Saturday musings with a smile
Being in love is a bit distracting...I don't mean the lack of attention to detail, thinking about the loved one etc....It distracts one from one’s own happiness. I’ve just realised as soon as I so much as have a faint romantic interest in someone, I start thinking how terrible / lonely / incomplete / failing my life is without him...in fact worse, it’s not ‘without him’ but just on my own…I stop smiling, laughing, feeling, hoping…When I don’t have such an interest, my life is GREAT….which is what it indeed is.
****
I got a free coffee on Wednesday morning from a guy working in Pret. He was betting against another Pret guy as to what I was going to order. When I noticed this and he lost (his cappuccino to my latte), he gave me the coffee for free. When I said this made me happy and smiled, he said my smile made him happy….and I should continue to smile to others and make their day too…and then the next day was Valentine’s and I would still be smiling then…All that smiling for £1.79 and decaf!
****
My Valentine’s was spent mostly on trains…went to Brussels for the day…I usually work on the train but this time slept all the way there and back…No way for my somewhat forced dream of meeting a romantic Euro-commuter who would offer me champagne at the train bar to be realised…Back at St Pancras I stopped by at M&S to get some dinner. Unbeknown to me one of the Valentine cards (for a WIFE) hanging by the tills must have fallen into my basket…I only realised this when the cashier asked me whether I wanted the card in the plastic bag too…I laughed and said “Why would I buy myself a Valentine’s card?”
The cashiers all laughed too. They didn’t question my implied status as a ‘WIFE’ and I didn’t correct them. I smiled all the way back, feeling a little fake but happy to find out how easy it was to become a wife.
****
Had a party here last night….apparently I am a beautiful woman…‘a woman of/to be loved’…whatever that means…alcohol is a funny thing…
****
Went to the Trafalgar Freeze today….about 1000 people turned up and froze in motion between 3.30 and 3.35 pm. Good fun…perhaps too many people for the freeze effect to work on the passers by but still good fun. Should I have grandchildren one day, this will be one of the stories that will make me a ‘cool granny’…I’ll add the video link when it’s up.
On the way back, two men offered me their seats one after the other…it felt rude to refuse the second time. I am sure they thought I was pregnant…am terribly bloated after last night’s excesses. My acceptance with a smile confirmed their implication of my pregnancy. I did my best impression of a pregnant woman until I got off.
The guy who gave up his seat got off at my station. I went to get some food and he was still at the bus stop when I got there….we smiled at each other…My bus came before his. As it pulled away I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t pregnant but still grateful for his gesture and that he was the best looking Far Eastern man I had ever seen…but I just smiled instead.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Saturday, February 02, 2008
The Law of Attraction
Attraction is something that can’t be explained…nonetheless it follows a logical order.
You see someone from a distance.
As soon as you see them, you notice they are different.
Yet, you don’t make contact immediately…
Sometimes your eyes will meet, sometimes they won’t…
But when you finally start talking, there’ll be no stopping you.
There may be others at shorter distances, with easier conversations…these conveniences don’t matter…
Somehow you end up talking to each other for a long time, not minding getting notebooks and pens out and drawing plans of where you live and how it turns out you used to live five minutes from each other and never knew…
You would take out your heart and place it on the table next to their pint glass if that were possible but get your pencil case out instead to show your colourful pens…they show a particular reaction to red…
Then you walk along the South Bank…after midnight with nothing but rain drops to accompany you…Just because after another night, you walked along the South Bank with another whom you ended up kissing by the Tate doesn’t mean the same will happen again…
The same doesn’t happen again…
You cross the wobbly bridge, get them on No 25 and go home alone.
Back at home, you update your facebook status “…has fallen in love but doubts the feeling will last the night”…after a few minutes and through your boozy stupor, you go back online and change it to “…is questioning the purpose of status updates, having written something very personal and deleted it”.
One friend - one who is still working at 2 in the morning – gets a glimpse of the highly personal nature of your status update before it is deleted and, a little envious, wonders what you were up to at that late hour and hopes the feeling does last the night.
The next day you learn that they have a partner already which explains why it was so easy not to kiss and get on the bus and go home.
Again the next day, you write back to your friend “I fall in love with every men I do a late-night South Bank walk with even if nothing really happens...it's just the peace and lights of the night along this, my favourite, part of London”.
Attraction is something that can’t be explained…nonetheless it follows a logical order.
You see someone from a distance.
As soon as you see them, you notice they are different.
Yet, you don’t make contact immediately…
Sometimes your eyes will meet, sometimes they won’t…
But when you finally start talking, there’ll be no stopping you.
There may be others at shorter distances, with easier conversations…these conveniences don’t matter…
Somehow you end up talking to each other for a long time, not minding getting notebooks and pens out and drawing plans of where you live and how it turns out you used to live five minutes from each other and never knew…
You would take out your heart and place it on the table next to their pint glass if that were possible but get your pencil case out instead to show your colourful pens…they show a particular reaction to red…
Then you walk along the South Bank…after midnight with nothing but rain drops to accompany you…Just because after another night, you walked along the South Bank with another whom you ended up kissing by the Tate doesn’t mean the same will happen again…
The same doesn’t happen again…
You cross the wobbly bridge, get them on No 25 and go home alone.
Back at home, you update your facebook status “…has fallen in love but doubts the feeling will last the night”…after a few minutes and through your boozy stupor, you go back online and change it to “…is questioning the purpose of status updates, having written something very personal and deleted it”.
One friend - one who is still working at 2 in the morning – gets a glimpse of the highly personal nature of your status update before it is deleted and, a little envious, wonders what you were up to at that late hour and hopes the feeling does last the night.
The next day you learn that they have a partner already which explains why it was so easy not to kiss and get on the bus and go home.
Again the next day, you write back to your friend “I fall in love with every men I do a late-night South Bank walk with even if nothing really happens...it's just the peace and lights of the night along this, my favourite, part of London”.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Happy New Year
Wishing you all a happy year in 2008…let it be the year of ‘laughter, change and romance’ said V but I’ve had enough change in the last 6 months….I want a quiet time of laughter, relaxation and love…
Most of all, I want to keep my eyes, ears and heart open to all the happiness around me…as I am becoming more and more aware that happiness is all around us but we are too busy / disillusioned / tired to notice it…
I wish you the same openness…
Wishing you all a happy year in 2008…let it be the year of ‘laughter, change and romance’ said V but I’ve had enough change in the last 6 months….I want a quiet time of laughter, relaxation and love…
Most of all, I want to keep my eyes, ears and heart open to all the happiness around me…as I am becoming more and more aware that happiness is all around us but we are too busy / disillusioned / tired to notice it…
I wish you the same openness…
Observations from Istanbul
(30 December 2007)
I fall in love easily…..I used to think I’d never fallen in love since the guy who broke my heart when I was 20. But last night sitting in a café till 2 am with a friend I hadn’t seen since primary school, I thought I was falling in love. And if that’s how it feels, I’ve fallen in love on a daily basis for the last 17 years…
This is one of those rare occasions when the English language isn’t enough. While I think I may have written about this last year, please bear with me again. In Turkish, there are two different words ‘aşk’ and ‘sevgi’ - roughly ‘to be in love / to fall in love’ and ‘to love’, respectively.
Aşk is filled with fire, lust, emotions, tears…it comes from the heart and hangs over you like a halo. It remains mostly unrequited and ends.
Sevgi, on the other hand, is calmer, makes you happy, puts a smile on your face, doesn’t look for reciprocity, comes from your guts…its light shines from within and it lasts.
Aşk is for an individual because of something they have or do. Sevgi is for the whole person and for no reason.
Last night we both agreed that that state of being without reason (nedensizlik) is what we want in a relationship. Like most men of some education and self confidence, he enjoyed talking about his ideas, and like most artists, he liked talking about himself. Perhaps, though, he was quicker at getting to talking about love than most I’ve met.
Back at home, I fell asleep visioning my dream house…maybe he was even in it….
My dream house is on the shores of a calm lake….it’s wooden and has a veranda around its three sides – the fourth leaning against the land. I am on the corner of the veranda looking out to lake and land, my hair and long dress flowing in the wind (though the wind chime is not moving)…This image has been held in my mind for about a year now but I had never imagined the inside of the house before….Interesting that even in my dream house I am on the outside like we don’t belong to each other…
But in this visioning I was inside, I could see furniture: big comfortable sofas of light reds, oranges and yellows…rugs in the middle, wooden dinner table to the right, a big dish and flowers in the middle, kitchen at the back…somewhere in the house is my study and somewhere else there is the room where he works. I even lifted a toddler…I couldn’t see the toddler’s face but I think it was a boy...I don’t think it was my primary school friend working in the other room…but there sure was someone there…
Upon waking this morning, my first thought was ‘Olmaz’ – it won’t happen. At the time I wasn’t sure if this was ‘olAmaz’ – it can’t happen…But I knew that what wouldn’t or couldn’t happen was ‘with him’ not ‘my dream’…. I was filled with ‘sevgi’ for him that’s all. My dream can and will happen if I believe in it.
How wonderful!!!!
****
I am writing again – probably because I spent the last two weeks mostly sleeping, eating and walking. That and the anticipation of starting writing one-page-a-day from January 1st thanks to the stack of little notebooks V gave me for xmas. Thank you again - best present and will help me a great deal, I feel it already. I also started reading again...Siyah Sut by Elif Safak....review to follow.
****
The shutters are closed in our house in Istanbul. The lamp would be too harsh a light right now. And both the lamp and opening the shutters may wake my aunt up…so I put the TV in the room on mute, and write this (the original hand-written version) in its light. Genius.
****
They still show old Westerns on Sunday mornings on TRT 1 – the only channel of my childhood.
****
My family doesn’t do happiness very well. They don’t know how to share it, give it and believe in it. But they are great in sadness and pain and the love that’s needed to deal with it. They rally around, cook for you, give you their bed. It’s better this way. Happiness is easier to find with other people…but sometimes I wish my family trained me better in finding it…like truffle hunting dogs are trained.
****
They’ve changed the name of the driving school at which I met my first love – the one mentioned above – to “SPECIAL MEMORY” (Ozel Ani)….need I say anything more?! (bu kadar olur!!!!).
(30 December 2007)
I fall in love easily…..I used to think I’d never fallen in love since the guy who broke my heart when I was 20. But last night sitting in a café till 2 am with a friend I hadn’t seen since primary school, I thought I was falling in love. And if that’s how it feels, I’ve fallen in love on a daily basis for the last 17 years…
This is one of those rare occasions when the English language isn’t enough. While I think I may have written about this last year, please bear with me again. In Turkish, there are two different words ‘aşk’ and ‘sevgi’ - roughly ‘to be in love / to fall in love’ and ‘to love’, respectively.
Aşk is filled with fire, lust, emotions, tears…it comes from the heart and hangs over you like a halo. It remains mostly unrequited and ends.
Sevgi, on the other hand, is calmer, makes you happy, puts a smile on your face, doesn’t look for reciprocity, comes from your guts…its light shines from within and it lasts.
Aşk is for an individual because of something they have or do. Sevgi is for the whole person and for no reason.
Last night we both agreed that that state of being without reason (nedensizlik) is what we want in a relationship. Like most men of some education and self confidence, he enjoyed talking about his ideas, and like most artists, he liked talking about himself. Perhaps, though, he was quicker at getting to talking about love than most I’ve met.
Back at home, I fell asleep visioning my dream house…maybe he was even in it….
My dream house is on the shores of a calm lake….it’s wooden and has a veranda around its three sides – the fourth leaning against the land. I am on the corner of the veranda looking out to lake and land, my hair and long dress flowing in the wind (though the wind chime is not moving)…This image has been held in my mind for about a year now but I had never imagined the inside of the house before….Interesting that even in my dream house I am on the outside like we don’t belong to each other…
But in this visioning I was inside, I could see furniture: big comfortable sofas of light reds, oranges and yellows…rugs in the middle, wooden dinner table to the right, a big dish and flowers in the middle, kitchen at the back…somewhere in the house is my study and somewhere else there is the room where he works. I even lifted a toddler…I couldn’t see the toddler’s face but I think it was a boy...I don’t think it was my primary school friend working in the other room…but there sure was someone there…
Upon waking this morning, my first thought was ‘Olmaz’ – it won’t happen. At the time I wasn’t sure if this was ‘olAmaz’ – it can’t happen…But I knew that what wouldn’t or couldn’t happen was ‘with him’ not ‘my dream’…. I was filled with ‘sevgi’ for him that’s all. My dream can and will happen if I believe in it.
