Engin Akyurek maybe the best actor in the world ever-BIO/Updates pg4&a - Page 98

First Previous

Page

Frequent Posters

DefLeppard

@DefLeppard

Dazzler

Posted: 5 years ago

#971

Decoding - The same face Ayni Yuz

The story begins with a familiar setting - a restaurant, quintessential tea and characters who give running commentary of their inner thoughts "three tables away. J

The first person narrator of this story seems to smitten by the lady who is seated in the same restaurant. While stolen glances grow into seasons which globe trot into continents and borders they take refuge with their tea and coffee refills as their mind reattempts to connect the dots. Narrator seems to be in a hurry to create a future with this lady caring a damn with his present. And when he spots a male companion of the lady, the narrator gets insecure to name call the companion as fox, goat etc.

Soon the trance is broken when the lady approaches the narrator and introduces herself as Sinem. There is a snag of memristors* while processing the past. Sinem explains the good old days of college while sharing few photographs to support her identity. Now narrator is caught on a back foot, since he soon realizes that the lady was indeed not a popular girl at college, and behold he finally finds a known face! He manages to get glimpses of his friendship with Ahmet and how they had he lost contact without having a common language to "understand.

The twister to the story, is when Sinem announces her marriage to Ahmet leaving the narrator high and feeling dry.

Now is it another story of a fantasy or infatuation in which narrator (assuming its Engin) dares to share his hormonal tingle on seeing a lady at a common place? Or is it a story of ugly duckling which turned into a beautiful swan (Sinem)??

Why does he constantly mention the change of seasons and memory as a silly hole or lack of finding a common language? ;-)

Engin tries to define the judgmental human behavior using augmented time frame of past, present and future.

At present, he is extremely attracted with the lady, who was three tables away. This could be mainly due to fascination of external appearances, muted behavior. The charm last longer to pull him into a fictional relationship with the lady and finally the past leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

In the era of WWW ( prefer to call it Wild Willful World), we witness twitterati wars, viral video trolls and much more wherein people in cushion of comforts make an opinion of Rohingya refugees or Ozil's lack of goals at FIFA 2018 etc. Why do we leave digital footprints to pollute the minds of people and create a divide of right v/s left for every topic under the sun.? Why don't we stop being perfect and start being purposeful?

The largely looming threat is that in the quest of being perfectionist, we are developing into judgmental hypocrites. And the moment we get opinioned, we lose the objective what lead to Rohingya crisis, did Ozil get good passes to score etc.

Isn't it forming into another Big O Objectives, Opinions, Obstacles??

Narrator dreams of the lady as his lover solely based on opinions, and when she explained the objective of being his classmate he found only obstacles such as holes in memory, no common language etc.

With references to Bhagavad Gita verse 11.28.2

para svabhaava karmaani / yah prashamsati nindati
sa aashu bhrashyate svaarthaad / asaty abhiniveshatah

"Whoever indulges in praising or criticizing the qualities and behavior of others will quickly become deviated from his own best interest by his entanglement in illusory dualities."

With references to Bible Luke verse 6:37

"Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven

Finally to summarize this wonderful message, the happiest people always are evaluating to improve themselves and unhappy people are usually evaluating and judging others. Happiness and unhappiness are the same faces of one's mind. Let's be those happy faces of the photographs

