newspapers. The narrow street where I was, was so full of garbage that you could barely walk.

I told myself Pinar you asked for it, so now you have it.

I tried to find the B&B that I had booked. It was supposed to be just around the corner, and it was supposed to be a typical Neapolitan house in a nice neighborhood. I calmed myself with the picture of a nice warm shower in my authentic room in a historical building. 

I kept walking and passed by a hospital. It looked strangely familiar and yet so so different. That hospital could be anywhere in Turkey, anywhere in Istanbul. Filled with people, not necessarily all patients. Not particularly clean either....I would not want to be a patient there, neither in its twin sister in Istanbul. But it was familiar. And yet so much different than all the hospitals I know in Germany, Switzerland, US, northern Italy.... There you would almost feel special to be a patient. Definitely privileged.  

I walked more, passed a lot of lively food stalls, cafes, bars, little grocery stores and I finally found the number I was looking for. Great! It really looked like the authentic Neopolitan building I was hoping for. I rang the bell, and a nice friendly Neopolitan girl shouted all the way from the third floor. She told me she was going to throw down a rope. A rope? To pull me upstairs or what? No, she really wanted to pull my luggage upstairs as there was no lift. It worked out amazingly well. I myself took the stairs.

Unfortunately, I don't remember her name. Chiara maybe? But we became friends. She run that lovely authentic, cosy, homelike B&B with her brother. She prepared the best of breakfasts every morning for me. She called here and there whenever I needed something. She gave me tips on what to do each and everyday. She noticed my taste and tailored her suggestions accordingly. She even called me on my phone to share additional useful information. She checked if everything was safe with me. She wanted to listen to how my day has been. For four days she has been a true friend to me.

Next morning when I went out to explore the immediate surroundings, I realized that last evening I had taken the back exit, i.e. the wrong exit, from the metro station. This B&B was indeed in the heart of the historical center of Napoli. So lively, so old,  a little run down and therefore so beautiful. It felt that much at home, while being that far away from all my homes.

Lollipop Moments

"We have all changed someone’s life — usually without even realizing it"

Yet another great TED talk; this time it is about leadership. Most enthusiastically and entertainingly delivered by Drew Dudley.

He tells us his story about changing a girl's life entirely without even having recognized it. Just through a simple lollipop. Much later he understands that  he has been this girl's hero ever since.

Drew's story is that he hands out some lollipops to the prospective students at the university campus on the day of enrollment. However, this one girl is scared to death, and she thinks she is not good enough to study. She is just about to turn back and run away. At that moment Drew pops up with his lollipops, jokes around and makes her feel at home. He even manages (without any intentions) that she meets her future husband on that occasion. And then Drew goes home and forgets about everything. Until 4 years later on one day the girl finds him and tells him all about it.

It is a nice little story to listen to. What touched me, though was not Drew's story by itself, but the questions he asked: 

• How many of us have made a huge change in someone's life and don't even know about it?
• How many of us do think that leadership is all about money, power and influence? Isn't it about making a little change that makes the difference?
• How many of us think leadership is something so big and huge that it is beyond our reach? Doesn't it start right now, right here with a small moment when you reach out to a person? 
• Doesn't it start with that moment when you tell a person he or she made the difference?

We have to leave behind our fears about what leadership is. We have to get over it. Each one of us have made an impact in someone's life. We made a difference. We just haven't realized it, because nobody told it to us. Once we have acknowledged this, Drew says, we will have the power to make the world a better place: a place of lollipop moments.

So why not reach out to that person, today, and tell him or her that he has been the one who made the difference in your lives?

It is all about the lollipop moments:

http://www.ted.com/talks/drew_dudley_everyday_leadership

Munich my South

It has been four months now that I am back in my beloved south. 

"South". 

Munich is the southest I can go if I want to remain in Germany, and the northest I would go if I wanted to live "up in the north, in Germany". Full stop. 