How wonderful!!!!
****
I am writing again – probably because I spent the last two weeks mostly sleeping, eating and walking. That and the anticipation of starting writing one-page-a-day from January 1st thanks to the stack of little notebooks V gave me for xmas. Thank you again - best present and will help me a great deal, I feel it already. I also started reading again...Siyah Sut by Elif Safak....review to follow.
****
The shutters are closed in our house in Istanbul. The lamp would be too harsh a light right now. And both the lamp and opening the shutters may wake my aunt up…so I put the TV in the room on mute, and write this (the original hand-written version) in its light. Genius.
****
They still show old Westerns on Sunday mornings on TRT 1 – the only channel of my childhood.
****
My family doesn’t do happiness very well. They don’t know how to share it, give it and believe in it. But they are great in sadness and pain and the love that’s needed to deal with it. They rally around, cook for you, give you their bed. It’s better this way. Happiness is easier to find with other people…but sometimes I wish my family trained me better in finding it…like truffle hunting dogs are trained.
****
They’ve changed the name of the driving school at which I met my first love – the one mentioned above – to “SPECIAL MEMORY” (Ozel Ani)….need I say anything more?! (bu kadar olur!!!!).
Othello at the Donmar Warehouse
(21 December 2007)
Pity thy soul for it hath missed Othello at the Donmar. Curse thy luck for there hath never been a better Othello. And there are no more parchments that will let thy person enter into the chambers that display before the eyes of the lucky few love, hate, humour and tragedy in perfect a measure as never hath blessed the stage upon which many a bard’s words have been spoken…
Enough of that…on with today’s words…as Othello even if spoken in Shakespearean is valid today as it was then…
An Othello – we get to know him not through mysterious tales he tells Desdemona or the delightful pleasures he sure is capable of giving but his weakness. Such weakness, such low confidence in self that he trusts another man’s words more than his own instinct. A man – not just a man Chiwetel Ejiofor – whose shaking and screams of “blood blood blood” make you see the red, whose desperate search for the handkerchief he’d given his fair love makes you want to jump off the balcony and tell him the truth and save them both.
And not just Othello…
An Iago – who has two faces…one which you’d fall in love with in an instant (after all he is played by Ewan McGregor) and the other will haunt your deepest dreams forever. Should you encountered his wrath, you may as well kill yourself like Othello since never again can you trust another soul. And if you can’t trust another soul, what’s the point of living?
A Desdemona by Kelly Reilly, who surely is the lightest, the most elegant creature on Earth…She prepares for her imminent death with scared vulnerability and willing determination in equal measure…a wrongful death, no doubt, but one she seems to expect and accept…To love someone with that degree of surrender…even when the object of your love is also your executioner?...I don’t think I’ll ever understand it enough to feel it myself but it does look beautiful.
There are many others…
The beautiful Casio…
The fool blinded by love, Rodrigo…
The Senor, Desdemona’s father, who is worthy of respect through his age not through his weapons – even if he needs to be reminded of this by Othello…
Bribe, steal, do whatever you can and get yourself to Donmar…if you miss it there, go and see it when it moves elsewhere…surely it must continue beyond its current run…In a larger venue and with different cast, it may not be the experience I’ve had on 21 December 2007 which would be a pity for you…but let me end by thanking A for letting me have her spare ticket and an evening I’ll never forget.
(21 December 2007)
Pity thy soul for it hath missed Othello at the Donmar. Curse thy luck for there hath never been a better Othello. And there are no more parchments that will let thy person enter into the chambers that display before the eyes of the lucky few love, hate, humour and tragedy in perfect a measure as never hath blessed the stage upon which many a bard’s words have been spoken…
Enough of that…on with today’s words…as Othello even if spoken in Shakespearean is valid today as it was then…
An Othello – we get to know him not through mysterious tales he tells Desdemona or the delightful pleasures he sure is capable of giving but his weakness. Such weakness, such low confidence in self that he trusts another man’s words more than his own instinct. A man – not just a man Chiwetel Ejiofor – whose shaking and screams of “blood blood blood” make you see the red, whose desperate search for the handkerchief he’d given his fair love makes you want to jump off the balcony and tell him the truth and save them both.
And not just Othello…
An Iago – who has two faces…one which you’d fall in love with in an instant (after all he is played by Ewan McGregor) and the other will haunt your deepest dreams forever. Should you encountered his wrath, you may as well kill yourself like Othello since never again can you trust another soul. And if you can’t trust another soul, what’s the point of living?
A Desdemona by Kelly Reilly, who surely is the lightest, the most elegant creature on Earth…She prepares for her imminent death with scared vulnerability and willing determination in equal measure…a wrongful death, no doubt, but one she seems to expect and accept…To love someone with that degree of surrender…even when the object of your love is also your executioner?...I don’t think I’ll ever understand it enough to feel it myself but it does look beautiful.
There are many others…
The beautiful Casio…
The fool blinded by love, Rodrigo…
The Senor, Desdemona’s father, who is worthy of respect through his age not through his weapons – even if he needs to be reminded of this by Othello…
Bribe, steal, do whatever you can and get yourself to Donmar…if you miss it there, go and see it when it moves elsewhere…surely it must continue beyond its current run…In a larger venue and with different cast, it may not be the experience I’ve had on 21 December 2007 which would be a pity for you…but let me end by thanking A for letting me have her spare ticket and an evening I’ll never forget.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Priorities
Family
Pride
Career
Love
Money
Apparently this is the order of my life priorities according to a Tibetan quiz (http://memoriter.net/flash/quiz.swf) I am sure there is very little Tibetan about the quiz…but the ordering made me think about where my life has been and could go…
The most important thing in this list, FAMILY, is the thing I have had least of in my life…puts lots of my ‘issues’ into perspective. Could I have done better at starting my own family – partner, children – despite such a poor start in life?
Perhaps…or perhaps my PRIDE has kept me away from trying that option...perhaps honesty and trustworthiness are so important to me because I’ve been let down by those with little or no pride (and balls – men or women)…some of whom are indeed in my family…
Pride is perhaps what makes CAREER so important to me, too…positively – because I take pride in my work and negatively – because when pride stops you from exploring the family option, you have nothing but the career (there are friends of course)…
When M says my email reads like a diary entry or a to do list and he doesn’t want to be an entry in it, I totally understand. But I hope he understands too that it’s not because he (or anyone else) doesn’t mean much to me as a human but because I sometimes have no other way to deal with life…and sometimes, as he has done by not responding to my offers, I am given no other choice but return to the security of my serious self.
How can someone have LOVE so low in their priorities?
MONEY is possibly the only thing that’s in the right place…so long as I have enough of it to live independently – since I don’t have family to look after me and my pride will stop me from living off others – I’m happy.
Could a man write this piece? Would he analyse such a trivial list for such a long time?…oh, and believe me, I’ve thought about it longer than a page…and much before I did this quiz...I don’t think so….I hope not anyway…
All this is just the ramblings of a tired mind…I feel like a bag of marbles…one of those plastic net bags…there is a big right hand holding the top of it keeping the marbles in…there is a pair of big scissors on the other hand ready to snip the bag…when it does snip, all the marbles will fall bouncing off the ground and scattering all over the place into the abyss…
I think M would understand this…and possibly he is the only one who would…M the dangerously underweight recluse of a few entries ago…M who wanted a mention here last week…M whom I haven’t seen / talked to properly for so long that I don’t know how to describe anymore…but perhaps the fact that I know he’ll understand my state of mind and how hard it is sometimes to keep hold of that bag is much better than any physical explanation.
I just wish there was someone around whom I trusted to help me collect the marbles should the bag gives way…or perhaps even someone who encouraged me to let go every now and then…give me a hug and want nothing back in return…
I’ve just looked at my facebook account after writing this and before posting…A had sent me a message “I am really really sorry…very sorry…despite your tough attitude I can tell it hurts” about something different. And here that one line gave more strength than anything to keep a hold on that bag. Thank you A. Thank you God / Universe for this renewed relief.
PS...Of course, it's always possible - as A points out - that I like horses and tigers more than sheep and pigs...
Family
Pride
Career
Love
Money
Apparently this is the order of my life priorities according to a Tibetan quiz (http://memoriter.net/flash/quiz.swf) I am sure there is very little Tibetan about the quiz…but the ordering made me think about where my life has been and could go…
The most important thing in this list, FAMILY, is the thing I have had least of in my life…puts lots of my ‘issues’ into perspective. Could I have done better at starting my own family – partner, children – despite such a poor start in life?
Perhaps…or perhaps my PRIDE has kept me away from trying that option...perhaps honesty and trustworthiness are so important to me because I’ve been let down by those with little or no pride (and balls – men or women)…some of whom are indeed in my family…
Pride is perhaps what makes CAREER so important to me, too…positively – because I take pride in my work and negatively – because when pride stops you from exploring the family option, you have nothing but the career (there are friends of course)…
When M says my email reads like a diary entry or a to do list and he doesn’t want to be an entry in it, I totally understand. But I hope he understands too that it’s not because he (or anyone else) doesn’t mean much to me as a human but because I sometimes have no other way to deal with life…and sometimes, as he has done by not responding to my offers, I am given no other choice but return to the security of my serious self.
How can someone have LOVE so low in their priorities?
MONEY is possibly the only thing that’s in the right place…so long as I have enough of it to live independently – since I don’t have family to look after me and my pride will stop me from living off others – I’m happy.
Could a man write this piece? Would he analyse such a trivial list for such a long time?…oh, and believe me, I’ve thought about it longer than a page…and much before I did this quiz...I don’t think so….I hope not anyway…
All this is just the ramblings of a tired mind…I feel like a bag of marbles…one of those plastic net bags…there is a big right hand holding the top of it keeping the marbles in…there is a pair of big scissors on the other hand ready to snip the bag…when it does snip, all the marbles will fall bouncing off the ground and scattering all over the place into the abyss…
I think M would understand this…and possibly he is the only one who would…M the dangerously underweight recluse of a few entries ago…M who wanted a mention here last week…M whom I haven’t seen / talked to properly for so long that I don’t know how to describe anymore…but perhaps the fact that I know he’ll understand my state of mind and how hard it is sometimes to keep hold of that bag is much better than any physical explanation.
I just wish there was someone around whom I trusted to help me collect the marbles should the bag gives way…or perhaps even someone who encouraged me to let go every now and then…give me a hug and want nothing back in return…
I’ve just looked at my facebook account after writing this and before posting…A had sent me a message “I am really really sorry…very sorry…despite your tough attitude I can tell it hurts” about something different. And here that one line gave more strength than anything to keep a hold on that bag. Thank you A. Thank you God / Universe for this renewed relief.
PS...Of course, it's always possible - as A points out - that I like horses and tigers more than sheep and pigs...
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Back again…
Not much point wasting my precious time apologising for not writing for almost two months…Who am I going to apologise to anyway?! Besides ‘sorry’ is a word I’ve been using more sparingly recently…
In fact, I’ve been doing lots of things more sparingly recently…things that are not serving me, that are upsetting me, sapping my energy and so on…and am getting better at it…
I haven’t been writing anything in the last two months, and nothing of significance for much longer…that was because I wasn’t sure what has been happening. After indecision that lasted for almost four years, I’ve made some decisions to change my life…And that’s what I’ve been doing…
But believe me it’s not been easy, and am nowhere near finishing yet.
Whoever said ‘change is as good as new’ or something like that was right. I do feel like a new person in many ways…those who see me after a few weeks / months tell me I’ve changed noticeably…Not a physical change – I have the same hair, same weight, height etc. But I feel a little lighter in the head, the burden I’ve been carrying on my shoulders is lessening.
But even these fantastic results – and am not going to go into detail of the results or the process, not now anyway – have been hard to achieve. I had not realised how difficult it can be to put myself in the centre of my world; to say to myself ‘you are the most important person in your life’; to assert my wants and needs first of all to myself and then to others. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t some doormat that needed shaking the dust out of. I’ve always had a good life, always had just enough money, friends, hobbies; I’ve stood up for myself when needed, achieved things I set myself to etc. But I also hardly ever knew what I really wanted, also always worried about pleasing others – just never realised in how many ways, in what level of detail I was working to please others rather than myself.
