Spring and stones in the air
BELGİN AKALTAN - firstname.lastname@example.org
This recent picture of the Turkish first couple reflects the ideal combination of love, harmony, mutual respect and happiness. Daily News Photo / Selahattin SönmezThis will be another “rambling story,” like one of my readers commented of my piece last week. This country is a rambling one; I am one of its rambling subjects. What do you expect to find in my column, named “Blind Spot?”
I wanted to write about the death of Müslüm Gürses (the Turkish singer) this week. I was yet to discover him, as were the majority of the people I know around me. I had not listened to him. I was one of those who had no interest in him and the music he made, let alone the remarks made about the “elite Turkish class who looked down on Müslüm Baba.” This phenomenon happens to me most of the time. An artist, a singer, a poet, a writer or a player dies, three out of five times I have never heard of him or her. I quickly do my homework and study the life of the deceased so that I would have a few sentences to say the next day. I could have done the same for Müslüm Gürses here for my column, but this time I would have been frank, as I always am with you (yeah, right).
Anyway, my second option was the gesture President Abdullah Gül made to his wife during the official ceremony welcoming Jordanian King Abdullah II and his wife to Çankaya Presidential Mansion. Check this link before I start commenting, the image explains it all: http://video.sozcu.com.tr/2013/video/haber/oldu-mu-simdi-sayin-cumhurbaskani.html
I thought about commenting on those incredible comments on social media. Hey, listen, the comments are so amusing they can make a separate column. I’ll do that.
I was going to say that the President is a human being; he just made that gesture in the intimacy of any husband and wife. He forgot he was being filmed; there is nothing wrong with that. Don’t make a
big deal out of it.
My third topic would have been the death of Hugo Chavez. I would have written about his life, his achievements, his outstanding character, his anecdotes, all of which I would have tried to write in a light-hearted way, as if a death could ever be dealt lightheartedly.
Another good topic would have been the spring in the air, how the good days are coming and about “cemre” (pronounced jam-reh). It is a Turkish folkloric belief from the Turks’ shamanistic times (oh, I wish we were back in those times. Somehow, it kind of feels like they were better). It is believed that the first cemre falls in the air, the second in the sea, then the fourth on the ground. The third one? I don’t know, on your head, maybe. The classic joke: The editor tells the newcomer to the newsroom to “Go and take a picture of cemre. It has fallen today. Go, quick. Come back in an hour. Don’t ask me any question.” (Much funnier when told in Turkish, or, this is my excuse for forcing myself to be funny).
Funny, hah? My friend, a young mother in the office, told me a story today I thought was extremely funny. Her two-year-old son, Kerem, who plays with smart phones and tablets a lot during the day, was sitting on her lap last night while she was working on a desktop computer. He reached out to the screen, touched it, and swept his hand sideways with that motion you know, expecting the screen to change. When nothing happened, he tried again and again (I don’t know about you but this was hilarious for me.)
My uncle’s house at Silivri
The reason I’m rambling and cannot decide on a topic to write about has got nothing to do with the large cobblestone that was thrown through my deceased mother’s apartment window early morning March 5, causing it to smash...at around 1:30 a.m. I was not there. Police have said the attack carried signs of an intentional and targeted move. Because the perpetrator missed in the first try, then hit the large living room window at the second. As a routine question, police have asked if we have any enemies. And as a routine answer, my brother and my sister said “No, we don’t.” I don’t know if I would have answered the same if I were present there. I can’t think of any enemies either.
Next week I will write about spring and cemre; and two weeks from now I will write about the wonderful suburb of Istanbul, Silivri, where I spent my childhood and very likely will spend my retirement. At my uncle’s house.