It took me years to understand it. It took me to grow old to learn my geographical limits. 

What place, what climate, what ray of light makes me happy? And that it matters in the first place.

Now that I know, I will hold on to it dearly. Why force myself to live somewhere that is against my nature? Why make my body have that kind of fight everyday? 

In fact, my limits of south do remain underchallenged with Munich, but it'll do for now. 

For Munich has one unique offer to me: my history.  It has my friends from the university, it has the streets, the cafés, the bookshops, the trees in the parks, the beers in the beer gardens that had been a part of my life. It has my memories that are scattered on its corners. It took me years to understand that it matters. It took me to leave it to understand that I would miss it. My southern Munich is not south enough, but it'll do. It holds my history, and I am holding on to it dearly. It makes me feel I live and I have a past.

The first snow of the year has already fallen. Soon the streets will be all white, the air will be ice cold and it will make me shiver to my bones. So much for my south. 

Then, I will rush into a cafe to meet my good old friend, and we will talk about the past days. It will be warm again; inside of me. 

Taming of the Shrew

I am trying to escape from myself.

But myself always comes with me...

       I told her so many times

to stay put where she is.

       She wouldn't listen.

Very stubborn myself.

Just like me.

I learned to let go off things.

        Even things that are dear to me...

But myself wouldn't let go off me.

Ziehende Landschaft...Hilde Domin

ZIEHENDE LANDSCHAFT

Man muß weggehen können

und doch sein wie ein Baum:

als bliebe die Wurzel im Boden,

als zöge die Landschaft und wir ständen fest.

Man muss den Atem anhalten,

bis der Wind nachläßt

und die fremde Luft um uns zu kreisen beginnt,

bis das Spiel von Licht und Schatten,

von Grün und Blau,

die alten Muster zeigt

wo es auch sei,

und niedersitzen können und uns anlehnen,

als sei es an das Grab

unserer Mutter.

 

Hilde Domin

I left.
I leave.
And Ieave again.



BAU MIR EIN HAUS
.........
Laß uns landeinwärts gehen,
wo die kleinen Kräuter die Erde verankern.
Ich will einen festen Boden,
grün, aus Wurzeln geknotet
wie eine Matte.
Zersäge den Baum,
nimm Steine
und bau mir ein Haus.
..............

Hilde Domin

Without having noticed that all I wanted was to stay.
To be able to stay.



 

Life is No Laughing Matter...by Nazim Hikmet

Nazim Hikmet is one my most favorite Turkish poets (the other is Orhan Veli).
I can write so much about him. But I don't want to.
I want his poem to fill in all the space. So few lines with so much content...
 

LIVING IS NO LAUGHING MATTER

Living is no laughing matter:
       you must live with great seriousness
       like a squirrel, for example-
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
       I mean living must be your whole occupation.
In Turkish:

Yasamak sakaya gelmez,
     buyuk bir ciddiyetle yasayacaksin
bir sincap gibi mesela,
    yani, yasamanin disinda ve otesinde hicbir sey beklemeden,
yani butun isin gucun yasamak olacak.

Nazim Hikmet

 

I try to be that squirrel.
Moments are my occupation.
I hope, and try to fill them with beauty; and meaning. 
And if it works, I then try to hold on to those moments, even when they are passed.
And smile.

Seriously.

Trømso

Have you ever been to Trømso?

Me not.

Not until recently.

I didn't even know it existed. 

My ignorance.

It is so far up north.

So so far up north.

Too north for a girl from the south. 

Too dark, too cold, too far, too much too...

I was almost afraid to go.

Trømso is a little island town in the Norwegian fiords.

I flew there for 8 hours, changing the plane 2 times.

Munich - Copenhagen - Oslo- Trømso.

I could go straight to bed when I arrived.

I went there for work.

I went there work, and what a peace I found.

Water water everywhere.

What a daylight..

Hills, the sky and only a handful of people.

Just the peace of the nature and me.