Edited by DefLeppard - 5 years ago

Quote

DefLeppard

@DefLeppard

Dazzler

Posted: 5 years ago

#972

Shared by Sakhisangani

Translation of Engin Akyurek's short story from the last issue of Kafasina Gore magazine.
Irfan
By Engin Akyurek
Lying was like breathing for him.
He was the main character of the analogy that everybody in the school agreed, a man of contradictions, a humanist defender of mistakes, an expert of rascality who was ignorant and incurious of science. He is a holdback high school student who could turn lying into his profession and make his studentship a nest for his boredom with his intelligence.
The age difference between Irfan and I was not directly proportional to my being a 9th grader. He had started the elementary school late and repeated a couple of grades in middle and high schools. You could guess his age from his shaving every day, his hair balding on sides, and his deep voice. We had met at the school cafeteria. He had objected that the price equilibrium between hot dog and soda was causing financial difficulty and made too much fuss about it. He had told what I couldn't tell. We had greeted each other that day and had become friends, in his words, "buddies.
As if he had stove pipe inside his mouth, when he shouted, the words coming out of his mouth created a smoky melody in his voice, which supported his rightfulness. He had the self-confidence of a person who could do or say the things that others couldn't dare. But, he had a bad reputation. He used to get mad when people said "He's lying again, when he talked. He used to curse, punching the walls or the doors of the school with his ugly very large hands. He used to say "You all are liars!, then ditch the class and try to calm himself by smoking. The teachers wouldn't say anything his smoking and would think that this was his most harmless one among his other bad habits. You would think that he was a state employee for 35 years who was about to retire.
Whatever he did in the class would become the talk of the next break. Whether you like it or not, a simple gossip is how the magazine-shows feed themselves. "Have you heard what Irfan said in the class or what Irfan did to the teacher? These sentences were whispered in the halls of the school. If he heard your whispers, you could have easily become his target like a paparazzi being assaulted. Since you did not have the freedom of the press, you would be scared shitless.
"Let's ditch the school, buddy.
When I spent time with him, I would feel like I was in a fair; both having fun and learning actual things regarding life. It was as if the "buddy word covered more than what three-in-one coffees offered.
When I began to be very close with Irfan, the assistant school manager had called my mother to the office and told my mom to keep her child away from this devil disguised as child. He had called me to the office, too, and, raising his voice, told me the same verbiage. When I went back home, my mom had repeated the same things told by the assistant school manager.
"Why are you hanging out with rascals?
And I would probably hear the same thing from my father in the evening. Forgetting the things memorized was a part of our educational system. I had already forgotten what I heard in the halls in the morning and showed Irfan that I was open to new knowledge.
It was true that Irfan used to talk a lot but his sentences were always mysterious. You couldn't find out about his family. His father's profession would change according to situation. He would tell his father's new profession in one of his new long sentences each time. I knew that he didn't lie to me. Even if he did, he would gift me with a little ephemeral lie. Sometimes, I used to see in his eyes that he didn't want to talk about his family. He would look at me as if he said "Buddy, don't open this subject. If his eyes weren't enough, he would try to tell me with his silence. Although he was very mischievous, his parents never came to school. The rational little devils inside me were telling me to follow him to find out where he lived and who his parents were but the little conscientious child inside me was silencing those voices by objecting and stoning the devils. There is an ethic line between wondering about someone who knows you as a friend, as a buddy and invading that person's privacy. I don't know and don't want to know who drew these lines or when they were drawn.
I didn't call him as "a man of contradictions for nothing. He would write something onto a paper that looked like a notebook, fold it with his large hands, and place it into his inside pocket. Although we wondered, we knew what would happen if we attempted to read what he wrote. He would look around, try to make his body smaller, and begin to write. Our literature teacher tried to find out what he wrote, but to no avail. We all thought there wasn't any literary deepness in his writing but couldn't help wondering.
If nothing went wrong, Irfan would graduate, retire, in a month. The fake May sun had softened our winter faces. Students were in the school yard, which was lively and joyous place like the Spice Bazaar. They were smiling under the afternoon sun. Ankara's sinister frost which you never knew when it would happen was waiting for the sunset, like a wolf waiting for its prey and sensed what would happen.
