stories-by-zmote

[stories-by-zmote]

That shadow in me

“Leave me alone, I’m fine this way!” he screamed. Another cycle of a failed attempt for sure. Every time I try approaching him, this invisible shield materializes and doesn’t let me through. “I’m better alone, I like it alone, I’m a lone wolf” he said the last time. A romantic thought, being alone, being fine with being alone. I pondered about this for a long time... about being alone, finding energy in loneliness. Everywhere he goes, he likes to repeat it, how superior being alone is. How marriage, a partner, friendship, all are just illusions to keep you under, to control you. That through being alone he truly has found freedom.” “Religion, politics, social norms, big companies... all excuses to control the masses, opium for those fools who like being fools!” he’d sometimes enthusiastically exclaim. “We’re but biological beings, commands, functions, blood and flesh, a vessel for an evolutionary machination... love is just a biological function, the need for friendship only a byproduct of the survival instinct...” and on and on he’d go. In his world, these arguments seem to hold a high value, unshakable truths, experience gained through years of hardship and living in itself.  I always wondered, while he was preaching his world view, his own system of belief, was he aware? Aware that having experienced something doesn’t necessarily equate having learned anything. People make wrong experiences and hold on to the truths in them, because not doing so would mean being foolish. That experience is strongly subjective. That an outcome of a situation with almost the identical parameters can widely differ. That subjecting yourself solely to your own experiences, means subjecting yourself to chaos. And that chaos begets chaos... so I keep wondering. I don’t think he isn’t aware. I think he is. I think he needs the things he says to be true, because otherwise it would mean having to confront all of his own faults head on. Someone who likes being alone isn’t someone who likes to have his ideas challenged. He likes this lonely place behind the invisible shield, because there he is never wrong. Secluded, protected, safe... so he keeps lying to himself. And now after years of lying to himself, he starts believing his own lies. I wonder, does he realize, that only because “love” being a biological phenomena... doesn’t mean that it’s not real. Maybe it’s the other way around, maybe because of love we have those biological symptoms. The vessel simulating the souls needs in the physical domain. Sometimes it makes me laugh, this equation, biological function = not real. It’s like watching a water faucet and getting angry at people for believing it’s providing water. But it is, isn’t it? Providing water. Does the fact of it’s internal machination diminish it’s effect? I think he needs the equation to be true, biological function = not real, because otherwise he’d have to face the simple fact that he is just afraid. Afraid of not being liked, not being loved... not able to participate... afraid of not functioning correctly, being less... so he calls it an “illusion”. And calls the people who participate in it “fools”. This way he can feel superior, keep in control and not feel worthless.  But what worth is there, to make yourself feel better, by reducing others in their value? Maybe he should be more courageous, that even if he is failing to participate in something, rather than blaming the thing to be faulty, to accept the fact that something’s not right with him. That maybe, he just needs more patience. That spouting stupid things like “I like being alone” convinces only you. And to all others, it sounds more like “why does no one like me?”.

If you’ve built a wall for so many years to protect yourself from confronting the realities in your life... it seems almost impossible that anyone would reach you, anyway. So keep on lying to yourself... keep on blaming religion, politics, big companies, social norms... although all of these may have a contributing effect, they’re never the core of your issues. And I think, he is aware of that. I am aware of that.

[stories-by-zmote]

Accursed! Foul, evil, misbegotten and vile filth! Creature of deceit, dishonor and defraud! I denounce thee and all the ties anon! May you find no mercy and hell be your eternal rest!

- Zmote, passage from "A lone path", A moment of betrayal

[stories-by-zmote]

We are like a crippled old man, gazing into a mirror. In our reflection we don’t see our crippled state, but rather we imagine a dark shadow shackling our potential.

- Zmote. The state of our people.

[stories-by-zmote]

A last encounter in the world of dreams

There you were. And there I was.

The moon’s gaze was still upon us.

Surrounded by mighty mountains,

In each others final stare.

You asked me ‘Do you want to stay?’

I answered ‘No’

‘But in truth, I really don’t want to go’…

‘You’ll miss your train’ she said.

‘Don’t worry, it won’t matter’ I said.

The faint memory then vanished.

All hope and desire perished.

There you stood. There I was walking.

A strange dream, perhaps not worth of talking.

