all begins with L

on why i’m at peace: this is a cut&paste so don’t be offended. )

“Alright, here we go.

Eight months on and I am declaring that my quarter life crisis is coming to a proper wrap. After series of interviews, taking aims and pursuing ‘proper’ jobs, I walked away from the last interview feeling utterly relieved knowing that I wouldnt be taking up the position despite putting on a good show.

After an hour of grilling the CEO looked at me and say that I am not one who value sales as much as marketing. I looked at him and went “absolutely.” We all know that a good product is a matter of being communicated, sales is a by-bonus end results. Chey-bah. )

After which I recommended him a good restaurant to have lunch in and he asked me to join him. But then I thought my time with him that day was already over stretched.

I am however meeting him again for possible collaboration. I’m beginning to embrace this mantra of working with people, not for people, even if you’re in a company. And that’s exactly what I’m gearing on with this coffee stint.

True enough, couple of weeks down the road, I saw the present in light. I start to work with what’s around me, my customers, my colleagues, the bosses and just working with the present value.

After seven months I’ve gradually make known to the managers of what I really want to do professionally and right now I’m co-interior designing the new coming cafe these guys are setting up. End of August I’ll be heading to Italy for the Biennale.

Coming back I’ll be starting an introductory course on Interior Design, not a masters nor a bachelor but a starting point. I’m beginning to love London for what it’s worth. Even today taking a new bus route home, I chance upon a road I’ve yet to stroll by.

It hasn’t been easy, I’ve made fools out of myself and still catching myself doing so at times, I’ve gotten quiet lately, perhaps having something to do makes you talk less, and if you talk less then you’ll really find something to do. The equation seems to work at present moment.”

THE FOLLOWING IS NOT CUT&PASTE, SO PAY ATTENTION. )

well, yes the ceo extended a dinner invitation next week. why not. and there’s a new distraction in town. when i get a name, i’ll let you know.

i found an interior design course from st martin which i’ll be signing up for when i get back from Italy. starts in October. Lola leaves London for good tomorrow, i’m quite sad about it actually.

i kinda fought with Sanran, I don’t know how to put it across to him that I can’t be friends with him anymore unless we completely put aside this intimacy.

on a more trivial note, i’m meeting ms. elizaveta tomorrow.

man?women?man?women? is never the question. )

you, i miss, as always.

now what next
for the coming decade

ps. i miss the family

A wiseman (and a very flirtatious one) once told me that all if not most creative directors started out as copywriters.

you get to know them by
a) the no. of shots
b) the type of milk or the lack thereof
c) sugar or without
d) and sometimes (much to my resent) hot or hotter.

prescribed cups in process the moment they cross the traffic light, across the road.

today, single machiatto continued that he met up with his ex girlfriend for the first time in nine months since they broke up. he said “she’s lost in fashion world.” i said “milan?”, he asked “how do you know?” because you’re an italian but obviously not from milan. unlike his compatriots, he adds sugar.

last week, triple shot latte with a drip of vanilla non-nonchalantly confessed that his boyfriend is diagnosed positive. i made the correlation between him being tall, dashing and sweet, and his syrup of choice.

yesterday i find out that he used to lay his hands on you. on a side note, your daughter radiates the most beautiful energy i’ve ever encountered. i usually do not endorse syrups in coffee, but that dash of coconut is guilty pleasure. she’s almost two.

and then there’s the one-shot-mocha soy hot chocolate ex-supermodel mom with a musician husband, whose son recently babbled my name, who is also almost two, made my routine stint a little less as such.

i also almost forgot to mention one more, she’s called flat white.