Irfan was playing forward like the worst scorer of the world and cheating to score because he was banning the goalies,who didn't concede any goals, from all sport competitions, threatening them in the restrooms later on.
Irfan had scored his second goal between the legs. The entire school was chanting his name: "Irfan! Irfan!
High school girls with their plaid skirts, had lined against the wall, were gossiping through soccer. When three beefy young boys from another neighborhood, shouted out the girls, Irfan took the issue in hand. He grabbed the ball without waiting finishing whistle and walked towards them for confrontation.
"Is there a problem?
These big young boys couldn't answer that unexpected question. There was a sweet silence in the schoolyard. This silence was a sign of things to come; like lynching and fist fighting. The entire school could turn these shabby boys into cheerleaders with the help of Irfan. He asked the same question again:
"Is there a problem?
He started hitting the face of the biggest one with the ball slowly. The boy's dark face was turnning red, bringing color to his ugliness.
"I won't ask again. Is there a problem?
The boys of the school narrowed their distance to their prey in a half-moon shape. We were waiting for Irfan's signal. Irfan didn't need to say anything; a small tilt of his thick eyebrows that covered almost half of his forehead could give us orders.
Irfan began to hit the boy's face wiith the ball faster this time. He could grab the ball that got lost in his large hands anyway he wanted and showed us that he had been beating people with a ball for years.
The feeble one among those beefy boys started breathing deeply. That drew Irfan's attention.
"Do you want to asnwer that?
It was obvious that Irfan was doing this a lot and had a talent for that. His timing and calmness resembled Don Carleone's charisma. The feeblest one took one step towards Irfan; his breathing had turned to normal. Sounding as ugly as his face, he said:
"Let's talk outside of the school.
He was marking his own grave with his spitting mouth. We had gotten closer with the excitement of sharing the prey. Irfan threw the ball to the ground and approached the boy. He looked at his dirty face full of scars without flinching. The others stopped breathing and were getting high with carbonmonoxide building up in their lungs. Irfan showed his fist, indicating that he wouldn't ask any more questions. There was a heavy silence in the schooldyard, even birds had stopped chirping. The frost was watching us behind the sun. Irfan took another step, showing his sharp fist. The ugly beefy boy, beaten by his fear, stabbed Irfan with a knife which we were unaware of and then ran away. The crowd had scattered with a panic and the screams of the girls made the other boys run away as well. Iffan was lying on the ground, holding his belly. When we saw the blood coming out of his belly, the schoolyard would fall silent one more time.
"Shut up, shut up, don't scream right beside my ear, ... you, shut up!
Everybody was already silent. The birds had flown away, the frost had escaped from the sun's shadow.
"Shut up! Shut up!
Irfan was shouting so loud that his own voice was hurting him more than his wound. His painful screams were giving a voice to our silence as well. We weren't even breathing, his profuse bleeding had stopped our breathing.
"Shut up! ... you!
The school board got together urgently after this event and expelled him from the school. As the stiches on his belly not enough, he had stripped of his education. As soon as he was discharged from the hospital, he came to the school and sweared at all the teachers, the school manager, and the assistant school manager by shouting their names. That was the last time I saw him.
There are places and times that connect all stories to each other. We never know when we will enter a time tunnel.
I was on a desolate road in Sile. I drove into a gas station which looked like temporarily there with all the dust and dirt around it. And after 20 years, I saw Irfan behind the cash register in that gas station. He went bald and lost his all glamor. We came eye to eye. The redness on his pupils began to get bigger. He recognized me as well. I expected him to say hello first. I don't know why. I thought he wouldn't want to meet me like that. While entering password for my credit card, I could see that he was looking at me with his rotten eyes as if he would say "buddy in a minute. He gave back my credit card with his ugly large hands which were the only thing that did not change. I got in to my car and drove away. I wouldn't enter that road or that gas station ever again.
I was alone with my shame which I had already forgotten. I had secretly read the notes that Irfan wrote in the schoolyard. I had a lump in my throat because of this shame that I avoided to tell even myself. I was murmuring his sentences while I was driving.
"I am Irfan Yilmaz. I am orphan an who doesn't know where he was born. I don't know my birthpace or my parents. The only thing that I know is where I am going to die; in an unknown place, by myself, as Irfan.
Irfan is the most honest man that I've known in my life.