Maybe a farewell. Maybe a goodbye.

Perhaps a madman’s illusion seen

Through a teary eye…

Who can say, who can deny,

The future, the past, the present

Nor our fate we can defy…

[stories-by-zmote]

Thoughts on the day

Do you feel the sun rise in the morning or do you lament the fall of the moon?

A curious journey through the flow of time, bouncing off the wrinkles of this old sphere, our temporary home - the blue planet.

Have you gone out today, breathed in the fresh air of spring? The cleansing air touches your lungs and triggers a new sensation within - you feel alive once more; and once more your woes vanish into thin air.

The ground we stand and walk upon, a mix of earth and seeds of life. There exists another world, on a different scale and with another purpose.

A plain field of grass I desire, a horse and a saddle, to ride towards the horizon, discover, breath and rise to new heights with my soul.

I am a free man; no human shall dare to bind me. I will tear apart the chains of bondage and rise my hands towards the sky. For this world and the life forms on it are my responsibility.

A scream into the empty space in front of me, a cry for help or a call for charge? Everything we do, everything we say; we have our own way with them. Manipulating, displacing, tearing apart certain parts of the sentence, modifying, desecrating… with the sole purpose to fit them into our truth, our own reality.

We like to keep the comfort, we don’t want to be challenged, don’t want to feel mislead, betrayed, used. And yet still something within calls us, burns inside of us: our voice of remorse.

Our souls have a way of telling us what is wrong; if you haven’t torn your bonds to it, that is. If you fall silent to a crime, to injustice far too many times, the grip of your soul will weaken and your humanity with it. If you force the boundaries of shame far too often, you’ll start to become impervious to malice and because of it to its consequences.

Breathe in the air around you, breathe. Freedom isn’t something only a certain group of people are entitled to. Peace shouldn’t be a luxury, war shouldn’t be an option.

But the moment freedom degenerates to “my freedom” we fall apart and all kinds of atrocities occur.

Do you know what war is? What violence implicates? Forcing your opinion onto someone, because you weren’t able to do so with your wit, or because you were ignorant of your opposites desires; focused with your own ego.

It seems as we have always lived in peace around here; war seems impossible in this section of the earth. What do you think is the reason for that? Our democracy? Our constitution? Our superior culture? Maybe we are just better people?

Maybe the answers isn’t a plain sentence trying to explain it. Maybe we ought to ask, are we truly living in peace? Or are we just ignoring the misfortunes of other people successfully?

We buy the illusion of peace far to gratefully, because no one likes the reality that things in the world aren’t going well.

We buy the illusion, as long as the misfortunes don’t touch us.

What does that make us?

PS: Sorry for the disconnect between certain sentences, can’t really focus my thoughts today. :)

[stories-by-zmote]

Recalling a dream

I usually write about philosophical ideas of mine or from personal experiences. Sometimes I mix those two subjects by merging them within a fictive story.

Today I want to do something different. I want to recall my dream. I desire to write down what happened there. Those rare instances I remember them… I have a special connection and relation towards my dreams.

So bear with me, while I recall and retell my dream to you:

I’m on a plane. We’re flying. My parents are next to me. We are going to Turkey, the land of my ancestors. The air outside is cloudy, there is a weird orange hue on all of the colors, desaturated, a monochrome scene presents itself.

A flash, a scene-cut, darkness. Next I remember I’m in a room with a bunch of old friends. I feel warm, I feel secure. I know them, I’ve known them for a long time. They aren’t my current friends, they had been my friends. But I feel like it’s been just yesterday. I don’t feel as if I don’t belong, quite the opposite.

It’s a big room. Large enough for eight to ten people to sit down in a large circle and the room still looks huge. It’s weird. We’re bored. I remember how I came here, I feel it. But I can’t recall the steps. Visually, there is only a cut, but emotionally I know. I know how everything has come to this moment. It’s a weird gap of knowledge - I don’t question it.

One of the guys stands up, walks into the hallway next-door, picks up something and reenters the room. He’s got some kind of a board game. We pull it out and start to play it. Some kind of money game, maybe Monopoly? I’m not sure.

We play. It’s fun in the beginning, but for some reason I feel uneasy. Tension is rising. Someone isn’t playing the game right.