Well it wasn’t going to be easy to change a life time’s habits…bad habits are hard to shake off. But am getting on with it. More details perhaps later as they relate to life in general.
Oh, and I’ve done a lot of travelling since my last entry…
Zagreb – (or Zagdrab a friend called it…) for a friend’s wedding - wish them all the best;
Amsterdam – with a friend from Turkey, wish my outlook was as sunny as the weather, but I chilled as much as it was;
Barcelona – for work and play…bumped into someone I know from Ibiza, partied as hard as worked…saw La Pedrera and Sagra de Familia again which were divine…I want to live in Barcelona…it’s definitely my favourite city.
Brussels – for work, surrounded by insincere people who pretend they don’t know something just so that the debate doesn’t move on and action is not taken;
Zurich – for work again but in extreme circumstances…that is extreme luxury…sheets like satin, two meter wide beds, a hotel room possibly as big as my entire flat, with an entire wall made of glass overlooking Lake Zurich and the Alps, five course meal with real (I emphasise real) silver cutlery…a little unnecessary I thought but still couldn’t help but envy the lifestyle of those who frequent places like that…As I sampled the luxuries, I thought I should do something to make sure I get there again and again rather than just this once…but I couldn’t think of a fool-proof solution…And…how impossible is this?...I met up with an old friend, first boyfriend in fact…bless him, he is still as lovely.
Brussels – for work again, first train out (St Pancras is great by the way), late train back…to speak for half an hour at a chemical plant in a meeting room built in the 1960s full of mostly men who looked like they had not left that room since it was built.
On a funny note, I’ve come across this website: http://www.whoshouldliveagain.com/. It is inviting people to vote who they want to bring back to life again….Putting aside the obvious impossibility of this…’God is watching this vote’ says the website…it’s made me laugh…honestly…. There are both goodies and baddies on that list, both politicians and artists (including Bruce Lee!)…There is only one woman…Marilyn Monroe!!! Have us women contributed to world nothing more than boobs? Not to belittle MM, who I think was a fabulous woman, but honestly…Who thinks of these things?!
Next they’ll say God has a page on Facebook…Actually….God’s page on Facebook…not such a bad idea!
Not much point wasting my precious time apologising for not writing for almost two months…Who am I going to apologise to anyway?! Besides ‘sorry’ is a word I’ve been using more sparingly recently…
In fact, I’ve been doing lots of things more sparingly recently…things that are not serving me, that are upsetting me, sapping my energy and so on…and am getting better at it…
I haven’t been writing anything in the last two months, and nothing of significance for much longer…that was because I wasn’t sure what has been happening. After indecision that lasted for almost four years, I’ve made some decisions to change my life…And that’s what I’ve been doing…
But believe me it’s not been easy, and am nowhere near finishing yet.
Whoever said ‘change is as good as new’ or something like that was right. I do feel like a new person in many ways…those who see me after a few weeks / months tell me I’ve changed noticeably…Not a physical change – I have the same hair, same weight, height etc. But I feel a little lighter in the head, the burden I’ve been carrying on my shoulders is lessening.
But even these fantastic results – and am not going to go into detail of the results or the process, not now anyway – have been hard to achieve. I had not realised how difficult it can be to put myself in the centre of my world; to say to myself ‘you are the most important person in your life’; to assert my wants and needs first of all to myself and then to others. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t some doormat that needed shaking the dust out of. I’ve always had a good life, always had just enough money, friends, hobbies; I’ve stood up for myself when needed, achieved things I set myself to etc. But I also hardly ever knew what I really wanted, also always worried about pleasing others – just never realised in how many ways, in what level of detail I was working to please others rather than myself.
Well it wasn’t going to be easy to change a life time’s habits…bad habits are hard to shake off. But am getting on with it. More details perhaps later as they relate to life in general.
Oh, and I’ve done a lot of travelling since my last entry…
Zagreb – (or Zagdrab a friend called it…) for a friend’s wedding - wish them all the best;
Amsterdam – with a friend from Turkey, wish my outlook was as sunny as the weather, but I chilled as much as it was;
Barcelona – for work and play…bumped into someone I know from Ibiza, partied as hard as worked…saw La Pedrera and Sagra de Familia again which were divine…I want to live in Barcelona…it’s definitely my favourite city.
Brussels – for work, surrounded by insincere people who pretend they don’t know something just so that the debate doesn’t move on and action is not taken;
Zurich – for work again but in extreme circumstances…that is extreme luxury…sheets like satin, two meter wide beds, a hotel room possibly as big as my entire flat, with an entire wall made of glass overlooking Lake Zurich and the Alps, five course meal with real (I emphasise real) silver cutlery…a little unnecessary I thought but still couldn’t help but envy the lifestyle of those who frequent places like that…As I sampled the luxuries, I thought I should do something to make sure I get there again and again rather than just this once…but I couldn’t think of a fool-proof solution…And…how impossible is this?...I met up with an old friend, first boyfriend in fact…bless him, he is still as lovely.
Brussels – for work again, first train out (St Pancras is great by the way), late train back…to speak for half an hour at a chemical plant in a meeting room built in the 1960s full of mostly men who looked like they had not left that room since it was built.
On a funny note, I’ve come across this website: http://www.whoshouldliveagain.com/. It is inviting people to vote who they want to bring back to life again….Putting aside the obvious impossibility of this…’God is watching this vote’ says the website…it’s made me laugh…honestly…. There are both goodies and baddies on that list, both politicians and artists (including Bruce Lee!)…There is only one woman…Marilyn Monroe!!! Have us women contributed to world nothing more than boobs? Not to belittle MM, who I think was a fabulous woman, but honestly…Who thinks of these things?!
Next they’ll say God has a page on Facebook…Actually….God’s page on Facebook…not such a bad idea!
Sunday, September 23, 2007
A September Update
There is a young woman sitting next to me on the tube. She is in a grey Islamic coat and black headscarf. She has an innocent face but not very beautiful. She is reading Glamour – a women’s monthly. “Why?” was the first thing that came to my mind. Who is going to benefit from the fashion and beauty tips you are reading? What’s the use of knowing this season’s colour in eye shadow when you don’t put on make up?
That was about Aldgate East. By Farringdon it hit me… All my life I’d been reading these magazines (even if not very frequently) for others…to put on a more beautiful and attractive show for others! Men I suppose. The irony is that I don’t really follow most of those tips cause I don’t think they’ll work for me…I must have felt such a lost-cause!
The young woman in headscarf, on the other hand, is perhaps the ultimate example of someone who puts on shows for her benefit alone (she looked like a single woman to me); the ultimate example of someone who loves herself and someone who doesn’t feel the need of approval by others..or perhaps just a wannabe of a different sort.
I am not going to cover my head over this. And I doubt if many of those who do think about it this way. But I sure had a revelation that morning…yet another example of how many secrets I am capable of keeping from myself, or rather perhaps, what a surprise I am to myself. I am sure I am not alone in falling into my own traps.
How funny that this happened on the 27th anniversary of the 1980 military coup in Turkey (12th September)…I didn’t think of it all day. There are hundreds, perhaps even thousands, who must be remembering it every day…
Recently, I can’t even remember what the date is most days. Life is so fast and furious. How does that Chinese curse go? “May you have exciting times”? Did I upset a Chinese person? No, I think things that have been waiting on the sides, ideas that I’ve been harbouring for years are finally coming to fruition. “Enjoy the ride” I keep saying to myself even if it’s hard to relax enough to enjoy a white knuckle ride!
***
After finishing this, I watched Michael Palin travel through Edirne, Istanbul, Ephesus and Capadoccia for his current documentary about Eastern Europe. What a great episode and I like his positivitiy and realism about Turkey and the Turks…and about his future revealed to him from a coffee cup…Ne demisler fala inanma ama falsiz da kalma (don’t believe your fortune told but don’t go without it being told either).
There is a young woman sitting next to me on the tube. She is in a grey Islamic coat and black headscarf. She has an innocent face but not very beautiful. She is reading Glamour – a women’s monthly. “Why?” was the first thing that came to my mind. Who is going to benefit from the fashion and beauty tips you are reading? What’s the use of knowing this season’s colour in eye shadow when you don’t put on make up?
That was about Aldgate East. By Farringdon it hit me… All my life I’d been reading these magazines (even if not very frequently) for others…to put on a more beautiful and attractive show for others! Men I suppose. The irony is that I don’t really follow most of those tips cause I don’t think they’ll work for me…I must have felt such a lost-cause!
The young woman in headscarf, on the other hand, is perhaps the ultimate example of someone who puts on shows for her benefit alone (she looked like a single woman to me); the ultimate example of someone who loves herself and someone who doesn’t feel the need of approval by others..or perhaps just a wannabe of a different sort.
I am not going to cover my head over this. And I doubt if many of those who do think about it this way. But I sure had a revelation that morning…yet another example of how many secrets I am capable of keeping from myself, or rather perhaps, what a surprise I am to myself. I am sure I am not alone in falling into my own traps.
How funny that this happened on the 27th anniversary of the 1980 military coup in Turkey (12th September)…I didn’t think of it all day. There are hundreds, perhaps even thousands, who must be remembering it every day…
Recently, I can’t even remember what the date is most days. Life is so fast and furious. How does that Chinese curse go? “May you have exciting times”? Did I upset a Chinese person? No, I think things that have been waiting on the sides, ideas that I’ve been harbouring for years are finally coming to fruition. “Enjoy the ride” I keep saying to myself even if it’s hard to relax enough to enjoy a white knuckle ride!
***
After finishing this, I watched Michael Palin travel through Edirne, Istanbul, Ephesus and Capadoccia for his current documentary about Eastern Europe. What a great episode and I like his positivitiy and realism about Turkey and the Turks…and about his future revealed to him from a coffee cup…Ne demisler fala inanma ama falsiz da kalma (don’t believe your fortune told but don’t go without it being told either).
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Small miracles do happen…
I’ve been struck down for four days now with the bug that’s going around these days…Someone said this was the time of the year most people got ill because the schools start and children exchange bugs etc….Hmmm why is it that then all single or childless people I know are ill and the parents are well?
I would have fought it if I wasn’t so tired from work and other things. Despite the tube strike in London I went to work on Tuesday from 6 in the morning till 8 in the evening. It was the day we were due to complete on the lease of our new office. By the end of the day it wasn’t complete but still the landlord’s agent agreed to release the keys to me – which apparently is close to a miracle as our solicitor said in disbelief…
About three months ago I started working with a business coach. One of the first things I did was to set out my personal goals for the short, medium and long term stretching from 1-3 months to 3 years. I don’t want to spell these out for fear of jinxing them but all I wanted to say that most of those goals I wrote down I’ve already accomplished or am on the way to do so…even those I could not resolve for years…even those I had given up hope…When I think about it logically, I realise that writing my goals down made me more open to signs that would direct me to them or give a chance to people previously would not have featured in my life…But when I let go of the logic, I am amazed by the miracle that’s happening around me.
I was negotiating with a potential business partner last week. The day after I thought we agreed that my company would lead on a bid and they would sub-contract to us, he wrote an email implying that they would lead. I spent that night restless with my trust in people and their word shattered a little more…I woke up to find that not only he’d written the bid document (and very well to boot) but also he’d responded to my email reminding him our agreement saying he couldn’t remember what we’d agreed and hence his ambiguous email, but he was absolutely happy with us leading. His quick turn around and doing the work for me when I was ill is truly nothing short of a miracle.
I got driven home by a lady black cab driver the other night who asked me if I was Turkish. I asked her how she guessed and she said “Turkish women speak English with this soft voice in a sing song tone”. How sweet. It turns out she had lived in Istanbul in the early 70s having married a Turkish man. Despite divorcing since, she’d kept his surname and expected everyone else to make the effort to pronounce it correctly. This gave me renewed energy to carry on demanding the same rather than giving up using my surname whenever I can avoid it as I’ve been doing lately. If she can carry it so indignantly so can I. This is not much of a miracle but made me happy nonetheless.
Then there is love…now that’s the biggest miracle of all…and, yes, I think it’s here.
I’ve been struck down for four days now with the bug that’s going around these days…Someone said this was the time of the year most people got ill because the schools start and children exchange bugs etc….Hmmm why is it that then all single or childless people I know are ill and the parents are well?