in three days time
it’ll be my second monthlyvesary in london
i’m still househunting and housemate hunting
this city is filled with extremes
creativity, passion, brilliance
living harmoniously with
arrogance, delusion, hedonism

the product, the result
an economy that permeates dreamers with prevailing dreams
regardless

today i went to view a house
in the east, shoreditch to be specific
famous for its streets littered with starving artist
musicians, writers, peeking into white finished gallery windows

he said, i’ve just gotten out of a twelve year depression
when i renounced the idea of being a film maker
i lost this (he pointed) part of my brain
then four years ago, i decided i want to be an artist
i felt reborn, flagging his arms up into the air
voosh, he said

i am obliged to give him that thirty minutes of my attention
after all he poured me a cup of tea,
with a slice of apple pie which he proudly claimed to have acquired daily
for free

stupid, he said, people throw these away

my thirty minutes was up
i gave him my best wishes
not verbally

it scares the shit out of me

not him,
not the pass expired apple pie,
not the neighborhood

there’s a certain ritual to ushering in the new year, or rather if you’re a less futuristic person (with a history major) you would say instead, ‘to wrap up the year’. And they are almost accurately as follows:

a) reading old letters/blog post
b) scrolling through phone numbers
c) and delete those you’d probably not need to remember about (or pursue) in the new phase of your life
d) decide whether you really should delete their numbers
e) chart how old your virtual pets are, namely your blog, your flickr acccount, your twitter account, ourchart account, hotmail account??!
f) re reading certain post and stomach a guffaw, re re re reading another post
g) that brings a trip down memory lane that turns into another lane, then goes waaay into the back lane
h) and go “omg C, look what i found!!”
i) and go bloody hell! my blog is turning three!

the flings, the affairs, the trials, the pursuits, the fantasies that partially morphed into bitter sweet realities, here we we go again.

i don’t know if you know how i feel, but i will truly, insanely miss this city, like a lover in departure. oh no. sob.

O yeni filmi bu aksam sinemada izlemek istiyoruz.

she a new film this evening in cinema to watch she is wanting.

On a more trivial affair, there are two men in the office, a) the youngish copywriter that could do a stunt bottom for Wentworth Miller, the lead guy in Prison Break, b) the oldish -i would used the word ‘experienced’- creative director who has had his blood pressure tested recently and made me hook up his tube to his medical gadget, but he is charming and at some point rather suave. I’ve always had the hots for older men, Sean Connery any day over brad pitt types, but James Gallagher will do the trick too.

(just when you think i’m switching sides)

Oh, new entry: a neve campbell look-a-like just joint the office a day after me and her first few words to me were “sen blablabla guzel” (means you blablabla beautiful) and so I replied “Bende” (you too). But apart from ‘*hava guzel and **yemek guzel” we can only look at each other.

I’m not taking sides or switching sides, for now as far as priorities are concerned, a room, a paying job and restaurants to check off. If something were to happen, it’ll be serendipitous. So there!

*hava = weather
**yemek = food

no i have not found a proper paying job
yes my internship will start tomo at ten am
no they will be not be paying me until perhaps i can compensate for my minimal turkish
yes i will be teaching english in the evenings
no i have not found an apartment/room/shoebox to rent
yes i am staying with a friend at the moment
no i have not had baklava since i got here
yes i will be here indefinitely

no it’s not a glamorous affair
yes i might potentially be in love

no i have no guts to pursue it
yes i am a doofus

Istanbul is a drug. We shoot it in our veins from dusk to dawn, and have bread to soak it up in the day.
Alexander Hacke began his narration “it is a land of contrast…”

It is to me an oxymoron in every sense of an experience. Where east meets west, where nationalism hinges on the quest to modernization, where the call for prayers is blasted five times a day in every nook of the city, along side catchy rhythm of electronic fusion turkish folklore.

It is a muslim country where alcohol holds a special understanding between the glass shot and God.
Sneakers are don with Gucci shades and rainboots are good all year round.
Every cafe is a breakfast saloon, at any given time of the day.

I greet the sunset, live through sunrise and repeat step one all over again.
Four months, seemingly unreal, but I loved every minute of it.

Sherefe.

The only compensating factor to this frost biting season is the cool clothes - the boots, the swanky hats, the trench coats. To which a friend disagreed saying he prefers skirts and sandals.

I say, a girl well wrapped up is a girl worth unwrapping..