Before thing escalate, my sixth grade teacher shows up and says we need to leave. I look outside the window. It’s raining. The water outside has risen up to the small, yet wide windows situated on the top of the right wall, right opposite the entrance. It’s a dirty, desaturated green-brownish fluid, swapping between the former and a warm brown/beige color. The water has soaked up all the mud and dirt from beneath, it’s not pure, it tells me with color only: I’m hostile. But the waves that the storm outside punches into the water have a bluish-turquoise tint. I’ve never seen something like that before, it’s like the attributes of two different kinds of waters had gotten mixed up their attributes.

We leave in a hurry. We enter a bus. Outside the storm is transforming into a typhoon. The streets are flooded, the water carries bits and pieces of the environment - it’s latest prey being a tropical tree.

A moment of awkwardness: I have to reach my plane back and for some reason, I’m not at all alarmed by the chaos raging outside the bus. My teacher looks at me and says: “We’re gonna make it, don’t worry!”

I want to believe him. I feel that it’s right. I feel it’s true. I’m going to make it.

Another scene-cut, darkness.

I’m awake.

I don’t usually remember my dreams, but when I do, I’m always mesmerized how extraordinary they are. No where near the old “dinosaur is chasing me” dreams or “I’m driving down this road to fast, I’m going to die” type. These kinds of dreams, they always bear a meaning.

I’m not saying that because I want them to bear meaning. I’m saying that because I wake up with that feeling; this was important.

Thank you for your time. 

[stories-by-zmote]

Forced Mistakes

When you look out the window, do you feel a sense of guilt? Have you done something wrong outside those four walls you spend most of your life in? Does you conscience vibrate when you remember back?

There are various kinds of mistakes we as human beings can commit. There are those we plan, there are those we accidentally cause because of carelessness. But there is one kind of mistake that is quite hard to deal with. The forced mistakes.

Confrontations are an essential part of our lives. Sometimes we fight over a subject for so long that after a while we get annoyed in such a manner, we start saying stuff we usual would never say.

It’s not because we mean what we say, but because we are fed up, angered, annoyed, disturbed by all the continuing fighting.

When we reach the phase were logic arguments don’t have any value anymore and it’s only about “I’m right because I say so” things tend to get ugly pretty quick. Because what else is the abandonment of logic and proper argumentation but a prelude to “I want to punch you in your face so hard!”?

With strangers I guess this kind of struggle you could bear with, because you have the option not to talk and avoid that person. You can cut all ties and not speak to him/her anymore and the problem doesn’t exist anymore.

But if you are having this kind of involvement with someone from the family… oh boy. You can’t avoid them, you have to speak to them and no matter what you say, you’re wrong. You can’t punch them, because, well, they’re family.

This is what is called an impasse. A dead-end in which you’re pushed into a corner, not allowed to defend yourself without causing a major drama.

And exactly there, when we are pushed into that corner we start to say pretty rude things. Stuff we never mean truthfully, but just for the sake not to suffocate, we throw a punishing punch with words, hoping to escape the deadlock.

You might get to breathe, but the interpretation of what you just said is now totally at the mercy of your “opponent”. They might make a huge deal out of it or realize that this is just a reflex answer of being pushed into the corner.

These forced mistakes, well, they are the worst kind of mistakes. Because you know you didn’t mean it and you only said it due to the afore mentioned reasons. Your opponent makes a huge deal out of it, tries to disassemble you. And when this person is your mother or father, you know you have to apologize sooner or alter. But you don’t want to because you know it’s not your fault. But your mom or your dad won’t talk to you if you don’t show at least the tiniest sign of regret.

What follows is literally a cold war. No one talks, but you try to hurt your opponent whenever you get the chance. High electric fees? It must be your fault! Ridiculously high taxes? Only because of you!

Sometimes its better to avoid certain topics with family members. One of these being politics. Trust me, you’ll be forced to make a mistake in discussions about politics.

[stories-by-zmote]

Questions without end

Waking up in the morning, asking yourself the same question once more: Who am I?

You stand up, walk towards the door, encounter your mother, your father or your beloved one, and you ask yourself: where is all of this going?

A shower, a breakfast, you leave the house for work and you catch yourself wondering: what am I doing with my life?

Do you know the feeling of emptiness towards questions you postpone to answer? The same, consciousness drilling, agony triggering emptiness that haunts you with those other question marks in your life.