I would have fought it if I wasn’t so tired from work and other things. Despite the tube strike in London I went to work on Tuesday from 6 in the morning till 8 in the evening. It was the day we were due to complete on the lease of our new office. By the end of the day it wasn’t complete but still the landlord’s agent agreed to release the keys to me – which apparently is close to a miracle as our solicitor said in disbelief…
About three months ago I started working with a business coach. One of the first things I did was to set out my personal goals for the short, medium and long term stretching from 1-3 months to 3 years. I don’t want to spell these out for fear of jinxing them but all I wanted to say that most of those goals I wrote down I’ve already accomplished or am on the way to do so…even those I could not resolve for years…even those I had given up hope…When I think about it logically, I realise that writing my goals down made me more open to signs that would direct me to them or give a chance to people previously would not have featured in my life…But when I let go of the logic, I am amazed by the miracle that’s happening around me.
I was negotiating with a potential business partner last week. The day after I thought we agreed that my company would lead on a bid and they would sub-contract to us, he wrote an email implying that they would lead. I spent that night restless with my trust in people and their word shattered a little more…I woke up to find that not only he’d written the bid document (and very well to boot) but also he’d responded to my email reminding him our agreement saying he couldn’t remember what we’d agreed and hence his ambiguous email, but he was absolutely happy with us leading. His quick turn around and doing the work for me when I was ill is truly nothing short of a miracle.
I got driven home by a lady black cab driver the other night who asked me if I was Turkish. I asked her how she guessed and she said “Turkish women speak English with this soft voice in a sing song tone”. How sweet. It turns out she had lived in Istanbul in the early 70s having married a Turkish man. Despite divorcing since, she’d kept his surname and expected everyone else to make the effort to pronounce it correctly. This gave me renewed energy to carry on demanding the same rather than giving up using my surname whenever I can avoid it as I’ve been doing lately. If she can carry it so indignantly so can I. This is not much of a miracle but made me happy nonetheless.
Then there is love…now that’s the biggest miracle of all…and, yes, I think it’s here.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Ah Istanbul ah
First things first – after months of putting it off I finally installed a wireless connection at home which means that the chaos of cables on the living room floor has been cleared away…
Then – some observations from the recent trip to Istanbul:
Religious Education from the Taxi Driver
As we were driving along the road accompanied by a radio station broadcasting prayers from the Quran, he asked ‘does it contain alcohol?’ about the wet tissue my aunt offered to him…I never knew that the alcohol in a wet tissue counted as ‘alcohol’ that is banned by the religion…
“If someone calls you ‘kafir’ (non-Muslim), you must immediately deny it” he said. Apparently if I don’t, in the God’s eyes I accept the supposition and am as bad as a non-Muslim. “Could this be? Is the God so blind? Doesn’t the God know how religious, what kind of a sinner, how good and how bad you are better than you? By believing in such nonsense don’t you in fact betray God’s trust in you and all that he endowed you with?” I didn’t say any of this as he is a local taxi driver and I didn’t want to cause any embarrassment for my aunty…But I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry…
All marriages have their ups and downs
Those couples who were arguing in my last trip were sitting arm in arm watching the lights of the (Princess) islands in this one. Those who said “ours is, honest to God, the best marriage around” in the last trip were having an argument at the dinner table with friends in this one.
Marriages continue by one accommodating and understanding the other and each taking this in turn. In any case, at the end, all decide to talk about safe topics like the taste of the latest orange juice brand so that nerves are not rattled and prides are not shattered.
The Bosporus is always beautiful
Especially when celebrating the marriage of a new couple with a group of happy people;
Especially when watching ladies dancing the ‘horon’ (a high velocity dance from the Black Sea coast) on 5 inch heels;
Especially when laughing at the 5 year old girl saying ‘I practised at home’ as a response to ‘how come you belly dance so well?’;
Especially when the sea and the sky get darker and lights of the houses come on;
Especially when counting the lights of the shanty town upon dark hills as if they were the stars;
Especially when singing ‘sevgili yarim nerelerde’ (where is my loved one?) on the top deck with a glass of raki in hand…
Naki Bey Beach overlooks the Sedef Island
I never knew, until about two months ago, that the sea in Istanbul was now clean enough to swim in. But ever since I heard about it, there’d been butterflies in my stomach with the anticipation of swimming there again after 20 years exactly…
I never knew there was a Naki Bey Beach on Buyuk Ada.
I never knew it overlooked the Sedef Island where I had swum the last time in Istanbul 20 years ago. I could see all my life for the last 20 years floating by…I wanted to swim after them but there were a few jelly fish around, oh and the waves…
First things first – after months of putting it off I finally installed a wireless connection at home which means that the chaos of cables on the living room floor has been cleared away…
Then – some observations from the recent trip to Istanbul:
Religious Education from the Taxi Driver
As we were driving along the road accompanied by a radio station broadcasting prayers from the Quran, he asked ‘does it contain alcohol?’ about the wet tissue my aunt offered to him…I never knew that the alcohol in a wet tissue counted as ‘alcohol’ that is banned by the religion…
“If someone calls you ‘kafir’ (non-Muslim), you must immediately deny it” he said. Apparently if I don’t, in the God’s eyes I accept the supposition and am as bad as a non-Muslim. “Could this be? Is the God so blind? Doesn’t the God know how religious, what kind of a sinner, how good and how bad you are better than you? By believing in such nonsense don’t you in fact betray God’s trust in you and all that he endowed you with?” I didn’t say any of this as he is a local taxi driver and I didn’t want to cause any embarrassment for my aunty…But I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry…
All marriages have their ups and downs
Those couples who were arguing in my last trip were sitting arm in arm watching the lights of the (Princess) islands in this one. Those who said “ours is, honest to God, the best marriage around” in the last trip were having an argument at the dinner table with friends in this one.
Marriages continue by one accommodating and understanding the other and each taking this in turn. In any case, at the end, all decide to talk about safe topics like the taste of the latest orange juice brand so that nerves are not rattled and prides are not shattered.
The Bosporus is always beautiful
Especially when celebrating the marriage of a new couple with a group of happy people;
Especially when watching ladies dancing the ‘horon’ (a high velocity dance from the Black Sea coast) on 5 inch heels;
Especially when laughing at the 5 year old girl saying ‘I practised at home’ as a response to ‘how come you belly dance so well?’;
Especially when the sea and the sky get darker and lights of the houses come on;
Especially when counting the lights of the shanty town upon dark hills as if they were the stars;
Especially when singing ‘sevgili yarim nerelerde’ (where is my loved one?) on the top deck with a glass of raki in hand…
Naki Bey Beach overlooks the Sedef Island
I never knew, until about two months ago, that the sea in Istanbul was now clean enough to swim in. But ever since I heard about it, there’d been butterflies in my stomach with the anticipation of swimming there again after 20 years exactly…
I never knew there was a Naki Bey Beach on Buyuk Ada.
I never knew it overlooked the Sedef Island where I had swum the last time in Istanbul 20 years ago. I could see all my life for the last 20 years floating by…I wanted to swim after them but there were a few jelly fish around, oh and the waves…
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Ibiza – the island of dance and love
It’s been more than a month since I got back from my stay with my generous friend H in Ibiza. I first started writing this piece two weeks ago…how time feels fuller than ever these days…anyway enough of my inability to understand time…
The trip to Ibiza in June was the second in 12 months, an escape from having to celebrate my birthday in London and find a refuge where I could think about my future.
Geographically, Ibiza is a typical Mediterranean destination; it has the same type of rocks, pine trees, beaches, olive and orange groves you can find anywhere along the northern coasts. What’s special about it is how there are so many different islands on just the one.
There is the clubbing scene. I am not talking about the vomiting teenagers in San Antonio where I’ve never been other than when we drove past it one afternoon. Much better is the more grown up clubbing option around Ibiza town. That’s the one I tried. And I tried it well: Pacha from 3.30am to 7.30am, and Space from 8.30am to 11 am and then again from 9pm to 11pm…All in less than 24 hours around my birthday…Oh, it gets better…I was up 38.5 hours over the weekend of my birthday. I tell you, I rock! More so now at 37, than I did at 27 or even 17!
There is nature. In the middle of the island or along its deserted beaches you can be forgiven for thinking that you are the only person in this ancient landscape. That’s how secluded one can be despite others clubbing not very far down the road. I would have liked to do some more walks but instead I spent early mornings sitting by the pool and thinking about my goals and planning how to achieve them.
Then there are the hippies, man…Don’t take this the wrong way but I think all hippies smell the same…at least on Ibiza…a mixture of sea salt, a few days old sweat and dope. After the first weekend of clubbing and a week of quiet contemplation, I spent the second weekend mostly on one of the hippy beaches watching the sun set (on the Sunday accompanied by drumming, fire shows and dancing) and full moon rise. I am sure the magic of it all will draw me back very soon.
Like most holidays, I started to keep notes which become shorter and more infrequent as the days passed.
June 20th, Santander
(where I was speaking at a conference)
Ah Spain! I love this place. It’s full of happy people. Arrived at Santander mid-afternoon, took a late siesta and now am on promenade above the Atlantic sitting amongst lovers watching the swimmers below.
…
Just had coffee and churros (pieces of fried dough sprinkled with sugar), walked around, bought a pair of red espadrilles which put a smile on my face – used to wear these all through summer in Turkey but hadn’t had a pair since arriving in the UK 16 years ago . Then I had chorizo, patatas bravas and half a bottle of rioja tinto and prepared for tomorrow’s presentation. Sitting at the next table but one were two beautiful men; not interesting me neither was I in them, but they made me want to find a Spanish man in London. Arriving back at hotel, I realised that my mobile had not changed the time automatically as I thought it had so I’d been an hour behind the whole time. Good.
June 21st, Santander
Managed to get up in time so joined Spanish colleagues for breakfast, and arrived at conference venue with them. I am the only non-Spanish here. I don’t think I would mind moving to Spain – at least for a while. I felt this first time in Madrid in April where I was for work for less than 23 hours.
Spain is very much like Turkey: same slight chaos that surrounds everything from bus time tables to highly technical conference presentations. There are apartment blocks which I’d never thought I’d miss in Britain…and to boot they are all different sizes, shapes and colours – but all with large windows – not afraid of the weather, unlike the small windows here.
How peculiar that the uniformity of architecture in Britain that impressed me so much with its orderliness and calm all those years ago would come to bore me. But they do.
At the conference (which is by Playa Bikini by the way!) for three hours now. Too much Spanish spoken too fast already. I feel drunk or more appropriately hangover by this bombardment of noise.
Oh yes, Spain is like Turkey but a lot more fun and free. Promenade is full of lovers of all ages hand in hand, sitting, kissing etc. not hiding like they would in Turkey – but not blind drunk disorderly as they may be in Britain. Neither repressed nor depressed!
June 22nd, Santander
I am loving Spain and Spain is loving me back!
This is life: good work, great dinner by the sea, joyful company, good night’s sleep, walk along the promanede in the morning, talking business on the phone with an American in Sweden, free PC access in a quiet room at the conference center, and now as I try to understand Spanish politicians talking about environment (all men, all six of them, not looking like they care), my mobile charges in the corner ready for phone calls waiting to be made to H and F re planning the ‘meeting’ in Ibiza tonight.
This is life! Esta la vida!
PS. There is the unpleasant graffiti on the ladies toilet door in the posh restaurant by the sea that reads ‘immigrants out’ and worse…Very disappointing.
June 25th, Ibiza
I’ve not been as happy for a long while as I’ve been in the last 48 hours or so. It’s because of staying up and out as explained above. I ate well in that period and had the occasional nap. But mainly run on adrenalin and happiness. Absolutely no drugs and very little alcohol.
The tiredness did get to me at times though…like when I nodded off in the car yesterday and dreamt that I was driving a car like the one those boys in the film Y Tu Mama Tambien had and that we were driving to the beach they were looking for…I kept jerking not wanting to miss the turning…Or like when I nodded off laying down on the rocks across Esvedra, which is a magical rock crop just off the main island. Every time I dosed off, I dreamt that I was rolling down the rock and falling down to the sea…never all the way to the sea though as I would wake up just on the edge…
Sitting here watching the bamboo and oleander sway in the wind reminds me how the coral and seaweed sway the same way with the currents underwater: the same on land as in sea. There is so much harmony in the world that, when we stop to observe, the beauty of it is overwhelming.