Go there, it will be you.

There is a great espresso shop in in Trømso.

The only one. 

Run by an Italian guy from Treviso.

He will celebrate your coffee in the proper espresso machine and serve it to you in  his fluent Norwegian with an Italian accent. 

My piece of south in the far far north. 

I went there for work.

What a piece of peace I found in Trømso.

Go there it will be yours.

Tango is a Difficult Thing

This thing called tango is a difficult thing...

I don't mean the technicality. That is not easy either, but on that bit you can always improve. With patience, decisiveness and sufficient practice anyone can become a fairly good tango dancer. I claim. What is difficult is the rest.

The world of tango gives you a lot but demands equally lot.

It gives you a wonderful music, emotions, an additional language to express yourself. 

It brings some wonderful people into your life, whom you would have otherwise probably never met.

But then, just because of this, this tango can be very hurtful...

You may have had a bad day behind you...you go out, want to dance, want to be among friends, forget, be happy go home and sleep with a light heart. Feel you belong to somewhere and people care for you.

Maybe.

Or maybe you sit there the whole night, longing for some tender tandas but your 'tangueri friends' are only too busy with themselves. Looks go past by you, your all time dancers have eyes for others this evening. They may even be reluctant to say 'Hello', because God beware, that may oblige them to dance with you...

This tango is a difficult thing.

It may make you endlessly happy. If you have found your embrace, if you see the joy and shine in your partner's eyes, who says thank you to you without using the words. You may surprisingly have a wonderful chat with someone, and feel like you have known each other forever. But then the very same person may not recognize you next time he or she sees you. Too busy with chasing embraces.

You can make someone as happy as a little child, by saying just a simple 'yes' to his invite. In the end he will kiss your hand and bring you back to your place greatefully, responsibly, respectfully. One night the tanguero, whom you thought he doesn't even know you exist, may invite you to a beautiful tanda...what a mix of joy, excitement, fear...will I do, or will I be a disappointment?

And then all tango these travels...

You go long ways, you fly, you drive hours and hours. You have expectations...

You worked hard the whole week and you hope to find a little warm home in that dancing hall, with the lovely music and  'friends'. 

Will that happen?

You never know.

But it is difficult, this thing called tango. That much I know.

You may leave that dancing hall, thanking God almighty that life is a miraculous, wonderful thing. Or you may leave that dancing hall completely confused, with a self confidence equal to zero. All these years' of dancing wasn't worth a penny.

You take in all this. These are the rules of the game. 

This is tango. Either you play it or you leave it.

So, next week you go dancing again.

What happened? 

You are the prince or princess of the evening. 

Your feet hurt, your back doesn't carry you anymore.

But your heart is shining like the summer sun.

Ralph Waldo Emerson on Success

I stumbled over this poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson today. He is a 19th cc. US American thinker, literate and poet. He belongs to the school of transcendentalists as I read. So, he belonged to a generation of people, whose attempt was to define spirituality and religion that reflect  the new understandings of their era. He was involved in social reforms such as  anti-slavery and women's rights.

 

What he wrote about success made me think. I read these lines over and over to pick my most favorite one, even though I can identify myself with the entire poem. For me this is the purest, yet most contentful and actually the most beautiful definition of success. Here is what he says: 

 

SUCCESS

To laugh often and much
to win the respect of intelligent people
and affection of children; to earn the
appreciation of honest critics and
endure the betrayal of false friends;
to appreciate beauty, to find the best
in others; to leave the world a bit
better, whether by a healthy child
a garden patch or redeemed
social condition; to know even
one life has breathed easier because
you have lived. This is to have
succeeded.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Now I know my most favorite line: "..to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived." . I thought hard to decide whether this holds for me...I don't know, I really don't. I hope so...It matters to me. 

This line crosses my mind everyday now. It makes me happy, makes me feel better.
Because each new day gives me the chance to make it happen.

Goodbye Cologne

Cologne has been my tough love.