An infinitely long string of troubling, nerve-racking questions that serve only the purpose of enlarging the hole of darkness within.

Over and over we roll and we seek for the answers. But with every answer ten new questions rise and we find ourselves trapped within the devil’s circle.

A terrible situation to be in and a state no one would trade you for. The abyss of the unknown and uncertainty, the life of mystery evoking only negativity. And if one would dare to raise their hands towards the heavens and their tears might drop on the hot floor beneath they are caught upon, evaporating the drop of hope in an instant, none would help and everything would be left to final despair. The thoughts of those lost in the circle…

Chained beneath the earth, in a deep cave, face front towards the wall showing a play of shadows. The allegory of Plato. Maybe it is the guilt of the one who seeks a resolve through the shadows on the walls. Would he turn around and detect the light shining through the entrance of the cave, he might drop the questions and start the climb.

But life isn’t as simple as that a body turn could lift you out of the cave. It’s a struggle. A fight against the chains at your feet, at your hands. A climb that will wound you, make you bleed and is in general related with all sorts of pain. Your close ones will try to hinder you, because they themselves are waiting at the bottom of the cave, chained and in trance by the play of the shadows on the wall. Some do not question them, some just enjoy them, declare them as truth. Their truth. And anyone trying to escape the pit they regard with animosity and insult them with wasting time.

Indeed. The fall into the pit might be a hazy process one might not keep track of. Not realizing the fall, one feels the hit and finds a different truth beneath the earth. A fact of life they gladly accept, if it only means for a moment to escape the world outside. And why should they not, there are plenty of like-minded souls sharing the same fate, enjoying the play on the walls.

But what argument is there to not give up, to not be content with your place in the cave?

Maybe, and just maybe, it’s not about asking questions all the time to get out of that dark place. Maybe, it’s just about asking the right questions. Because the amount of questions you can ask is infinite, but the amount of questions you need to ask, is not.

[stories-by-zmote]

Head tilt and synchronize

When I get utterly bored I go for a drive. I take the car, turn up the music and hit the roads. And if its warm enough outside, I open the windows and let the breeze stroke my face.

I like driving. I like the feel of independence and being able to go wherever I want. Maybe it sounds contradictory, but when you’re on the roads, the world feels even bigger.

The car is my cubicle from which I observe my surroundings. I breath in freedom and exhale all negativity.

Time is a value in abundance when the wheels roll. Isn’t it the theorem of Einstein relativity dictating: moving objects experience time slower?

The car option is the short cut solution to feel freedom in a matter of minutes.

My ancestors have lived on horseback for centuries on the windy steps of central Asia. Maybe it’s this hard-wired feeling of freedom in our gen pool that in confrontation of the modern lifestyle finds a calming warmth within a similar activity, namely on the “back” of the modern age’s horses, the automobiles.

On the freeway I stretch my hand out and let it glide on the wind. The invisible force encompassing my palm triggers a feel of security within. I look through the front window and for a glimpse of a moment everything makes sense and the troubles of the day loosen their grip on my throat.

The blue of the sky vibrates and the light of the sun paints the highlights a bright, warm yellow. A play of warm and cool widen my portals to the world. The mistakes I’ve done now vanish, washed clean by the tears my eyes now release. I am a free man.

Before I return home I look up - through the window on the top I observe the blue sky. I am on the freeway still. There is something else up in the sky, just above my car. A swarm of birds, flapping their wings, flying in the same speed the car moves. And there I am, head tilted and in synchronization with the universe.

A spark of being alive - I feel alive. I am a free man.

[stories-by-zmote]

The finger pointing towards the mountain top.

Throughout life, we seek happiness. Happiness and peace. We want to love and be loved. The desire of warmth and security has found a profound place in our hearts.

So then how is it we are incapable of achieving what we ache for with such vehemence?

“Do you look beyond the window or through it?” my mind asks. I wish I could answer “I always look beyond!” but it would be far from the truth. How often do we stop and try to visualize our planet in relation to our existences? Do we frequently judge and decide with the whole picture in mind or are we generally selfish beings who choose what’s in our interest and our interest alone?

What mindset stirs the way of thinking to a happier life?

“An interesting question” you say? Or “how stupid” is what you’d identify those lines with?

