Death

Back on Christmas (Friday), I wanted to make an apple crisp. I didn't have a glass dish large enough, so I went across the landing and borrowed one from my neighbor, Gül (whose name means "rose" in Turkish). I promised to bring it back soon, and when she asked what all the fuss was about, she came over to check out our Christmas tree. Her son--about 16 or 17-- took a photo of me and my flatmate in front of our tree. They left and that was that.

Then on Monday, I came home from work, and my flatmate told me she thought there'd been a death. Some girl had come around the building, bringing people some kind of (cinnamony, sweet, savory, powdery) food. She'd seen people crying a lot. But we didn't really know what was going on. I asked my friend what to say in Turkish when someone dies--there are lots of fixed phrases for social interactions, thankfully--and memorized it in case I needed to say it. But a little scared by the prospect of death in the building, I had hung onto the glass dish.

Tonight, Wednesday, I came up to our flat and noticed that Gül's door was ajar. It seemed opportune. I ran into our kitchen, grabbed the glass dish, and knocked quietly on the door. Her son answered the door. He looked rough. Without knowing what was really going on, but figuring that maybe the grandmother had died...

I said, "Başın sağolsun (literally, My condolences, although less cheesy)."

"Thanks," he said.

"Ummm... Who?" I asked.

"My mother."

I was shocked--she'd seemed fine and young... "What happened," I asked.

Something I could only interpret as a heart problem.

Not understanding, not really wanting to believe, in my horribly naive yabancı Turkish, I asked,

"Is she ok?" Now. Present simple. Implying life.

"No," he said simply. "She died."

I felt so, so, so stupid. So horribly inept. I made him say it.

"I'm so sorry," I said.

He nodded.

I had no idea what to do.

"See you," I whispered. "Good night."

And went back across the landing.

"Christmas"

There once was a turkey in Turkey, roasted by Kipa. It was adorned with fancy-cut vegetables, a tinsel-like sparkly thing, and--best of all--a little plastic Christmas tree on a toothpick. It cost 50TL and it tasted damn good.

The mini Christmas tree could only stand so proud with the mighty Christmas tree looming behind. But why the arrogance, Mighty?! You're made of plastic, too.

React!

I just changed my blog: You can have reactions to my posts by clicking on the little buttons under this post. Now you don't have to sign in to leave me feedback. I have StatCounter--I'm watching you--I know you visit my page! (No one could be more surprised by the numbers than me, but there were actually almost 100 unique visitors attempting to find something to read in my dry, dismal month of December--sorry for being an irresponsible blogger but all my free time was spent on the phone or in İstanbul. :-P)

Anyway, please, react to it! (Or tell me to add other buttons--I can change the labels for things.)

Fiasco?!

Well, I sure learned my lesson about making plans and waking up in the wee hours of the morning. This is what happened over a month ago.

I packed my bag. I wrote my blog post. I set my alarm for 3:50 a.m. I went to sleep. I woke up looking at light streaming through my window... I was immediately stressed because it doesn't get light until... I looked at my mobile. 6:50 a.m. I checked my alarm. I had set it, but I hadn't woken up. I screamed as silently as possible.

My flight left at 7 a.m. while I, in my pajamas, beat my pillow. I grabbed my bag and left for the airport anyway, determined to get to Munich.

I cried most of the way to the airport. I went through security. I stood, looking at the departure board like a shocked witness to a murder. Indeed, my plane was gone. I cried all the way on the walk from the international terminal to the domestic terminal. I went through security again (#2).

I bought a ticket to İstanbul that would connect me to a flight to Munich an hour and a half later. I went through security again (#3). I went to the gate. I learned that the flight was delayed and would miss the connection to İstanbul. I went back through security. I got a refund for the ticket I had purchased approximately 10 minutes before. I cried on my way back to the international terminal. I went back through security (#4).

I began to feel very embarassed in the empty terminal, the obvious return customer who can't figure out which fucking terminal to stay in, who can't seem to get on an airplane to save her life.

I pled with SunExpress for a new ticket (€150 one way?! No, thank you, I really, really can't afford that on top of what I'd spend in Munich anyway). I roused the Lufthansa travel agent from her cup of tea, which she glared daggers at me for, and then had tears slipping uncontrollably down my cheeks when she announced it would be €300 to Munich. I cried on the phone to the travel agent who'd booked my flight, then visited their branch at the airport and cried some more to the sympathetic but unhelpful man who only gave me a free cup of water.

After giving the airport personnel plenty to gossip about, I, defeated yabancı, finally gave up around 10:30 a.m. and went home. I looked intensely sullen and blotchy-faced, and I cried some more. Snivelling, I got home, threw down my backpack, pulled off my boots, and took a nap.

I woke up and booked a flight to Istanbul. I'd figure it out. No point in planning, right?! Why did I miss my plane?! I'm not the kind of person who misses anything scheduled. Not in my deepest of college-stress-sprees, not in my most sleep-deprived states have I ever had a problem waking up on time. If my alarm goes off, I wake up--but I didn't. It can only mean one thing: divine intervention.

So, when life pelts you with lemons, don't cry too much. Just make your lemonade. Take photos of sunrises over the Bosporus...

... and cotton candy and minarets (when in Edirne)...

... and the occasional opportunity to add to the Reflected Me Collection...