What’s also overwhelming (and I’ve just realised this) is the realisation of one’s visions. I knew that I’d be sitting by the pool, reading my book and being really alert but when it does happen…mustn’t be afraid of my own visions….not just of holidays but love, family, friends, life…
June 28th, Ibiza
Spent the 26th on the rocks…played scrabble, sunbathed, had shiatsu massage, drinks at sunset and the bar afterwards…what a drama…several dramas in fact. Before we knew it, it was midnight and back at home. We finished the Rosado, opened and finished the Taittinger and still managed to get up at 9 on the 27th.
The 27th was a bit overcast. H was teaching so I went to town with her; sat at Café Toulouse Latrec; read more of Born to Succeed, made my long list of ‘things that are important’. Why? Don’t ask why?
We spent the afternoon – early evening by gatecrushing and drinking our way through a wedding and a funeral…OK, it’s wasn’t gate crushing as such. We just happened to be in the same venue as a wedding where we had lunch and a funeral where we had early evening aperitifs. By 8 pm we were home to have a long chat about what it means to spend a day at a wedding and a funeral.
I’ve thought enough about life for a while, now it’s time to live it.
July 2nd, London
I was supposed to return on the 30th of June but got back today. As we were getting ready to drive to the airport, we learnt that there were two ETA bombs at the Ibiza Airport – pre-warned, diffused, with no damage to human life. But it will have caused chaos on traffic and delay in flights. After making several phone calls to the airport, travel agency and Iberian Airlines, I thought f*** it, let’s go to the beach…but not before booking an alternative Easyjet flight for today.
It feels like 70% of the relaxation I got back from holiday was due to these extra 2.5 days…could it be? Probably just feels like it but who cares. The naughtiness, the irresponsibility of it...never before had I extended a holiday…
The whirlwind of July does not need spelling out…in fact I don’t think I can manage…living it was tiring enough (see previous entry if curious)…
…In a minute I’ll be having some chicken that was frozen for more than a month. Will I get food poisoning? What the heck…let’s live dangerously…
It’s been more than a month since I got back from my stay with my generous friend H in Ibiza. I first started writing this piece two weeks ago…how time feels fuller than ever these days…anyway enough of my inability to understand time…
The trip to Ibiza in June was the second in 12 months, an escape from having to celebrate my birthday in London and find a refuge where I could think about my future.
Geographically, Ibiza is a typical Mediterranean destination; it has the same type of rocks, pine trees, beaches, olive and orange groves you can find anywhere along the northern coasts. What’s special about it is how there are so many different islands on just the one.
There is the clubbing scene. I am not talking about the vomiting teenagers in San Antonio where I’ve never been other than when we drove past it one afternoon. Much better is the more grown up clubbing option around Ibiza town. That’s the one I tried. And I tried it well: Pacha from 3.30am to 7.30am, and Space from 8.30am to 11 am and then again from 9pm to 11pm…All in less than 24 hours around my birthday…Oh, it gets better…I was up 38.5 hours over the weekend of my birthday. I tell you, I rock! More so now at 37, than I did at 27 or even 17!
There is nature. In the middle of the island or along its deserted beaches you can be forgiven for thinking that you are the only person in this ancient landscape. That’s how secluded one can be despite others clubbing not very far down the road. I would have liked to do some more walks but instead I spent early mornings sitting by the pool and thinking about my goals and planning how to achieve them.
Then there are the hippies, man…Don’t take this the wrong way but I think all hippies smell the same…at least on Ibiza…a mixture of sea salt, a few days old sweat and dope. After the first weekend of clubbing and a week of quiet contemplation, I spent the second weekend mostly on one of the hippy beaches watching the sun set (on the Sunday accompanied by drumming, fire shows and dancing) and full moon rise. I am sure the magic of it all will draw me back very soon.
Like most holidays, I started to keep notes which become shorter and more infrequent as the days passed.
June 20th, Santander
(where I was speaking at a conference)
Ah Spain! I love this place. It’s full of happy people. Arrived at Santander mid-afternoon, took a late siesta and now am on promenade above the Atlantic sitting amongst lovers watching the swimmers below.
…
Just had coffee and churros (pieces of fried dough sprinkled with sugar), walked around, bought a pair of red espadrilles which put a smile on my face – used to wear these all through summer in Turkey but hadn’t had a pair since arriving in the UK 16 years ago . Then I had chorizo, patatas bravas and half a bottle of rioja tinto and prepared for tomorrow’s presentation. Sitting at the next table but one were two beautiful men; not interesting me neither was I in them, but they made me want to find a Spanish man in London. Arriving back at hotel, I realised that my mobile had not changed the time automatically as I thought it had so I’d been an hour behind the whole time. Good.
June 21st, Santander
Managed to get up in time so joined Spanish colleagues for breakfast, and arrived at conference venue with them. I am the only non-Spanish here. I don’t think I would mind moving to Spain – at least for a while. I felt this first time in Madrid in April where I was for work for less than 23 hours.
Spain is very much like Turkey: same slight chaos that surrounds everything from bus time tables to highly technical conference presentations. There are apartment blocks which I’d never thought I’d miss in Britain…and to boot they are all different sizes, shapes and colours – but all with large windows – not afraid of the weather, unlike the small windows here.
How peculiar that the uniformity of architecture in Britain that impressed me so much with its orderliness and calm all those years ago would come to bore me. But they do.
At the conference (which is by Playa Bikini by the way!) for three hours now. Too much Spanish spoken too fast already. I feel drunk or more appropriately hangover by this bombardment of noise.
Oh yes, Spain is like Turkey but a lot more fun and free. Promenade is full of lovers of all ages hand in hand, sitting, kissing etc. not hiding like they would in Turkey – but not blind drunk disorderly as they may be in Britain. Neither repressed nor depressed!
June 22nd, Santander
I am loving Spain and Spain is loving me back!
This is life: good work, great dinner by the sea, joyful company, good night’s sleep, walk along the promanede in the morning, talking business on the phone with an American in Sweden, free PC access in a quiet room at the conference center, and now as I try to understand Spanish politicians talking about environment (all men, all six of them, not looking like they care), my mobile charges in the corner ready for phone calls waiting to be made to H and F re planning the ‘meeting’ in Ibiza tonight.
This is life! Esta la vida!
PS. There is the unpleasant graffiti on the ladies toilet door in the posh restaurant by the sea that reads ‘immigrants out’ and worse…Very disappointing.
June 25th, Ibiza
I’ve not been as happy for a long while as I’ve been in the last 48 hours or so. It’s because of staying up and out as explained above. I ate well in that period and had the occasional nap. But mainly run on adrenalin and happiness. Absolutely no drugs and very little alcohol.
The tiredness did get to me at times though…like when I nodded off in the car yesterday and dreamt that I was driving a car like the one those boys in the film Y Tu Mama Tambien had and that we were driving to the beach they were looking for…I kept jerking not wanting to miss the turning…Or like when I nodded off laying down on the rocks across Esvedra, which is a magical rock crop just off the main island. Every time I dosed off, I dreamt that I was rolling down the rock and falling down to the sea…never all the way to the sea though as I would wake up just on the edge…
Sitting here watching the bamboo and oleander sway in the wind reminds me how the coral and seaweed sway the same way with the currents underwater: the same on land as in sea. There is so much harmony in the world that, when we stop to observe, the beauty of it is overwhelming.
What’s also overwhelming (and I’ve just realised this) is the realisation of one’s visions. I knew that I’d be sitting by the pool, reading my book and being really alert but when it does happen…mustn’t be afraid of my own visions….not just of holidays but love, family, friends, life…
June 28th, Ibiza
Spent the 26th on the rocks…played scrabble, sunbathed, had shiatsu massage, drinks at sunset and the bar afterwards…what a drama…several dramas in fact. Before we knew it, it was midnight and back at home. We finished the Rosado, opened and finished the Taittinger and still managed to get up at 9 on the 27th.
The 27th was a bit overcast. H was teaching so I went to town with her; sat at Café Toulouse Latrec; read more of Born to Succeed, made my long list of ‘things that are important’. Why? Don’t ask why?
We spent the afternoon – early evening by gatecrushing and drinking our way through a wedding and a funeral…OK, it’s wasn’t gate crushing as such. We just happened to be in the same venue as a wedding where we had lunch and a funeral where we had early evening aperitifs. By 8 pm we were home to have a long chat about what it means to spend a day at a wedding and a funeral.
I’ve thought enough about life for a while, now it’s time to live it.
July 2nd, London
I was supposed to return on the 30th of June but got back today. As we were getting ready to drive to the airport, we learnt that there were two ETA bombs at the Ibiza Airport – pre-warned, diffused, with no damage to human life. But it will have caused chaos on traffic and delay in flights. After making several phone calls to the airport, travel agency and Iberian Airlines, I thought f*** it, let’s go to the beach…but not before booking an alternative Easyjet flight for today.
It feels like 70% of the relaxation I got back from holiday was due to these extra 2.5 days…could it be? Probably just feels like it but who cares. The naughtiness, the irresponsibility of it...never before had I extended a holiday…
The whirlwind of July does not need spelling out…in fact I don’t think I can manage…living it was tiring enough (see previous entry if curious)…
…In a minute I’ll be having some chicken that was frozen for more than a month. Will I get food poisoning? What the heck…let’s live dangerously…
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Oh dear...how did this happen?
how could I have missed an entire calendar month without writing an entry? Not that anyone (not many anyway) cares...but I do...so here I am cheating by writing something, just something so as not to miss a month in the collection...so as to get in here before the clock strikes midnight and August...
...Am doing far too much to stop and think let alone stop and write...
...While I am active, I am fine...but when I stop I panic. So I haven't stopped for a month...both work and play have been go go go...
...In fact there is no reason for panic...If only I could trust the feeling, it'd be like swimming in the Dead Sea, the water will keep me not just afloat but even sitting. Instead, I waddle trying to keep my head above water which after a while gets tiring and I sink...momentarily of course...then the survival instinct kicks in and I come back up...
...Soon I'll be going to Istanbul for 10 days, am looking forward to a slower tempo and the opportunity to swim...the sea is clean enough now apparently...the last time I swam in Istanbul I was 16...I can't begin to describe my excitement - I have butterflies in my tummy - about the prospect.
It's not like I've not had any time off lately. I was in Spain - in particular in Ibiza - last week of June and had started to write up my notes from that trip but it's not finished yet.
...Soon...more...
how could I have missed an entire calendar month without writing an entry? Not that anyone (not many anyway) cares...but I do...so here I am cheating by writing something, just something so as not to miss a month in the collection...so as to get in here before the clock strikes midnight and August...
...Am doing far too much to stop and think let alone stop and write...
...While I am active, I am fine...but when I stop I panic. So I haven't stopped for a month...both work and play have been go go go...
...In fact there is no reason for panic...If only I could trust the feeling, it'd be like swimming in the Dead Sea, the water will keep me not just afloat but even sitting. Instead, I waddle trying to keep my head above water which after a while gets tiring and I sink...momentarily of course...then the survival instinct kicks in and I come back up...
...Soon I'll be going to Istanbul for 10 days, am looking forward to a slower tempo and the opportunity to swim...the sea is clean enough now apparently...the last time I swam in Istanbul I was 16...I can't begin to describe my excitement - I have butterflies in my tummy - about the prospect.
It's not like I've not had any time off lately. I was in Spain - in particular in Ibiza - last week of June and had started to write up my notes from that trip but it's not finished yet.
...Soon...more...
Friday, June 22, 2007
It´s my brithday tomorrow...yay!
Given the stress I had earlier in the year, I am suprisingly happy about turning 37...
Am in Spain at the moment, working a little but from this afternoon on holiday. I should be at the closing session of the conference right now but I´ve had enough of listening to Spanish, which I can half understand at best of times, being spoken at speed of light...this bombardment by words makes me feel hangover...
...So here I´m waiting for lunch and writing myself a birthday message on my blog...I don´t think I´ll bother with computer / internet for a while now...
...more later when I get back to London and type in my travel notes...
In the meantime...
...I am loving Spain and Spain is loving me back :)
Given the stress I had earlier in the year, I am suprisingly happy about turning 37...
Am in Spain at the moment, working a little but from this afternoon on holiday. I should be at the closing session of the conference right now but I´ve had enough of listening to Spanish, which I can half understand at best of times, being spoken at speed of light...this bombardment by words makes me feel hangover...
...So here I´m waiting for lunch and writing myself a birthday message on my blog...I don´t think I´ll bother with computer / internet for a while now...
...more later when I get back to London and type in my travel notes...