There are so many philosophical approaches to our existence on this planet next to religious ones. Is it possible for them to co-exist?

Happiness, what does it truly mean? Is it happiness when you feel without worries or that you’re content with your current situation in life? Does happiness occasionally imply to ignore certain events in your life?

I can’t resonate with the thought of true happiness, even though we all strive for it in our own ways. Whilst the definition of happiness may differ from person to person, the attributes related with it are generally the same. Content with your situation, free from sorrow and angst. And number of other, similar things.

It’s like perfect love. We all strive for it, but we never actually reach it. When the curtains of love fall and the person you revered stands before you with all his or her faults, reality strikes.

Happiness, perfect love, true peace… aren’t they all but unattainable goals? Aren’t our emotional expectations revealing one crucial fact about our existence on earth? I think they do.

Even if at a certain point in life we settle with a portion of those things or when we accept their appearances every now and then, we still do so by realizing our short time on this planet and in proportion figure out those goals to be unreachable. We settle for our journey with the amount we need are we can’t live without, but hope for the big package when finally, one day, we reach the tip of the mountain, the goal of our journey.

We are but journeyers.

Strangers on this world, passing through. And every time we try to settle, this place makes it clear to us: we aren’t welcome here.

And because we are strangers to this world and because we are passing through, we have to show tolerance.

Because this world shows tolerance towards us. It feeds us, it delivers us with materials to live by, to protect with and to find shelter under.

And through tolerance living alongside one another will become one tad easier. Attaining bits and pieces of happiness, of love will become easier. Thus the journey will become easier, more enjoyable, more bearable.

It would be a mistake to assume the possibility of perfect tolerance though.

But it would be equally foolish to not put tolerance and respect on the top of the priority list.

Because tolerance is like a roof, sheltering beneath all the other goals in our life.

PS: I might have lost the thread here and there, I’m sorry for that. Haven’t been writing for a while. :)

[stories-by-zmote]

And all spins around once more

When I stop for a moment and look around myself…

The thing I ought stopping to do in the future. Maybe.

Or maybe I should do it more? I don’t know.

I should get help. But help costs money, or at least useful ones do. The ones you get from “family” and “friends” is as cheap as Alkaline batteries.

I’m confused. Irritated by all of the development going on around me. I’m sad. I feel the pathetic factor grow stronger. I fear. I’m afraid of landing in the gutter.

My ambitions now seems nothing more than pieces of paper hung up on an imaginary tree’s branches… awaiting the next breeze to tear them away.

We are but voices to be smothered. People without worth. Lost creatures wandering the surface of the earth wondering about the purpose of existence.

Is it strange that it should be the people detached from the bonds of society and humanity who question their being the most frequent?

What comes down to earth, what goes up to heaven? Who knows. Or does somebody? Are we choosing to be ignorant? Are we expecting to know more than everyone else?

I am confused. Irritated. Everything goes downhill. I had such great plans for the future. I was going to be somebody. And now I am here, to be exactly nobody. No one cares. Everyone tries to get rid of the responsibility. They are correct to do so as well. I have overstayed my welcome.

Life was supposed to be easy. Things were supposed to be arriving in a certain order. School. Job. Marriage. Children. The rest.

But where am I at now? None of these apply. And the way it seems, none of these will ever come to be.

Have I already chosen a path for my own? Am I already walking towards a horizon from which there is no return?

My heart grows colder. My stomach bigger. I’m loosing my humanity and am transforming into an animal.

I haven’t lost hope. I haven’t given up yet. But maybe I’m out of “ambition”-juice. Everything feels so empty. I feel empty. You feel empty. My fingers do as well.

When was it, the last time I just observed something? Just sat down and observed it only to enjoy and not to learn from it?

And have I actually ever learned from observing?

Experience, so it seems, is made of the bits and pieces that stick on your face after the mud-balls hit. You could say, experience of some, is the residual shit on their faces…

I think I am in a down phase. I think I’ll be better soon. Although I have been whispering those words for months now. Maybe I won’t be better soon. Maybe everything will go to hell in the next hour.

I’m confused. Irritated. And all spins around once more.

My life, so it appears, has become a wrecked ship at the edge of a vortex out on the sea. I say, ahoy to thee!

[stories-by-zmote]

The finish line - End of one Month challenge

Here we are my dear readers. The finishing line. The final day of the challenge and I’m typing with an enormous speed!