Quote

Looks like you are new here. Register for free, learn and contribute.

DefLeppard

@DefLeppard

Dazzler

Posted: 5 years ago

#973

Decoding Irfan

Disclaimer : Solely my interpretation

This edition of the essay has a central character Irfan.
Irfan is Mr. Popular for all the wrong reasons contradictions, non-compliance to school's regimen and indifferent to science and curriculum etc. He seems to have spent longer years at school and had physically & mentally grown more than the average 9th grader.
His Dabangg (1) attitude was exuberating when he challenged the price list at cafeteria or class assignments or simply system on which our society was built on.
Looks like the narrator enjoyed the negative attention Irfan gathered for his antics and eventually got attracted to call themselves as "buddies as if they shared the same voice of self-righteousness and rebel without a cause attitude. They were destined to be Page-3 and worthy unabashed.
The growing friendship catches attention of teachers who sends warning signals to narrator's mother and finally his father's repertoire.

Narrator, as any boy of that age, listens to his mother's sermon without mending his ways. This brings him closer to Irfan's habits smoking, drinking and most importantly writing a diary note every day in a piece of paper which was scared sanctum. The friendship also brings in comfort to ask some of the intriguing questions on Irfan to him. Who are his parents, where does his live, why isn't his parents called for any reprimanding sessions at school...oh so many. Isn't it similar to the one's mind that bubble when you idolize someone? Hmmm.

When stolen silences and unwelcoming body language was the reply to the inquisitiveness, the narrator begins to concentrate on learning the contradictions, lying as a philosophy to breathe and opening to new knowledge.

Now the bohemian friendship is abruptly cut-off due to an unfortunate incident which happens during the football match at school. The revelry goes out of control when an ugly spat turns violent with fist fighting and culminating with someone in the crowd stabbing Irfan with a knife. Irfan falls on the ground in deep pain and is timely treated at the hospital.
When he returns back to school, he is quickly dismissed and expelled from school.

How many of you were remembering Johnny Bravo or Big Moose (Archie's comic character) while reading about Irfan? Or someone from your school era who was notorious?
Is Engin trying to narrate a stereotype of a jock all brawns and no brains here??

The first question worming my mind is the name of the central character Irfan. It's not Mehmet or Hakan or Sinem. Irfan means knowledge or wisdom in Arabic/Turkish. Viola, the essay is decoded. How??!!
Have you ever tried to understand the entity relationship of knowledge, belief and truth?

Epistemological(2) definition of knowledge is knowing by acquaintance, asking Wh (why, what, where, when) questions, hearing the Th (That, this) and challenging the existence with How. Acquisition of knowledge is possible through two fundamental means: by experience (empirical) and reasoning (logical). Over period of time, knowledge often gets tagged with a connotation of truth. Accordingly, if something has to be considered as knowledge then it has to be true.
Belief is a system of thoughts based on the knowledge acquired by us and stored in our brains. This should provide a mechanism to interpret new information. However this would have severe limitation since bulk of the knowledge we possess is second hand information we gain from other sources (trusted or otherwise)
Truth simply represents the opposite of deception. The measurement of truth is proportional to the belief built on the knowledge base. (Well there are other paradigms like facts and assumptions which Engin does not elaborate)

For example - Most people in Galileo's time believed in geocentric (Earth-centered, Universe). And the church, which was very powerful and influential in those days, strongly supported this theory/knowledge. After Galileo began publishing papers about his discoveries and belief in a heliocentric (Sun-centered, Universe) he was called to Rome to answer charges brought against him by the Inquisition (the legal body of the Church) and was finally accused of being a heretic, a person who opposed Church teachings.

A general knowledge of Irfan was that he was a reckless boy, who was poor at his grades and often lived by his rules. The teachers who took no interest to mend his ways, created a belief using safe assumptions that Irfan was boy of misdeeds. When Irfan questioned the system, he was either ridiculed or dismissed immediately.

It is interesting how often and freely Engin uses these three elements (knowledge, belief and truth) of thought processing. In our life's too we presume that what we are expressing is being legitimately represented. Beliefs are readily interpreted as knowledge, and knowledge is often characterized as being true to lend it weight.

The accidental meeting of the narrator and Irfan had the same old stolen silences and uncomfortable body language. Irfan had settled his in life with a belief based on his knowledge of being poor, orphan and unloved. If Irfan had lied in life, he was certain aware of life's truth death.

As a writer, Engin has expressed so many profound ideas in this essay. Starting from the basic Epistemology theories by Plato and Socrates, he carefully applies them to the modern world plagued by fake news, dodgy experts, mendacious media. It becomes more crucial than ever to work out what's true ourselves. Doing that means first overcoming our own biases.