In the meantime...
...I am loving Spain and Spain is loving me back :)
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Faustus Update
My comment about J not looking as he was enjoying the role of horse courser sparked an interesting exchange on the purpose of the horse courser scene in Faustus. Here is an account of that exchange from which I’ve learnt a lot and I hope those who read the original review will find it interesting too.
The exchange started when J asked if my comment was about the way he acted or the horse courser as a character:
ZEO: The whole episode with horse courser was something of a sketch within the play. I am not sure what we’ve learnt about Faustus or others in that sketch other than the fact that he would rise from dead [horse courser kills him – well tries]…that in itself is no small feat of course! But, perhaps the more interesting part about his encounters with the Pope and the German Queen was how they reacted to the temptation of evil and how they were already “bad” to be tempted so and no so much that Faustus was bad in tempting them. Guess it goes back to the moral of the story that no other person (e.g. Faustus here) can corrupt us (e.g. Pope, Queen) but we do it for ourselves. Whereas in the case of the horse courser, he was wronged, he took revenge and he failed and we (or at least I) felt sorry for him. So, I guess my comment was about the play and horse courser’s role in it rather than the way you acted. Does this make sense?
J: Ah! Makes total sense! My interpretation of the Horse Courser scene is that after playing with greatest powers of the world -- pope and empress -- we'd expect Faust to be this great man but in this last scene before his life hits his final days, we see a man who is mean-spirited and petty with the most poor and disadvantaged people in the world. It is a sad comment on what corruption does. Truly, you lose your soul -- your caring -- for others, including the simplest, nicest people (like my cheery horse courser).But that's my perspective as an actor. I have no idea how it reads to the audience. I think most people just saw that scene as comic relief, which is fine too!
J: Another thought on the horse courser moment is this: Faust is getting ready to repent and Mephostophilis finds another distraction for him. Often Meph uses women. This time he knows that Faust can't resist playing mean little tricks on people. Remember that when the horse courser first approaches Faust about buying his horse, Faust says no. Then Meph convinces Faust to go ahead. Then later, when the horse courser comes back mad as hell and looking for Faust, all he sees in Meph. Meph doesn't have to reveal where Faust is but he eventually does because he knows it will be a good distraction for a man thinking about repentance. As you would say, given your interpretation of the final scene, Meph is doing his job and doing it very well.
My comment about J not looking as he was enjoying the role of horse courser sparked an interesting exchange on the purpose of the horse courser scene in Faustus. Here is an account of that exchange from which I’ve learnt a lot and I hope those who read the original review will find it interesting too.
The exchange started when J asked if my comment was about the way he acted or the horse courser as a character:
ZEO: The whole episode with horse courser was something of a sketch within the play. I am not sure what we’ve learnt about Faustus or others in that sketch other than the fact that he would rise from dead [horse courser kills him – well tries]…that in itself is no small feat of course! But, perhaps the more interesting part about his encounters with the Pope and the German Queen was how they reacted to the temptation of evil and how they were already “bad” to be tempted so and no so much that Faustus was bad in tempting them. Guess it goes back to the moral of the story that no other person (e.g. Faustus here) can corrupt us (e.g. Pope, Queen) but we do it for ourselves. Whereas in the case of the horse courser, he was wronged, he took revenge and he failed and we (or at least I) felt sorry for him. So, I guess my comment was about the play and horse courser’s role in it rather than the way you acted. Does this make sense?
J: Ah! Makes total sense! My interpretation of the Horse Courser scene is that after playing with greatest powers of the world -- pope and empress -- we'd expect Faust to be this great man but in this last scene before his life hits his final days, we see a man who is mean-spirited and petty with the most poor and disadvantaged people in the world. It is a sad comment on what corruption does. Truly, you lose your soul -- your caring -- for others, including the simplest, nicest people (like my cheery horse courser).But that's my perspective as an actor. I have no idea how it reads to the audience. I think most people just saw that scene as comic relief, which is fine too!
J: Another thought on the horse courser moment is this: Faust is getting ready to repent and Mephostophilis finds another distraction for him. Often Meph uses women. This time he knows that Faust can't resist playing mean little tricks on people. Remember that when the horse courser first approaches Faust about buying his horse, Faust says no. Then Meph convinces Faust to go ahead. Then later, when the horse courser comes back mad as hell and looking for Faust, all he sees in Meph. Meph doesn't have to reveal where Faust is but he eventually does because he knows it will be a good distraction for a man thinking about repentance. As you would say, given your interpretation of the final scene, Meph is doing his job and doing it very well.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Dr Faustus on a sunny afternoon
This is the first Monday I’ve stayed at home in months and I had no idea how crap the TV is on Mondays and even the digital TV is only showing the shopping channels for some reason…
What would I give up to get some decent entertainment tonight?
£2.50 for a DVD?
£35 for a theatre ticket?
Sleep for late night clubbing?
Liver cells for some wine?
Well, after Saturday I know not to give my soul to Lucifer!
Dr Faustus by Caravanserai at the Bridewell Theatre in which our good friends Claire and Jeff provided much of the laughs taught me that…Laughs? In Dr Faustus? I hear you ask…Oh, yes, and not just laughs but more than a little sexual tension and some nudity too…
Yes, it’s the same story but with a modern staging: Dr Faustus succumbs to his desires, conjures up the devil and signs away his soul in return for absolute power. That is despite the warnings of Mephistophilis that hell is here and now; it’s other people; it’s not being in paradise…
We watch Faustus enjoy his power while every now and then doubt whether he’s done the right thing. He does repent in the end but too late. At the very end of the show, we see him as a foetus surrounded by the good and bad angels, Mephistophilis and Lucifer. The good angel and Mephistophilis shake hands as colleagues may do as the soul of Faustus is taken through to his next life…After all they are colleagues just doing their jobs and it’s up to us to choose good or evil! That was the most effective moment of the play and the moral of the story.
That’s the play. How about the staging and acting? I enjoyed both. To be honest I was expecting the usual things you may expect from amateur dramatics. I went to see it mainly because of two of my friends were in it; and partly because I’d always meant to see the play and as research to see the level of acting. But I was pleasantly surprised.
It’s a long play but it captivated me – despite the hot afternoon we left outside during the matinee. And the staging with lightening flashes, mist, lights (and hmmm, yes, nudity too) kept me on the edge of my seat.
Only on one occasion I thought the staging was a bit too much for my senses…the scene with the seven sins which was a mixture of music, dance and monologues. But until my friend C jumped on the table and shouted “I am gluttony”, I was too busy with the visuals to pay attention to the monologues. What made me notice her was not the fact that she is a friend but that she managed to rise above the cacophony of the scene. She rocked! Made gluttony so much fun that we all really wanted to catch one of the sweets she threw to the audience. C was also one of the three scholars and was very scholarly indeed but “I am gluttony” will stay with me forever!
J, the other friend, as Benvolio and horse courser was the other comic highlight of the play. As usual alcohol had made Benvolio see and speak of the truth of Faustus much more clearly and honestly than the sobriety of the others that must have blinded them. So well played that we all felt for Benvolio when he woke up with horns on his head. Perhaps, it didn’t look like J enjoyed the horse courser as much but it was enjoyable for us.
All the other actors, and especially Faustus and Mephistophilis were very good too: in particular the latter as I thought he was gorgeous with a dangerous look – perfectly cast…well, OK, he also looked like Lenardo di Caprio…Oh, and the guy who played the Pope and girl who played the bad angel…
It’s interesting how every time both good and bad angels were on stage talking to Faustus I believed in what the good angel said but could not keep my eyes off the bad angel…evil is definitely more tempting…And while I won’t sell my soul to Devil, I sure won’t stay at home on a Monday night again!
This is the first Monday I’ve stayed at home in months and I had no idea how crap the TV is on Mondays and even the digital TV is only showing the shopping channels for some reason…
What would I give up to get some decent entertainment tonight?
£2.50 for a DVD?
£35 for a theatre ticket?
Sleep for late night clubbing?
Liver cells for some wine?
Well, after Saturday I know not to give my soul to Lucifer!
Dr Faustus by Caravanserai at the Bridewell Theatre in which our good friends Claire and Jeff provided much of the laughs taught me that…Laughs? In Dr Faustus? I hear you ask…Oh, yes, and not just laughs but more than a little sexual tension and some nudity too…
Yes, it’s the same story but with a modern staging: Dr Faustus succumbs to his desires, conjures up the devil and signs away his soul in return for absolute power. That is despite the warnings of Mephistophilis that hell is here and now; it’s other people; it’s not being in paradise…
We watch Faustus enjoy his power while every now and then doubt whether he’s done the right thing. He does repent in the end but too late. At the very end of the show, we see him as a foetus surrounded by the good and bad angels, Mephistophilis and Lucifer. The good angel and Mephistophilis shake hands as colleagues may do as the soul of Faustus is taken through to his next life…After all they are colleagues just doing their jobs and it’s up to us to choose good or evil! That was the most effective moment of the play and the moral of the story.
That’s the play. How about the staging and acting? I enjoyed both. To be honest I was expecting the usual things you may expect from amateur dramatics. I went to see it mainly because of two of my friends were in it; and partly because I’d always meant to see the play and as research to see the level of acting. But I was pleasantly surprised.
It’s a long play but it captivated me – despite the hot afternoon we left outside during the matinee. And the staging with lightening flashes, mist, lights (and hmmm, yes, nudity too) kept me on the edge of my seat.
Only on one occasion I thought the staging was a bit too much for my senses…the scene with the seven sins which was a mixture of music, dance and monologues. But until my friend C jumped on the table and shouted “I am gluttony”, I was too busy with the visuals to pay attention to the monologues. What made me notice her was not the fact that she is a friend but that she managed to rise above the cacophony of the scene. She rocked! Made gluttony so much fun that we all really wanted to catch one of the sweets she threw to the audience. C was also one of the three scholars and was very scholarly indeed but “I am gluttony” will stay with me forever!
J, the other friend, as Benvolio and horse courser was the other comic highlight of the play. As usual alcohol had made Benvolio see and speak of the truth of Faustus much more clearly and honestly than the sobriety of the others that must have blinded them. So well played that we all felt for Benvolio when he woke up with horns on his head. Perhaps, it didn’t look like J enjoyed the horse courser as much but it was enjoyable for us.
All the other actors, and especially Faustus and Mephistophilis were very good too: in particular the latter as I thought he was gorgeous with a dangerous look – perfectly cast…well, OK, he also looked like Lenardo di Caprio…Oh, and the guy who played the Pope and girl who played the bad angel…
It’s interesting how every time both good and bad angels were on stage talking to Faustus I believed in what the good angel said but could not keep my eyes off the bad angel…evil is definitely more tempting…And while I won’t sell my soul to Devil, I sure won’t stay at home on a Monday night again!
Thursday, May 31, 2007
What kind of f**kery is this? (if I may, Amy)
Amy Winehouse cancels a concert twice; a woman has a back operation and I get to have her ticket. Sitting in Level 3 of Shepherd’s Bush Empire up with the Gods; my friend A and I wait and wait for AW to appear. The boudoir lamps on stage wait with us.
At long last AW appears… legs thin and ready to break like tooth picks; hair propped up meter high God knows how; body jittery on black high heels and loads of wine (red it turns out when a stage hand brought another glass which was gone in two gulps) and a baby doll dress…all giving the image of imminent collapse…
Is she all an act or is she, as I suspect and as her voice and her songs leave no doubt, vulnerable to a degree that makes me feel like a voyeur watching her?
Either way, she sure is special and deserves all the praise and awards she receives.
The rythms of her songs take your body and before you know you are swaying in sync with the two gorgeous male back vocals on stage…even when you are brought to the edge of tears by the lyrics.
And her voice!...oh yes it’s the voice of yearning…no matter what she sings, it cries ‘help me’. It’s angry; it’s fighting….but with what? Mostly with AW, her creativity and the dullness of the rest I think.
Why is it that those who have the most talent suffer from it most? There is definitely that deep suffering to AW’s music and voice…I’d read somewhere once about how thin the line between genius and depression was and she seems to be threading that thin line with the help (?) of wine.
Perhaps, not her looks, but this suffering is what makes her look so vulnerable or emotionally naked on stage…or perhaps that nakedness is what makes her suffer.