Not because I’m happy about the end of the challenge. I’m happy because I’ve finished this one month marathon.

Finishing is a good thing. A nice flush of hormones assuring you - yes, you’ve done it.

I think it’s important to finish stuff, no matter what you’re doing. The sense of accomplishment, even from the tiniest of tasks can set you in the right set of mind to continue and achieve more.

I have started to write with the goal to achieve more back in summer 2013 and glancing over the time period from then to now I’m quite impressed by myself. Not only have I written a ton of stuff, I’ve also written subject oriented articles, one of which might even appear in a magazine sometime soon.

Additionally there is my story: “The lone path.” Last I checked I was somewhere around 20’000 words so it will be a blast to work it up to 100’000 our even more.

The goal of needing to write “400’000” words before finding your inner voice is a strong drive. But it’s not something that will replace learning the intricacies of writing. I still have that book “Story writing” lying around which is, as the name suggest, about story writing.

I hope to find useful notes and theories on how to write with more success and incite more interest with my stories. Yet that’s not all I’m looking forward after the challenge.

This challenge, like the art camp during summer 2013, has been an eye opener. I’ve begun to see doors and paths I was unable to perceive before. I’ve connected with sources which I think will be awesome in constantly honing my skills and carrying my writer persona even further towards my personal goals.

Writing hasn’t been a priority up until now and I doubt it will be able to replace my art priority. But with certain things in my life, it will be a priority just next to doing art and producing music. If I could I’d put them all on the same level, but that’s not how life works. Some things need to be taken care of with more care during certain phases than others. This month it was writing. After this month it will be art again.

But I’m glad. I’m content with my achievement. I’m satisfied with what I’ve accomplished and with what I’m able to accomplish if I keep going like this.

This challenge has been a huge impact on my life as a writer and I’m thankful for Jeff for doing this with us and doing this for free as well.

I haven’t skipped a day, I’ve finished all of the challenges, or almost all. I might have changed certain subjects in the beginning. But sadly I didn’t manage to write 500 Words every day. Sometimes I had to write three to four articles a day to be back on track again. But that’s OK. It showed me that I could write well over 500 Words a day, too. So I guess I shouldn’t be complaining.

This was an exciting month and I’ve come to love writing even more. I’ve been writing for six months now in a foreign language and I think, in general, I’m doing a fairly good job. I will start to write in my mother tongue very soon as well. And I know for a fact that the amount of words I know in German is far more extended than the words I know in English. Though I hope to work on both word capacities, at times it can be very limiting writing in English, I admit.

Doesn’t matter though, how are you going to learn without trying? How will you learn without failing?

These are important core principles I live my life by. No goals are too high. There is work and there is time to work. So let’s get busy working.

Thanks and my best regards,

Zmote

[stories-by-zmote]

The past shaping me…

Back in those days… huh. Childhood can be a very interesting time-period in one’s life.

I do have happy memories from those times, I admit. I especially remember the camera our father bought when we were little. My sisters would constantly shoot something with it - comedy skits, movie scene recreations, news acting, you name it.

Even though today it is but a medium of recording who replays our past with the power of illusion, I know deep in my heart it was much more to us.

It was first of all new technology and something unseen. A camera, so it seemed, was this symbol: Yeah, we had wealth. But it was more actually, it offered us so much more beyond that thought.

Back then, it wasn’t a tool for memories. It was this tool at our hands to do the same we had seen on the TV before. We had this habit of recording our beloved shows and replay it over and over again. Especially those old, bu classic Turkish shows had a profound place in our hearts.

So when the camera arrived and we figured its possibilities, I think it was an extraordinary moment. For the first time it felt like having connected with what we’ve been seeing on the television. Now it seemed we held our own portal to the world in our hands…

Through that connection a new, exciting world opened itself to me. I think my passions for the entertainment business can be tracked down to those times.

We’d dress in silly clothes and paint our faces while getting ready for the shot. We’d go outside, visit the factory of our parents and act like we were reporters.

Ah funny days. Silly funny days and how fast everything changes. We were without worries when we were children, we didn’t know what discrimination meant, we didn’t know and thus we saw everyone in the same light.