Man is made by his belief. As he believes, so he is. Bhagavad Gita

1. Dabangg (Hindi) - means a person who is not afraid of force/ challenge, daredevil
2. Epistemology study of knowledge

Quote

DefLeppard

@DefLeppard

Dazzler

Posted: 5 years ago

#974

As shared by Sakhisangini, essay Garfish Ismail by Engin Akyurek

https://www.facebook.com/EnginAkyurekUniversal/photos/a.236783103008891/2515068585180320/?type=3

Decoding of Garfish Ismail

Disclaimer : Solely personal view

There are only 3 characters in this story. Ismail, Nizam and light.

Ismail is a frail, overburdened young lad, who hangs on a thin line of hope and reality of cold.
Nizam, his father is more resilient to the given conditions of being a junk hawker and completes his duties as the man of the family.

The first few paragraphs deal with the cold season in Ankara and Ismail walking home after his school. He is pounded with several thoughts of reaching home for a supper, a second hand shoe from the day's junk collectibles or the possible bright days ahead (university, being a doctor etc)
Nizam circumvents curious questions from Ismail to put into comfort of a fixing a punctured stove and a possible hot supper.

With the heat from the stove, a tired and hungry Ismail quickly slouches on his books; only to be alerted by his father who was leaving for the market.
When the heat & light from the heater goes down, none of Ismail's efforts bring avail and finally he tears an old red jacket to fuel it further.

Satisfied on being successful he slips back into his sleep only to be disturbed his parents who have returned. His vigilant mother realizes the missing jacket and in disbelief of a break-in at their house and his father is more coping with the situation. Its Ismail who is sheepish to realize his mistake, an guilt of a "thief" that he now carried.

The story of Garfish Ismail unfolds at many levels. Superficially, it brings the poor living conditions of a junk seller at Ankara during winters or a young boy who lives in reverie of comfort while his parents work to make ends meet etc.

Gut feeling says its the toughest message encapsulated in a simple story. How?

A garfish is a commonly found fish species in stagnant fresh waters with long elongated bodies, slow moving and are attracted to light. They are commonly used as bait fish. Did that give you a clue?? ;-) Are there any anglers reading this story?

A very casual Ismail ends his ordinary day in an extraordinary way. His laziness /arrogance to find things to stir up the coal resulted in burning his father's old velvet coat which had the hidden savings.

Hope, comfort and warmth are the metaphors of light used in the story. There should not be any short cuts or negligence in the pursuit of hope, else we will be the trapped into the false light(illusion) and the implication of falling to the trap can be traumatic and long lasting. Maybe Ismail might never want to ask for his shoes to be replaced?

What has compelled Engin to write this story?

News from any region mentions of the youth being trapped into human trafficking, prostitution, drugs & mafia or liberation of a geopolitical region. A little more reading on some of the cover stories show us a pattern that most of the younger population have/had committed the crime in pursuit of hope and comfort of a better life. Did they really know the trap laid on them?

At a meta physical level, how often do we lie /cheat to ourselves to feel good in the name of ignorance, aversion and attachment.

Thank you Engin for showing the right path, to be move forward in the direction of hope, truth and light without being a bait like a garfish to an illusion!!

Closing this decoding with lines from the Brhadaranyaka Upanisad ( Source : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pavamana_Mantra)

oṃ asato mā sadgamaya,

tamaso mā jyotirgamaya,

mṛtyor mā'mṛtaṃ gamaya,

oṃ śāntiḥ śāntiḥ śāntiḥ

This translates to:

Om, from falsehood lead me to truth,

From darkness lead me to the light,

From death lead me to immortality,

Om peace peace peace(Peace in three states of life- physical mental spiritual)

Quote

sakhisangni

@sakhisangni

Inactive

Posted: 4 years ago

#975

Şipşak Hayri

Engin Akyürek’s story for the 30th edition (January - February 2020) of Kafasına Göre Magazine.

