Let's Meet in Stories
After making all the latest corrections to my story, I sent it to my beloved Idil, editor of the Kafasina Gre magazine. When someone is not a writer, the heaviness of the work and the sense of responsibility in the writings are hidden. I have the feeling that the great writers and poets are watching me at the story I write, and for not attack them and show disrespect for their own work and their worries, in every story I send, I apologize.
After writing and sending my stories, all the words silently escaped from my noisy head. For a moment I enjoyed the silence and when the soil began to dry up, I started planting new seeds with my new phrases. I put a cup of tea, when I was ready to relax because I had sent my story in time, a message from Idil appears on my mobile.
-Hello. I read with delight the story, but I wish your joke was coming earlier. We have just finished editing the new magazine and we have no time for a new project.
I did not know what Idil wanted to say. I like the jokes, but in my story there is no crazy things. I just called Idil. What did she mean by the "joke she mentioned in the email? Idil picked up the phone, with her familiar smile on her face, and explained what she meant about the "joke. After listening to Idil, I asked her:
-Are you kidding me??
- Hahaha
I had to figure out the essence of the subject before this joke became like a tennis match. My last story was in my mind for a while and I did not say it to anyone. One of the stories sent to Kafasna Gre, and the story I was writing was exactly the same. When I read the story I understood what Idl was saying. If there was a joke, it was addressed to me. The person who sent it had only one e-mail address... Among the hundreds of addresses that had been named as Zeynep Yildirim I tried to find a familiar face. Even if they had stolen my story and sent it before me, I did not want to be the victim of a meaningless joke. I took a sip of tea, I did not want to experience the notion of the modern people who think that my computer was being attacked by a virus. Nothing is impossible under the sun, but it could not be possible that I have written exactly the same story as that of a person I do not know. Surprisingly, I started to browse the white pages of my memory. Maybe I was influenced by the stories I have read from my favorite author. Probably we read the same story that touched us and stayed in our subconscious. The narration and writing of a story is a normal state, but the story I wrote was mine. It was an issue that did not concern the great writers and poets I have read. The most interesting thing is that I wrote the story from the visual part of a man, and the person who sent the story wrote it from the visual part of a woman.
A man is seeing an image of an island whose picture he had seen in his childhood. The man sees himself in the island, in his dreams, he wakes up sweaty, this night he buys an air ticket and goes to the island without get anything. There is a woman on the island. And the love begins between them... The history of going to the island and the similarities of the place described, are the feelings of the same person, seemed to be the meeting point of the same dream. It is possible to meet anyone in the histories only if important writers hiding from behind allow it... I drank the last sip of cold tea and wrote something to the mailing address in front of me:
-Hello. First of all, I would like that you read the story I sent you. The fact that you send your story before me it may seems like a coincidence, maybe you think I'm kidding, but I want you to to know that this history is very precious to me. I do not expect an answer, I just wanted you to know it. Have a good day
After sending the email, I began to think about who this person was. The email I wrote was a little restrained, but the hope for a reply can help me understand who is hiding behind those words. The brief summary of my story was behind a feeling. When I tried to make it visible to describe, it was of a delicacy that could be dried in the swamp of the mind. I am not saying it to give an eternal meaning to the history, I feel we can share the same emotions, to express the existence of people who feel as if we are not alone. Although we think we are alone at this time, stories, phrases and emotions could bring us together to feel the same things. I suppose it's the way the twins are...
The magazine published another story. Idil and Yassin still think I am kidding, that I wrote both stories. I decided to close this issue so it do not go further. It was a personal matter anyway. I erased it from the memory of my computer and tried to behave as if I had never written such a story...
Kafasina Gre magazine is published every two months, but the days ran fast and the date of the new issue knocked again on my doorstep, and I think about what to write, my mind constantly returned to the story of the island. There was something in me that had not finished, the feeling that something was missing. The places I traveled in my mind came as if they were telling me, I was not here. I wrote and sent another story, in my new story I intentionally wrote another course of events, feelings and issues that I did not really believe. Then, as I did every time, and with pleasure from the fact that I sent the story, I sat comfortably with a cup of tea. I fall asleep in the chair I was sitting. I was in a state of turmoil that was approaching me slowly... I had my belly filled with all the tea of the teapot that was in the "samovar, and the sleeping condition I had fallen was the appropriate. Sometimes there is a thin line between sleeping and weakfulness, in this fine line I walked, without knowing where to go, I went through the silence. Every step I made brought me ever closer to sleep, I felt water from my feet to my heart.
I was on the beach walking from the shallow to the bottom. My gaze was focused on the water, trying to make the next step, the stones and the algae that I felt on my toes, helped me understand where I was. When I looked up I understood that I was returning to the same island. The sun was ready to fall or set. At the matter of fact it did not matter, it feels good to be in the water. I was back on this island through my inspirations. I did a very long flight to the island I fell in love. My words and my phrases created with invisible subtlety the woman I'm in love with. Would I be able to see and remember this story to tell from scratch? I was not on a fantasy island. There were people who swam in the sea, leaped from the rocks, drank and laughed at the shore, staring at the sun and the clouds. Everybody laughs and there was a picture from reality. All around me seemed like they were rehearsing a world I dreamed about... I looked at the people in the sea, people who laughed and entertained, looking to the woman I fell in love with...
My sleeping on the half-moon couch, was disturbed by a deep sigh. My body was numb, my feet and my eyes seemed to be wet. It was better for my numb body to be under the shower than to be stranded in that place. The story of the island was around my mind. I went back to the couch. When I thought I would continue to write the story, there was a mail in my phone.
-HELLO, I'm Zeynep Yldrm. I read with great surprise the story you sent me. If you want to read the sequel of the story that I wrote, I sent you in the attachment. Have a nice day.
"I was in the sea, I looked around, as if something was waiting for me in the water. Among the smiling and happy people, there was someone who saw the sea in front of him. It was clear that he was a stranger on the island. His steps were full of fear. The beauty of the place gave him a courage to make his steps bigger. I met the man and knew who was he. The man I fell in love with came back to the island..."
After many developments, quantum mechanics decisively proved that every development in the world is probabilistic and happens by chance. Einstein realized his mistake and said "I have earned the right to be wrong. 
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