I remember how we’d go In-line Skating to malls and what big experiences it would be for us. Especially the fact that your roller skates would flow much smoother on the mall ground was reason enough to go there. But it also meant access to various new items. And with the little money we had in our pockets, we’d choose carefully what to buy.

There was this one restaurant in that mall, in the upper level. There you could buy a half liter of Syrup in water for 0.50 CHF which was just about what we could afford. But that feeling, I won’t forget it. We felt like kings, like grown-ups…

Yes, back when we were children, even this tiny village of ours seemed enormous and certain parts of it appeared like a part of a hidden world.

Of course the main reason for this perception was how poor the section we lived in actually was, but we couldn’t know that. For us that was the norm and everything beyond special.

There are so many memories of my childhood here in this village I still live in. Maybe one day I shall write them down, one by one and in full extent. 

[stories-by-zmote]

My personal Eulogy

There weren’t many people gathered for my funeral. In fact, the only ones present where the Imam and the people who would be burying me. I figure I passed at my desk, working as always. I think I am somewhat surprised. But maybe I shouldn’t be. I never was the people’s guy. I was that loner old dude who wasn’t married and knew only to work.

I am hovering in the sky, I don’t see my limbs nor my body. I think I’m a ghost. Maybe I’m just a soul waiting for my body to be buried, seems much more truthful. Though I don’t know why I am in this state. Maybe to see how my death was received by those I called “friends” and family.

Maybe I should be sad or even worried. Maybe I should wonder why my nieces and nephews aren’t around. I should question why my brother hasn’t shown up. He was too busy most certainly. At least I want to think of him he was.

The seconds pass and the cemetery workers finish digging the final centimeters. I am wrapped around in white sheet of cloth, my face is all white and emotionless. Just as it was when I was alive I figure.

I didn’t recognize the place they were going to bury me. I imagined I would be put next to my family members in our village in Turkey. But reviewing my life and my interactions with the people around me, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised about this.

Someone joins the burial now. The diggers put me down and start closing the hole.

There is a pull from my body, it’s calling me. But the pull is weak, so I still have time to watch what’s happening. With the new persons arrival I first figured the rest would soon follow, but I was wrong. The moment the workers finished closing my tomb the Imam started to read prayers.

So no one else was to come to this “joyful” event. That’s OK. At least someone showed up. I wonder who she is.

The Imam finished his prayers and they now leave my tomb. Only the one person who just arrived minutes ago was staying there in front of my resting place.

I was close to the floor by now and could recognize the woman who was waiting alone there. The weather suddenly changed and it started to rain.

I looked into her face now. I knew who she was. It was my niece, the eldest one. She stood there in the rain, her clothes were getting wet. I couldn’t figure out if she was crying or if it were the rain drops. But then she started to speak.

“Uncle… Uncle… my dear uncle. You were a lone man even in your youth. But you weren’t a heartless man, I know. I know how much you loved us. How much you loved me. It aches me to see how no one else was willing to appear for your burial. I don’t understand their point of view. They say you despised them. They say you never actually loved us and the only reason why you tolerated us was due to you expecting to gain something out of it in the future.

I don’t believe their accusations, Uncle. I know, I just know you didn’t bear such ill-emotions in you.

I have come here today, because your death meant a loss for me and it touched me. Your entire life, it seemed, was one change after another. I’ve heard of your failed love relationship with her. She said to me she was glad how things turned out. She said if she had married you she would have been unhappy. I don’t know what to think of that. I only now how long you have been in love with her and that alone tells me how much love you had in you.

Father told me about your failed business endeavors, too. How ambitious you were. How far you had dreamed. All the things you wanted to accomplish, Father told me.

Uncle, it aches me even more seeing how you haven’t succeeded. How your life has been one let down after the other. You certainly tried, seeing all of your works left behind in your house.

But in their eyes, you were a lecher. They say you kept asking for money, kept asking them to believe in you. They say that you did so deliberately. They say you lived from their money.

I don’t want to believe that Uncle. I want to believe what my father believes. I want to believe that you tried you hardest in succeeding in your goals. I want to believe that in your world we were very important, but due to what you thought you needed to achieve, you couldn’t spare much time with us.

Yes, Uncle, I want to believe that.

I want to believe that you mattered. I want to believe that you were someone.

In your testament, you haven’t mentioned anyone of the family to be the heir for your possessions. You decreed in it that in an event of death, they were to be transfered to the light schools.