Translated by Engin Akyürek For Ever Puerto Rico

When his grandfather whispered his name in his ear, he cried and cried, dropping all his drool. Even though he was a baby in diapers, he felt that the whole story of his life would blow into his soul with his grandfather's breath.

"May your name be Hayri ... May your name be Hayri ... May your name be Hayri."

How could he have felt more dissatisfied, when he looked up at the ceiling and cried with his naked eyes... Even though he was a newborn, his mind and senses were still intact. He would later realize that what was called ‘the name’, happened to everyone, that when you are a baby, other whisper in your ear and you will take it as a sign for lifetime... His personality, his free will, didn't matter at this time. Whatever you give him, he would settle for that... Hayri's misfortune was to feel and store them in his brain with a cause-and-effect relationship.

It was too early to question them. You know, when you're a teenager, you feel like you have a brain in your head, and then you start making noises later, right? Hayri thought about it a lot. There was a lot of time. There was no other bodily action than to eat, drink, and fill his diapers. Although his necessary and unnecessary parents and relatives expected him to laugh and enjoy the joy, he did none of these things. As far as we know, the baby knew all incarnators like him. You were no different than the flower in the pot, much less than the other babies. And when their bellies were hungry and their butts full, they had an habit of making sounds.

Hayri felt when his grandfather whispered his name in his ear... He felt something when he came out of his mother's womb, but not only did he feel it, but he also understood it. He didn't like crying as soon as he came into the world. Would you ever come into this world to cry? He had dried his runny nose and made a decision. The matter of this creature called man was profound. It was impossible to understand, to come up with a solution. There was pain and crying in the end. As the with his mother's milk passed through his immature esophagus, he made a final decision: it was good to surrender, to let go with the wind.

Hayri decided to make the elderly happy and live in the direction of their words and desires. So he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't be sad, he'd laugh in this world. He was circumcised at the time and place his grandfather wanted. He went to the school his father wanted. He played ball with the teammates his mother pointed out to him, and although his heart seemed to change to another football team, he had to wear the team's T-shirt that he never liked with his older brother's grip. When his brother's slaps filled his eyes, he remembered his crying and began to laugh immediately. He tried to help all creatures, even though he sometimes didn't believe in loving all living beings. As he grew up, his favorite promise was at the center of his life, “there's something good in all things.” How deep promise it was. Hayri would think silently about that promise. And the more he thought about it, the closer he felt to the hidden meaning behind the phrase.

He finished elementary and high school with enthusiasm and gratitude, and although his mind seemed as flawless as the day he was born, he progressed badly during the high school years. When his grandfather died, the family fought for inheritance. His father was upset with his brothers because he didn't get his rights. Everything he taught Hayri was buried in the past in exchange for deed. The kinship and the relationship with the neighbors was left behind, moved to another neighborhood. And his brother's debts and misdeeds swept the peace of the home.

What Hayri learned from his family to be happy, he had begun to pollute his immaculate mind by clouding his phrases. The dimples on his face did not help his smile as before, adding a sad shadow to his face.

A father who invested the remaining shares of the property title in the feelings of other women, an unhappy mother, a brother who did not como home, Hayri lost his smile... When he had to work, he gave up his college dreams forever. He began taking passport photos in the store of the photographer Şevket Amca, his uncle’s friend. He was doing his job well, creating aesthetic concerns and trying to be happy with himself. He sought the leaves that hoped to bloom in the polluted world, the people who had not lost their smile; he compared the streets, sidewalks, mountains and hillsides with the images he had kept in his mind. Although photographer Şevket was satisfied with this, he could not fire Hayri, for the sake of his uncle.

"Take it quickly. Are you so worried about the picture?"

No, Hayri cared about waiting and trying. As long as the client walks out the door and puts a smile between his greetings. Didn't the world become a big garbage can to take care of everyone? A little attention, a smile stamped on a photograph was enough to make people feel happy.