Keith Johnstone (a guru of improvised theatre) says (in his book Improvisation for the Theatre) that that “…personality is a PR department for the real mind, which remains unknown”… AW seems to have sacked her PR department and has delved into a search for the unknown through her music. It’s difficult to watch her search not only because she is honest about how difficult the search is but also because we all wish we had the courage too.
...But most of us don’t have the courage…I may have got to the verge of tears listening to her songs, I may have written this note on the whole experience as soon as I got home from the concert. But I then went to bed, got up, went to work and got on with life…I have been thinking about AW and what may happen to her and her drinking…but there seems to be nothing I can do…except perhaps drink one less glass of wine next time I feel the pressure of sacking the PR department.
PS. I used to think people (me included) drink because life is hard…more and more I think it’s because life (and self), otherwise, is too dull…. This needs further thinking…more later…
Amy Winehouse cancels a concert twice; a woman has a back operation and I get to have her ticket. Sitting in Level 3 of Shepherd’s Bush Empire up with the Gods; my friend A and I wait and wait for AW to appear. The boudoir lamps on stage wait with us.
At long last AW appears… legs thin and ready to break like tooth picks; hair propped up meter high God knows how; body jittery on black high heels and loads of wine (red it turns out when a stage hand brought another glass which was gone in two gulps) and a baby doll dress…all giving the image of imminent collapse…
Is she all an act or is she, as I suspect and as her voice and her songs leave no doubt, vulnerable to a degree that makes me feel like a voyeur watching her?
Either way, she sure is special and deserves all the praise and awards she receives.
The rythms of her songs take your body and before you know you are swaying in sync with the two gorgeous male back vocals on stage…even when you are brought to the edge of tears by the lyrics.
And her voice!...oh yes it’s the voice of yearning…no matter what she sings, it cries ‘help me’. It’s angry; it’s fighting….but with what? Mostly with AW, her creativity and the dullness of the rest I think.
Why is it that those who have the most talent suffer from it most? There is definitely that deep suffering to AW’s music and voice…I’d read somewhere once about how thin the line between genius and depression was and she seems to be threading that thin line with the help (?) of wine.
Perhaps, not her looks, but this suffering is what makes her look so vulnerable or emotionally naked on stage…or perhaps that nakedness is what makes her suffer.
Keith Johnstone (a guru of improvised theatre) says (in his book Improvisation for the Theatre) that that “…personality is a PR department for the real mind, which remains unknown”… AW seems to have sacked her PR department and has delved into a search for the unknown through her music. It’s difficult to watch her search not only because she is honest about how difficult the search is but also because we all wish we had the courage too.
...But most of us don’t have the courage…I may have got to the verge of tears listening to her songs, I may have written this note on the whole experience as soon as I got home from the concert. But I then went to bed, got up, went to work and got on with life…I have been thinking about AW and what may happen to her and her drinking…but there seems to be nothing I can do…except perhaps drink one less glass of wine next time I feel the pressure of sacking the PR department.
PS. I used to think people (me included) drink because life is hard…more and more I think it’s because life (and self), otherwise, is too dull…. This needs further thinking…more later…
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Sundays
I used to hate Sunday evenings because that’s when I felt the loneliest…Then I had a general embargo on ‘hate’ because it’s self-destructing and tiring…but today at least I’ve lifted that embargo and I hate Sunday evenings again.
Sunday mornings are great for a lie-in. It’s good to be single then, no one to tell you to make breakfast, no one to fight with over the best part of newspaper, no ‘Sunday morning’ sex duty.
In the afternoons, you may go to markets, have brunch with friends, see a film but in the evening, there is no denying that you are alone…
I am fed up with being alone. At times, every fibre of my body feels lonely…lately I’ve started imagining an invisible pair of arms hugging me at the worst of times, or I shift my weight to feel as if I recline on someone…
I guess this is what happens when I get tired, don’t feel well, then go out partying till the morning…the next day is always a down time…at times like this it’s easy to understand how people can be hooked on drugs and alcohol…the down can be unbearable. I write instead. I usually don’t put entries like this here. I am fed up with being so self-indulgent when unspeakably worse things go on in the world. But today I wanted to upload this, hoping that sharing even in this impersonal way will make me feel better.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s better to be alone than feel lonely in someone else’s presence. But ideal remains that, at least from time to time, there is someone special around who cares, someone who will want to learn about your inner most fears, secrets, joys; someone who will gently hold your held (or you’re your little finger) and sit there without saying anything; someone you’d let in that close. I wish I had the courage to let someone in that close…
Well, on the positive side, hating Sunday evenings makes one look forward to Mondays…which can’t be a bad thing…
Expect to read more depressing comments like this as I approach my 37th birthday...
I used to hate Sunday evenings because that’s when I felt the loneliest…Then I had a general embargo on ‘hate’ because it’s self-destructing and tiring…but today at least I’ve lifted that embargo and I hate Sunday evenings again.
Sunday mornings are great for a lie-in. It’s good to be single then, no one to tell you to make breakfast, no one to fight with over the best part of newspaper, no ‘Sunday morning’ sex duty.
In the afternoons, you may go to markets, have brunch with friends, see a film but in the evening, there is no denying that you are alone…
I am fed up with being alone. At times, every fibre of my body feels lonely…lately I’ve started imagining an invisible pair of arms hugging me at the worst of times, or I shift my weight to feel as if I recline on someone…
I guess this is what happens when I get tired, don’t feel well, then go out partying till the morning…the next day is always a down time…at times like this it’s easy to understand how people can be hooked on drugs and alcohol…the down can be unbearable. I write instead. I usually don’t put entries like this here. I am fed up with being so self-indulgent when unspeakably worse things go on in the world. But today I wanted to upload this, hoping that sharing even in this impersonal way will make me feel better.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s better to be alone than feel lonely in someone else’s presence. But ideal remains that, at least from time to time, there is someone special around who cares, someone who will want to learn about your inner most fears, secrets, joys; someone who will gently hold your held (or you’re your little finger) and sit there without saying anything; someone you’d let in that close. I wish I had the courage to let someone in that close…
Well, on the positive side, hating Sunday evenings makes one look forward to Mondays…which can’t be a bad thing…
Expect to read more depressing comments like this as I approach my 37th birthday...
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
What’s there to lose?!
As you can see from two entries in as many days, I am still at home and I am still enjoying it. Well, I started working about 10 am and haven’t stopped much since then (almost 7 hours) so that’s not too lazy. There is something I should be finishing by Tuesday but I’ll start that tomorrow…after all I am planning to stay in till then and work…since the rest of the UK will be holidaying, I won’t be disturbed for other work.
Anyway, there is hope…hope for meeting deadlines and all the rest…The following is the evidence. It’s a joke email sent by a friend but it’s so good that I had to share…oh, it’s not just about hope actually…it’s ‘optimistic action’…and you know you can’t win if you don’t try!
The Sultan decides that two prisoners brought before him should be executed. One of them, who remembers how much the Sultan loves his horse, tries to strike a bargain: if the Sultan pardons him, he will teach the Sultan’s horse how to fly within the year. The Sultan who likes the sounds of this grants the pardon.
The other prisoner asks his cellmate ‘you know horses can’t fly. How could you come up with such a crazy bargain?! You are only postponing the inevitable!”
The ‘horse-trainer’ says: “Not so! I’ve given myself four chances to freedom: first, the Sultan could die within the year; second, I could die within the year; third, the horse could die within the year and fourth, perhaps I could teach the horse to fly!”
As you can see from two entries in as many days, I am still at home and I am still enjoying it. Well, I started working about 10 am and haven’t stopped much since then (almost 7 hours) so that’s not too lazy. There is something I should be finishing by Tuesday but I’ll start that tomorrow…after all I am planning to stay in till then and work…since the rest of the UK will be holidaying, I won’t be disturbed for other work.
Anyway, there is hope…hope for meeting deadlines and all the rest…The following is the evidence. It’s a joke email sent by a friend but it’s so good that I had to share…oh, it’s not just about hope actually…it’s ‘optimistic action’…and you know you can’t win if you don’t try!
The Sultan decides that two prisoners brought before him should be executed. One of them, who remembers how much the Sultan loves his horse, tries to strike a bargain: if the Sultan pardons him, he will teach the Sultan’s horse how to fly within the year. The Sultan who likes the sounds of this grants the pardon.
The other prisoner asks his cellmate ‘you know horses can’t fly. How could you come up with such a crazy bargain?! You are only postponing the inevitable!”
The ‘horse-trainer’ says: “Not so! I’ve given myself four chances to freedom: first, the Sultan could die within the year; second, I could die within the year; third, the horse could die within the year and fourth, perhaps I could teach the horse to fly!”
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Confessions under the influenza
Another month…where has the time gone?! Why am I so slow in writing these days (not only here but in general)? I haven’t read much either…
…hmmm what have I managed to do instead?
Some work, a little socialising, a lot of improv (improving), some soul searching and a lot of sniffling towards the end…
…after a week at home with flu, well, am still at home…I was fighting this virus for months and then last Tuesday night I felt like my body saying “look here, I waited for your deadlines, your shows, your conference, your social life…I’ve taken ibopurofen, paracetamol, vitamins and mineral…I’ve eaten garlic, drunk lemon and honey…done everything I can do to stand up for you as long as I can but I can no more”…come the morning she refused to wake up let alone stand up…it was time to listen to her and lie low…
…I should be bored by now but I kind of like it. I put the air mattress in the middle of the living room and that’s where I’ve been sleeping last few nights, falling asleep watching the digital channels I’ve recently discovered having fixed the free view box which has been waiting installation for about six months…. Despite the flu, I am loving this – especially the two channels that play music videos – my favourite, even at this age!...I have the laptop on one side and the phone on the other…. I do some work every day – am probably as productive as I would have been at the office: sleeping instead of wasting time travelling, lunch hour, messing about…
But I think I also like being on my own…DIMINISH…had said the I Chin stones (or whatever they are called) Christmas before last when I threw them at a friend’s and she read the meaning out of a huge book. Diminish your engagements, emotional entanglements…I sure am slow at picking up some things so it wouldn’t surprise me if ‘diminishing’ took me over a year and the only flu I had in six years…
I like the little cocoon of my flat doing as little or as much as I can manage and pretend I am very much younger – not because of I am worried about aging but associate being younger with having less responsibilities……not having to liaise with people…not see sad things outside…not see happier people and wonder what’s wrong with me…
A few weeks ago, I was in the tube one morning during the rush hour. This is something I don’t normally do. I specifically try to avoid the rush hour to avoid the horrid mood people are in. That morning I had no choice, so there I was sitting just like the others. It suddenly occurred to me that I could be simply fooling myself with my semi-self employed status, flexible work hours, bachelorette lifestyle into thinking that I am different, that I am in charge of my life…and in fact I am there sitting there just like the others: all adult, not quite miserable but not quite happy either, wearing a ‘tube face’ that lasts all day: motionless and emotionless…Am I really one of those adults who have no joy left in their lives?
But then I am capable of seeing joy in small things: like the old man I’d seen on the bus earlier the same morning…a down and out man probably looking much older than his years, his clothes rather old with the exception of a pair of very new and colourful trainers – a present from a distant grand child? A hand-me-down from a neighbour? Most likely a gift from a charity…He seemed very comfortable in his trainers and I felt genuinely happy for him…happier than I’ve felt for myself for a long time.
So perhaps I haven’t totally lost the joy…and perhaps those people in the tube haven’t lost it either…they just choose not to share it with fellow commuters…and, hey, why should they?
Anyway, I can’t stay in my flat (working or not) forever…I have to mix with people and share whatever is on offer – joy, responsibility, fun, sadness…whatever is called life.
“I’ve grown stronger dealing with the outcomes of my own weaknesses”…just something that came to my mind the other day…perhaps the same will happen during this recuperation period…
…I never know if (a) I am really slow in understanding things about life that are obvious to others or (b) a profound inquisitor into the matters of life, love and thought….Guess it’s possible to be both as it depends on who is doing the defining…Whatever I am, God knows, I am trying to understand…
…most of the time anyway…now am gonna watch digital tv before falling asleep on the air mattress…
hmmm…life ain’t that bad and the only thing to understand seems to be that if you commit to doing something well, God/universe/energy/spirits/your own power helps you…proof: a couple of days ago I’ve decided I was lucky enough to enjoy my little cocoon of flat and virus and here I am recovering body and soul…
Another month…where has the time gone?! Why am I so slow in writing these days (not only here but in general)? I haven’t read much either…
…hmmm what have I managed to do instead?