How can I explain?

I came to Cologne three years ago.

Whenever I go to a new city, I get an instant feeling; it is very strong, and it sits in my stomach. It tells me "this city is you..."  or not.  I know how it feels when a city is me. We breath together. All its faces, nice and ugly, are also mine. All its moods, high or low, are also mine. When my guests see my city they see me.

Cologne wasn't me. 

I gave us a try, three years long. It didn't work. It's a pity because it is a nice city. It is full of friendly, open minded and welcoming people. Besides, it is almost at the border of both Holland and Belgium and  this has an effect. There is so much interaction in between these cities due to the vicinity that people almost live together. It is like a shared flat, where each roommate brings in his unique character and cultural background. And this makes life the more interesting, at times challenging, and the more beautiful in this city.

In Cologne you will find many Belgian boutiques, cafes and  restaurants. In the grocery stores you will find much more Dutch food than in other cities. If you go out for tango dancing, your partners will be from Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Antwerp, Brussels, Maastricht even from Lille and Paris. 

Multicultural heaven.

In Cologne there is also a large Turkish community, which also has an effect. At least on me. All this time on all my public transport travels within the city I had to listen to many Turkish stories, about the breaking marriages, about the betraying couples, about the businesses going bankrupt. Very loudly told, very emotionally lived, all in Turkish. 

I know them all.

I didn't have a choice; it happens that I understand Turkish. 

It is a pity that it didn't work with Cologne and me. It is almost like, when you meet someone and admire and respect his or her personality but instantly you also know that there is no affection; and things will not pick up. This is our relationship with Cologne. 

In less than a week I am leaving; going to the south. 

Me and the south. Now, that is a passionate love affair. 

So here am I again, saying goodbye to a city. I do not even know the number of times I have been in this picture; silently saying goodbye to the streets, to the shops and cafes, to the familiar faces behind the counters. Next week the bakery across the street will sell my morning croissant to someone else. I also wonder if and when the man in that little shop where I have been buying water will realize I have stopped coming by. I will miss Museum Ludwig. I loved to go there after the work to see the paintings yet another time. It freed my mind and filled my soul. 

Cologne wasn't me, but I admire its personality. 

I am saying goodbye, while not believing in goodbyes.

I know I will come back; I still have tandas to dance, flammkuchen to eat, friends to see; and many more Turkish stories to listen to on the trams.

On my roots

My friend has a hobby: he is a genealogist. So, his passion is finding out about his family roots. He is German and he has been able trace back his roots that took him to today's Czech Republic. It is not where it stops.  And he will find it out.

I have always admired his passion, yet to me it remained as his passion.  Could not become mine. Did not think much about it either. I liked to listen to him.

Three weeks ago I met some far members of my family, whom I have not known until this age.  My 'new' uncle told me where my family stems from on my father's side.  He is also interested in genealogy, and it has been important for him to find out who we are and where we come from.  

My gran-grandfather came to Turkey from central Asia, more precisely from Uzbekistan. My grandfather and father were born in Istanbul.  Grandma and granddad found each other in Istanbul.

The form of the eyes of my 'new' uncle is like those of a central Asian.  I recalled that occasionally few people have been telling me that my eyes are a little bit like Asian eyes, especially when I was still a child. 

My grandma on my father's side, whom I never met, is a 'sarayli' my new uncle said; which literally means 'from the palace'. So, in general she belongs to a family that lived in the Ottoman palace. She and her family are Ottomans. 

My grandparents on my mother's side come from former Yugoslavia, today's Bosnia-Herzegovina. Grandma and granddad found each other in Adapazari, a small town one hour away from Istanbul.  

It sounds like I am a genealogical mixture: a little bit central Asian, a little bit Ottoman/Turkish, a little bit Balkan.

