Is this normal?

Tiring week full of long nights of work, and one night of great fun…We will belittle it as fun, we will belittle it as something that had to be done, we will not speak of it again in any way, and we may or may not have another chance…but now after the fact, in my own time and space, and with my own ‘port and lemon’ in me I can call it what it deserves to be called…a great moment of human contact…I don’t mean sex. Life is short and, at times, lonely so when there is someone to share a moment of intimacy, even if (or perhaps because) that word is not uttered, one should celebrate it. Rejoice in the glory of being able to share a touch, a feeling, an unnamed purpose…and that’s what this paragraph is about, no games, no script, no past nor a future…just the present…a present from which you wake up and wonder if it ever happened.

Went to my local pub tonight…The Palm Tree…an East End gem…where on Friday and Saturday nights East End old geezers and birds sing Rat Pack and Cole Porter. It was marvellous. A quite night by Palm Tree standards but wonderful soundtrack to two friends struggling to hear what the other is saying…’The man I love’ sang my favourite local singer, a woman of an advanced age and walking stick, with short hair and long earrings, huge boobs and deep man’s voice courtesy of years of smoking…

At one point as my friend was talking, I drifted away from what she was saying and started wondering how is it that the air that trembles through her vocal chords and travels through the air reaches my ears and then to my brain and gets converted into understanding. Those few seconds when I wondered about that there was nothing more important in the world. Is this normal?

Then I came home, sitting on my sofa, I heard a bus stop at the bus stop nearby, open doors, close doors and pull away. I could not see the bus but I sat here wondering about the people who must be in it. Who are they? Where are they coming from? Where are they going? Did they have a good night out or have they just been made redundant or dumped? Are they awake thinking about thinks or have they fallen asleep? I sat here wondering all this and feeling almost physically there on the bus. Is this normal?

I see planes approaching to land at City Airport and circling above London to land at Heathrow. I’ve lived in the same flat more than 10 years. But only recently I’ve begun to look and wonder who are in them? I began to feel transported into the plane, seeing the stewardess walking the aisles making sure everyone has their seat belt on. I began to see the faces of each and every passenger, wondered where they are coming from and why and who they are. Is this normal?

I’ve been doing this a lot lately…living the present to a fuller degree than I’ve ever done before yet wondering about the countless lives that pass me by in that very present, lives that I will never know. What stories do they hold? What is it that makes them get up every morning, get dressed and go out and go very far out at times? What is it that makes my mind extend like a telescope and transport me to where they are? What is it that makes me wonder all this?

Is this normal?

Feels like it’s not.
Feels like it’s the start of some psychosomatic situation.
Feels good.

Is this normal?

My name is…

I’ve been so busy lately that I almost missed the news that Orhan Pamuk has been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. It’s a personal honour to be writing about it. I love his books.

Not always I have to admit. It seems I like his books in rotation. For example I couldn’t get my head around Black Book. But I know of Turkish people of the generation one before mine who found themselves in it. New Life I loved. They didn’t.

I loved New Life not because I was searching for a new life or the book offered a new life but because it offered an adventure. I read the book in my 20s when I was leading a conventional life by all accounts but I had hopes for a new life: a life spent in pursuit of a dream even if it is impossible to fulfil. The idea of an impossible dream appealed at the time. How can you not like a book the first sentence of which is “I read a book one day and my life was changed”?

Those were the days when life seemed to offer more possibilities. While the hero of that book was after a dream that would end his life, the dream I was after was a loose notion of a better life. What matters is that I shared the dream of a life that’s possible to change. It didn’t matter that what the hero wanted and what I wanted (not that I knew what that was) were two different things. I identified with the desire for change.

Then there is My Name is Red. Possibly the best book I read. I of course remember the overall story. But what I remember most is the pleasure I had reading that book. It took me a long time to finish because I kept going back to sentences, paragraphs to read them again and again, they were so beautiful.

I also liked his very clever idea to juxtapose what is happening in Turkey now with a murder mystery in the 16th century. Murder mystery is simply a tool to tell the story of a quest for an individual identity. Do we carry on as a part of the community and follow the rules instead of what we wish to do or do we make our individual mark on the world? Community offers love and support. But it seems only if you follow the rules unconditionally. Individual identity gives you freedom but at the price of loneliness, at least at times. I think my thirst for freedom is what keeps me in London and what keeps me single but as I grow older loneliness that comes from being an outsider – no matter how well I fit here – and being alone – no matter how many so-called boyfriends I may have - becomes a bigger price to pay. Still I continue.

There seems to be a debate in Turkey whether he would have won the Nobel prize if he didn’t make that infamous political speech about the Armenians and Kurds. I can write loads about this point but I want to believe that he won because he is a great author so I will not honour the doubt by discussing it. In fact, if there is a universal anti-Turkish wave, then the best way to confront it is not to have debates about what someone said or meant, but by trusting ourselves as a nation. I repeat I think he is a great author and like any great author of any nation he deserves this award. End of story.

Pamuk explained this best in an interview he gave to The Guardian a few years ago. He said “when an English language author writes a love story, it’s a universal love story but when I write a love story it’s a Turkish love story”. Here is a great author, undoubtly a product of his culture but global in his appeal and message. Congratulations. I am proud of you. Not just because you are a Turk but because you are an author whose ability to take me into new worlds I admire.

Happiness…

I’ve been having a bit of a difficult time lately. Nothing objectively bad mind you, just too much to deal with: a lot of work (good), tiredness (changing seasons, burning candles); friends leaving town; family issues; many things I talk and think about but can’t do at the moment for various reasons – some but not all within my power.

So, after another long day at work and saying goodbye to M who is off to his Tanzanian adventure; and having bored myself with the last couple of entries and inspired by I-D magazine’s cover story this month (never read this magazine before but am enjoying this issue so far), I’ve decided to make a list of happiness (in no particular order). So here it goes…

· That moment before falling asleep;
· Comfortable silences;
· A hot bath on a cold day;
· ‘urban moments’ like catching a stranger’s eye on the tube and smiling;
· No holds bared free flowing conversations;
· A big, long hug;
· Smiling;
· Making others laugh;
· Happiness of those near and dear;
· Daydreaming;
· Clean and ironed sheets;
· To be woken up by sunrise;
· Colours of the sunset;
· The sound of light rain on the roof of a tent;
· Swimming in the sea first thing in the morning;
· Receiving unexpected calls, post, emails from good friends and family (with good news of course);
· Watching the excited concentration on the faces of small children when they are learning something new and fun;
· Learning;
· I love you;
· Reading, watching, listening to something that opens new avenues for my mind;
· Chocolate for about two days once a month;
· Foodstuff associated with Turkey and childhood;
· Memories (good or bad for different reasons);
· Dancing;
· Letting go;
· ‘Yes’;
· Quirky shoes;
· My red leather jacket;
· Blue and yellow;
· Fresh flowers;
· Achieving goals;
· Travelling;
· My hair being stroked;
· …
· …

Just realised, some of the above makes you happy, some you can only appreciate if you are already happy and some both...Go figure!