Some work, a little socialising, a lot of improv (improving), some soul searching and a lot of sniffling towards the end…
…after a week at home with flu, well, am still at home…I was fighting this virus for months and then last Tuesday night I felt like my body saying “look here, I waited for your deadlines, your shows, your conference, your social life…I’ve taken ibopurofen, paracetamol, vitamins and mineral…I’ve eaten garlic, drunk lemon and honey…done everything I can do to stand up for you as long as I can but I can no more”…come the morning she refused to wake up let alone stand up…it was time to listen to her and lie low…
…I should be bored by now but I kind of like it. I put the air mattress in the middle of the living room and that’s where I’ve been sleeping last few nights, falling asleep watching the digital channels I’ve recently discovered having fixed the free view box which has been waiting installation for about six months…. Despite the flu, I am loving this – especially the two channels that play music videos – my favourite, even at this age!...I have the laptop on one side and the phone on the other…. I do some work every day – am probably as productive as I would have been at the office: sleeping instead of wasting time travelling, lunch hour, messing about…
But I think I also like being on my own…DIMINISH…had said the I Chin stones (or whatever they are called) Christmas before last when I threw them at a friend’s and she read the meaning out of a huge book. Diminish your engagements, emotional entanglements…I sure am slow at picking up some things so it wouldn’t surprise me if ‘diminishing’ took me over a year and the only flu I had in six years…
I like the little cocoon of my flat doing as little or as much as I can manage and pretend I am very much younger – not because of I am worried about aging but associate being younger with having less responsibilities……not having to liaise with people…not see sad things outside…not see happier people and wonder what’s wrong with me…
A few weeks ago, I was in the tube one morning during the rush hour. This is something I don’t normally do. I specifically try to avoid the rush hour to avoid the horrid mood people are in. That morning I had no choice, so there I was sitting just like the others. It suddenly occurred to me that I could be simply fooling myself with my semi-self employed status, flexible work hours, bachelorette lifestyle into thinking that I am different, that I am in charge of my life…and in fact I am there sitting there just like the others: all adult, not quite miserable but not quite happy either, wearing a ‘tube face’ that lasts all day: motionless and emotionless…Am I really one of those adults who have no joy left in their lives?
But then I am capable of seeing joy in small things: like the old man I’d seen on the bus earlier the same morning…a down and out man probably looking much older than his years, his clothes rather old with the exception of a pair of very new and colourful trainers – a present from a distant grand child? A hand-me-down from a neighbour? Most likely a gift from a charity…He seemed very comfortable in his trainers and I felt genuinely happy for him…happier than I’ve felt for myself for a long time.
So perhaps I haven’t totally lost the joy…and perhaps those people in the tube haven’t lost it either…they just choose not to share it with fellow commuters…and, hey, why should they?
Anyway, I can’t stay in my flat (working or not) forever…I have to mix with people and share whatever is on offer – joy, responsibility, fun, sadness…whatever is called life.
“I’ve grown stronger dealing with the outcomes of my own weaknesses”…just something that came to my mind the other day…perhaps the same will happen during this recuperation period…
…I never know if (a) I am really slow in understanding things about life that are obvious to others or (b) a profound inquisitor into the matters of life, love and thought….Guess it’s possible to be both as it depends on who is doing the defining…Whatever I am, God knows, I am trying to understand…
…most of the time anyway…now am gonna watch digital tv before falling asleep on the air mattress…
hmmm…life ain’t that bad and the only thing to understand seems to be that if you commit to doing something well, God/universe/energy/spirits/your own power helps you…proof: a couple of days ago I’ve decided I was lucky enough to enjoy my little cocoon of flat and virus and here I am recovering body and soul…
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Most unlikely likeness…
The first thought I had today was “I am behind with life” and I am when you check my progress against my to do list…there certainly are things that I should be getting on with like sorting the spare room which is about 10 years overdue…but life is not a collection of to do lists! My happiness should not depend on ticking off items of the ‘to do’ list.
I may be behind the to do list but I’ve not been behind life…after the end of my ‘security period’ documented in the previous post, I’ve spent most of a week at an improvisation workshop, a week with back ache and hangover and another week working in Brussels (always a joy)…
Oh, and I’ve been to two exhibitions that are unexpectedly linked – in my mind anyway-: From Manet to Picasso at the National Gallery and Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s photographs at the Foyer of the National Theatre. Unfortunately, 3rd of March was the last day of the latter, but the former is going on till May 2007.
Manet to Picasso
I thought the exhibition would be full of paintings the posters of which adorn most living rooms of the houses of 20-something professionals. You know what I mean: the lilies, the sunset behind the Houses of Parliament, the umbrellas, the sunflowers and so on and so forth.
Well, they are there. But how ignorant of me it was to think that just because I’d seen several posters of a painting I would have found the original boring! This is especially true for Monet’s Houses of Parliament, Sunset (1902). The sky behind the Parliament is covered with grey clouds through which the pink rays of the sun are trying to come …not much changed in London since then basically. Actually it has: less of that luminous pink these days as there is less (or different type of?) pollution that caused it by then and also less greyness due to climate change. As for the original painting…the luminosity of the sun behind the clouds attracts your eye from the previous room…you see that light before you can even make out what the painting is….three weeks on I am still amazed by the moment it caught my eye, and how I walked towards it (and kept coming back) almost as in a trance.
Umbrellas by Renoir is another beauty…I was lucky enough to listened to a short lecture by an enthusiastic Gallery expert about it. There really are several pictures in one there: the umbrellas, the men, the little girl, the young woman out of place (or out of her place in society), the mother and so on. It’s also huge…probably 7 foot long.
There are also many pictures in the exhibition I’d never seen (original or poster) before (those by Seurat for example) and some I’d seen (Degas for example) but had not paid much attention to. Then, there is Van Gogh’s Long Grass with Butterflies. It’s a very simple picture…Apart from a promise of a tree-lined road along the top and a road sign only half of which we can see, there is nothing but long grass and butterflies. Maybe that half sign is itself a sign of Van Gogh’s helplessness and the feeling of getting more and more alinieated from the world and more and more lost in himself. It was one of his last paintings after all.
I saw this picture first in 1989 on a day visit to London from Kent. It was like seeing a long lost friend. Then I’d sat on the bench and looked at it for ages. I wanted to have at least a postcard of it but there were no prints. This time it was in the exhibition book and as a small poster.
What ties this exhibition with the next one is inspired by Degas. Like many other of his contemporaries he painted circus acts and ballerinas amongst others. Until visiting the exhibition I’d not realised that these people were amongst the lower classes at the time (until the early 20th century). And that his and others’ painting of such subjects would not have been classified as art and hence not allowed them into the National Gallery…Who would have thought the lily painting, brush stroke enthusiasts called the Impressionists (and those who followed immediately after) would have championed social equality by making the ordinary people the subject of art?
Oh, and, there is Manet and Monet by the way…
Nuri Bilge Ceylan Photographs: Climates
Making the ordinary, the down-trodden and the ignored the subject of art is what Ceylan does in his photographs: albeit a very different country and a different century. And that’s the most unlikely likeness that excited me recently.
He took the exhibited photographs, which you can see in his personal website linked above, while he was searching for locations for his latest film with the same title. I mentioned the film in the last entry. The photographs are at least as interesting.
The technique he uses is something like silk print but I cannot remember it right now. Whatever it is, it makes the photos so real that I had to stop my impulse to reach out and pull the fluff of a red jumper.
The photos are beautifully tragic – mostly of snow covered valleys and mountains of eastern Turkey. People in the photos are poorest of the poor, living in mud houses surrounded by several feet of snow for months on end, miles and miles from anywhere…Girls hang around by their homes, boys play football or ride their bikes. But there is still hope in their faces, perhaps just for that moment and simply because they were being photographed, perhaps because they are still young.
They may make you wonder when this dreadful poverty end and why do boys stick together and have fun when girls look like they are already carrying the burden of the world or feel guilty for focusing on the desperately lonely beauty of the landscape instead of the human tragedy that’s going on…. Do visit Ceylan's website.
The first thought I had today was “I am behind with life” and I am when you check my progress against my to do list…there certainly are things that I should be getting on with like sorting the spare room which is about 10 years overdue…but life is not a collection of to do lists! My happiness should not depend on ticking off items of the ‘to do’ list.
I may be behind the to do list but I’ve not been behind life…after the end of my ‘security period’ documented in the previous post, I’ve spent most of a week at an improvisation workshop, a week with back ache and hangover and another week working in Brussels (always a joy)…
Oh, and I’ve been to two exhibitions that are unexpectedly linked – in my mind anyway-: From Manet to Picasso at the National Gallery and Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s photographs at the Foyer of the National Theatre. Unfortunately, 3rd of March was the last day of the latter, but the former is going on till May 2007.
Manet to Picasso
I thought the exhibition would be full of paintings the posters of which adorn most living rooms of the houses of 20-something professionals. You know what I mean: the lilies, the sunset behind the Houses of Parliament, the umbrellas, the sunflowers and so on and so forth.
Well, they are there. But how ignorant of me it was to think that just because I’d seen several posters of a painting I would have found the original boring! This is especially true for Monet’s Houses of Parliament, Sunset (1902). The sky behind the Parliament is covered with grey clouds through which the pink rays of the sun are trying to come …not much changed in London since then basically. Actually it has: less of that luminous pink these days as there is less (or different type of?) pollution that caused it by then and also less greyness due to climate change. As for the original painting…the luminosity of the sun behind the clouds attracts your eye from the previous room…you see that light before you can even make out what the painting is….three weeks on I am still amazed by the moment it caught my eye, and how I walked towards it (and kept coming back) almost as in a trance.
Umbrellas by Renoir is another beauty…I was lucky enough to listened to a short lecture by an enthusiastic Gallery expert about it. There really are several pictures in one there: the umbrellas, the men, the little girl, the young woman out of place (or out of her place in society), the mother and so on. It’s also huge…probably 7 foot long.
There are also many pictures in the exhibition I’d never seen (original or poster) before (those by Seurat for example) and some I’d seen (Degas for example) but had not paid much attention to. Then, there is Van Gogh’s Long Grass with Butterflies. It’s a very simple picture…Apart from a promise of a tree-lined road along the top and a road sign only half of which we can see, there is nothing but long grass and butterflies. Maybe that half sign is itself a sign of Van Gogh’s helplessness and the feeling of getting more and more alinieated from the world and more and more lost in himself. It was one of his last paintings after all.
I saw this picture first in 1989 on a day visit to London from Kent. It was like seeing a long lost friend. Then I’d sat on the bench and looked at it for ages. I wanted to have at least a postcard of it but there were no prints. This time it was in the exhibition book and as a small poster.
What ties this exhibition with the next one is inspired by Degas. Like many other of his contemporaries he painted circus acts and ballerinas amongst others. Until visiting the exhibition I’d not realised that these people were amongst the lower classes at the time (until the early 20th century). And that his and others’ painting of such subjects would not have been classified as art and hence not allowed them into the National Gallery…Who would have thought the lily painting, brush stroke enthusiasts called the Impressionists (and those who followed immediately after) would have championed social equality by making the ordinary people the subject of art?
Oh, and, there is Manet and Monet by the way…
Nuri Bilge Ceylan Photographs: Climates
Making the ordinary, the down-trodden and the ignored the subject of art is what Ceylan does in his photographs: albeit a very different country and a different century. And that’s the most unlikely likeness that excited me recently.
He took the exhibited photographs, which you can see in his personal website linked above, while he was searching for locations for his latest film with the same title. I mentioned the film in the last entry. The photographs are at least as interesting.
The technique he uses is something like silk print but I cannot remember it right now. Whatever it is, it makes the photos so real that I had to stop my impulse to reach out and pull the fluff of a red jumper.
The photos are beautifully tragic – mostly of snow covered valleys and mountains of eastern Turkey. People in the photos are poorest of the poor, living in mud houses surrounded by several feet of snow for months on end, miles and miles from anywhere…Girls hang around by their homes, boys play football or ride their bikes. But there is still hope in their faces, perhaps just for that moment and simply because they were being photographed, perhaps because they are still young.
They may make you wonder when this dreadful poverty end and why do boys stick together and have fun when girls look like they are already carrying the burden of the world or feel guilty for focusing on the desperately lonely beauty of the landscape instead of the human tragedy that’s going on…. Do visit Ceylan's website.
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