All of a sudden I have all this information about who I am, where I belong to, where my roots trace back to.  What I feel is relief, and comfort.  I don’t know why. Maybe because I have never felt that I had roots. I have always been on the move; I have lived in different countries, cities, continents, cultures.  It was my choice, and it made me happy. I have cherished the freedom, I still do, and being able to move and not to have to be stuck somewhere. The feeling that the entire world is my home. 

I feel relief and comfort, now that know a bit better about my roots.  That I am not a 'stray bullet' like my grandma would have said... I am the product of central Asian, and European souls, who were seeking new homes in yesterday's Ottoman today's Turkish soil, whose ways and hearts crossed in and around Istanbul.

I have a friend.  He is a passionate genealogist. I understand him much better now. I understand his passion.

My father's Turkey

My father always used to tell me how Turkey and Istanbul once was. His Turkey, his Istanbul.
I loved to listen to his memories as if they were tales.

My father used to tell me Istanbul was a place full of public beaches. Families and singles would hop on a tram, go to the next public beach and spend a nice summer day there.

He used to tell me people would always dress nicely when they went out to the streets, out of respect to the others. They would greet strangers on the streets if their ways crossed. He used to tell people would discuss poetry, politics and arts at long dinners while drinking raki to the fish they ate.

My father used to tell they were proud of their young democracy, they respected those who went to mosques to pray, just as well as those who didn't go nor prayed. Women with head covers were respected as so were those without. Nobody questioned, nobody judged. Nobody asked why their hair were so apparently visible, or why not...Things were just the way they were. 

My father was a kind gentleman, who never said a bad word to anyone, even if the price he paid for it was to be looked down upon or be considered a weak person. He increasingly grew sad to see his Turkey and his Istanbul descent...

He saw Istanbul's streets getting more crowded, and then more crowded and even more crowded, so that it became impossible to greet neither the strangers nor the acquainted faces. He saw people becoming more and more disrespectful to each other because the life got more stressful as the competition for resources got higher and tougher.

My father's Turkey was a place, where everyone were sisters and brothers, no matter what religion, what ethnicity. Everyone was proud to have had established an enlightened republic after the Ottoman Empire and the years of war. Everyone was hungry for knowledge and the word 'human' was written in capital letters. 

My father didn't live long enough to see what I saw.

A week ago I saw the Taksim Square turning upside down...I saw the demolished cars and busses, I saw the young people running away from the police as these were chasing them with pepper gas sprays.

I used to go to operas and to the concerts of the Istanbul Symphony Orchestra with my father at Taksim Square. Now a battle field... I used to get on the bus that crosses the bridge to go to 'our side' with my father at Taksim Square. Now a battle field...I used to go the the Borsa Et Lokantasi to eat the famous 'doner' and the baked milk rice pudding with my father at Taksim Square. Now a battle field...

Then again, I saw the hopeful, determined, proud, open minded young Turks, who sat in front of the beautiful green trees of the Taksim Square to protect them from being torn down...I saw them uniting their hands, minds, dances, songs and hearts to protect the democracy in Turkey. I saw the ray of light at Taksim Square.

My father didn't live long enough to see what I saw.

You plan for one thing, something else happens instead...on being wrong by Kathryn Schulz

I watched this talk of Kathryn Schulz more than once.
It moves me as much each time.

 

She says we are all so obsessed by being right and getting things right because doing so makes us feel good, valuable and safe. Yet, being wrong is a most natural state of being human.

Moreover, we keep thinking we are right, even if we have been wrong all along. 
We don't realize we are wrong, because we are so busy with being right.

Being wrong is ok, being wrong is good, being wrong is human. Being wrong is how the life is. 
It just happens that you are wrong.

You plan for one thing, and something else happens instead. 

Things just don't turn out that way.
She tells the audience to think back on their high-school times. You were all going to marry your high-school sweetheart, buy a house at your home place and raise your children together. 

Something else happened instead.

How was it with you?

I was wrong.

Something else happened instead.

Kathryn Schulz on TED: on being wrong