One day Şevket Amca arrived late to the store, Hayri was photographing the cats on the street, framing them according to their names and meaning. A tabby cat had posed so beautifully in front of Bahri's shop, the bakery, so he pressed the shutter five times in a row. The moment he said, “Let's take one more,” a beautiful girl sat at the heart of her lens. His mind, his heart, his eyes, the lens got smaller and his eye started beating on the lens. Hayri thought too much about love. He would never know the difference between thinking and living without Ayşe, and the formula he found with his mind, would not become information until his heart fell into the palm of his hand... He felt that the indiscreet complaints of his heart could not be found in his mind. The fact that the girl lived two streets down and came every day to buy the bread from Bahri’s, was enough for the first step. Hayri, who had taken photographs from afar, stood in front of the girl's hands carrying hot bread.

"Hello I am Hayri..."

"Hello I am Ayşe..."

When Ayşe looked at my photos, she wondered if she was so beautiful. That's because she had the heart in her eyes... Hayri immediately told her mother how she felt. Isn't love a little far? The idea of walking away a step from everything raised the shadow that had fallen on Hayri's dimples.

His brother was in the back, his father was at a bar table, his mother was going to ask for the girl's hand. As he walked with a flower in his hand, for the first time, he realized he wanted something for himself. The coffees were served, they went to the girl's hand request. The girl's father growled, her mother began to complain, and before Ayşe could become a bride, she dropped her tears like a stone on the tray she was holding. The girl's father added phrases to her growl:

"You've had the annoyance of coming, but this marriage won’t be done."

Hayri had tried to understand this situation, but there was’nt also a purpose to understanding it in this life either. He thought, “who would want to give his daughter to someone who makes three cents?”, and the more he thought about it, he splashed drops of water into his frightened heart, but his inside didn't cool.

A bag and a camera go along with Hayri on the way. First Germany, then Belgium, then Holland, it’s the way he left. Wasn't love a little far?...

Where he went he tried to find another Hayri, looked inside, in his heart, handled his mind, but could not find it.

He started working for a family of photographers in a Turkish neighborhood in Holland. The interest in his work, his smiling face, which like the statue of David attracted people who didn't even look at him, had led him to earn money and to be loved very much. In his spare time, he had travelled all over Europe by train. As the chief allowed the photographs he had taken to be display in the shop window, he began to call Hayri, who was hiding inside.: "Hayri!”

When he began to understand that there was not a single way to be happy, he began to want more for himself and to place what he could want in the photos.

He started his own business, became his own boss. The photographs he exhibited in his stained-glass window waved in a Turkish neighbourhood in Holland, as a sign of his freedom. If we asked him what freedom was, he could say it was as simple and easy as a photograph taken in the window.

The time was good for Hayri, who, although he was not in love, found someone to share his smile with. He had a son. He thought long before he whispered his name in his son's ear. The boy almost stood up, but had not been named. Hayri argued with his wife every day, but he wanted his son to grow up and choose his own name. 'My son, my son', was enough for now, and more to make the baby not feel unhappy. Hayri knew his son as well as himself...

A group of people swooped into his store, while he was happily taking pictures. Before the halay (1), the wedding guests were lined up in front of the backdrop with a view of their hometown. Hayri had taken guests’s pictures in party suits. Then the groom had come from shaving and the bride from get fixed her hair... In front of the green backdrop, Hayri told me how to take a picture... He framed their bodies and their eyes and gave them the instant formula to be happy. Hayri was in charge of the camera. He looked through the lens of his camera... He didn't want to believe in the image he had to see through his lens glass. When he looked up, he saw Ayşe, the beautiful girl who was going to buy bread, in her wedding dress. A partially cloudy air sat in Hayri's eyes. He wanted to cry, drool, drop everything. The cold inside mixed with a familiar feeling years later. He was frozen behind where he was, and everything he'd been hiding for years fell into his hands. The groom's voice touched her heart, not his ear:

"Brother, are you ok?"

Hayri turned his head and made eye contact with Ayşe... Ayse also recognized him. By making contact, they chose silence out of respect for the occasion. Within few seconds, they thought about what they could have done together and the chance to be happy. It was as if they felt stronger than what they missed. Hayri, with tears in her eyes, had a smile on his face. Like Hayri in diapers...

Endnotes:

(1) Halay - traditional Turkish wedding dance.