Coming home

19 January 2011

So I moved back to my hometown. Or homevillage. The church bells are ringing every fifteen minutes here. The grocery is closing around seven, the tombs in the cemetery have flower-bed and a pint of beer costs less then one euro.

motiv

To adapt. It is a simple process. It basically means to fit into specific conditions, to assimilate, to come back without leaving anything behind. Something like this. I left Istanbul, but that does not mean the world is over. As a matter of fact, I hope it is just beginning. You might want to stay out of my way for a while. Life is funny sometimes, can push pretty hard like when you fall in love with someone but you need to leave him, like when your parents do not understand the change of you, like when your friends forgot about you, like when you pull the trigger or light the flame and you can not take it back so you need to put up with it. Like I said, they call this ‘to adapt’. In life, I call it ‘move forward’.

So I moved back to my home-town. Or home-village, with two thousand citizens. The church bells are ringing every fifteen minutes here. The grocery is closing around seven, the tombs in the cemetery have flower-bed and a pint of beer costs less then one euro. It is like culture shock not being stuck in a traffic jam or to understand every word people say. But still I am not being recognized. Covered in a red coat and black scarf around my head I feel like a ghost walking in silent evening streets, accompanied by a fog and a boy who is carrying broadsheets to mail boxes. And when I forget my keys, I just climb over a wooden fence and open a back door.

And I enter home.

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