Uncle… I don’t know what to say anymore. I wish I could have spent more time with you. I wish I could have known you better.

I’m going to leave now. I’ll be back next week, I promise.

Take care.”

And then she left. My niece, the first born of my older sister. She with whom I earned the title of “Uncle”. My beloved niece, only she had come…

The pull got stronger now. I vanished beneath the earth and the next moment I found myself back in my body, unable to move it.

I thought about what I had seen. I thought about my death and what was about to come.

My last thought before my trials begin. I want to say a final word to the world I have left behind: “Thank you.”

[stories-by-zmote]

About disappointment

Write about disappointment

How can you expect from yourself NOT to disappoint yourself or the people who believe in you when you’re going through constant change? I’m not talking the usual kind of change here, it’s the kind of changes that turn your life over.

When I was a kid and they asked me what I wanted to be my answer was an astronaut. Pretty routine answer, isn’t it? I won’t even try to make it look like I really wanted to become an astronaut.

I didn’t know what being an astronaut meant, as I figure most of the kids didn’t. I only knew they went up into space, but what space really was and what was so special about it was a mystery back then.

But there was one thing I was sure of when I was a kid. The only thing I was really excelling in was math. Mainly due to me being a foreigner and not really being able to use German properly, Math was a branch I could “prove” myself in and thus it spoke to me.

This state of things pushed me towards an educational path that was paved with numbers and formulas.

When I was entering the high school exams, I went specifically for the Physics and Applied Mathematics branch. Apparently the hardest one you could take during high school, too. I felt kind of proud. Though I failed the exams the first time around…

During high school I advanced on my chosen path. Four years of Applied Mathematics and Physics and I was ready to study at the ETH, one of the most prestigious universities in Switzerland. I seriously thought that was what I wanted.

The first semester didn’t go quite the way I imagined. I had a lot of transportation problems, it was a long travel from where I was living, too. And with my increasing activities in the Informatics bureau of my cousin, my desire to express all those boiled up feelings became stronger and stronger.

You see when I was a kid I actually was writing poems and was drawing from time to time, too. Me and my friend had this habit to make our own comics with Dragonball characters… with stick men of course. We were kids, we didn’t know how to draw for God’s sake.

Yeah, yeah, we did those Anime/Manga type reproductions of our favourite characters as well. But nothing too serious in my honest opinion. Especially if I listen to some artists and their childhood stories, my childhood experience in the arts is fairly limited except the poetry site.

Oh and I “forgot” to tell you that during regular school there was this hype among the boys of becoming a programmer. So I had ambitions in becoming a programmer, too.

Why am I telling you all of this? You see, those factors all came to play a big role after high school in confusing the hell out of me of what I wanted to actually become.

After the first semester at the ETH I figured pyhsics nor math was something I wanted to do for a living, so I changed the university. Back then I didn’t know how serious I was going to be about arts, so the next choice in line was becoming a programmer, thus I entered a technical university, the one I’m currently studying at.

Soon after though I discovered, finally, what I really wanted to do for a living or even for life: I wanted to tell my stories. I wanted to move people, I wanted to share my thoughts with them through film, music, paintings and books.

I am 24 years old by now. I went to the ETH when I was 21 years old. So as you can imagine, those past three years have been filled with disappointments, personal goals not being met and more importantly I think I have been quite the disappointment for my parents, because my life wasn’t going anywhere and I’m just now getting things moving.

The lesson I want you to take with you from my little story is that the sooner you figure out what you want to do in life, the sooner things will move the way you want.

The older you get the more things like your friends and people you know getting married etc. start affecting your life choices.

So get busy figuring out what you want, try out different jobs, engage yourself with stuff you have never done before, but please, for the love of God, figure out exactly what you want to become by the time you hit college.

[stories-by-zmote]

A travel report and review - Three weeks in Dublin

Back when I was in high school, we had this obligatory language trip we needed to do. We had two options, one was Nice in France and the other Dublin in Ireland. I went with Dublin, because I had a troublesome relationship with the French language back then.

I was actually pretty psyched about going to Dublin, you know. In Turkey there is this perception of the Irish being our “friends”. No idea where this comes from, although people say it’s because of a late Ottoman Sultan who supported the Irish rebels against the English.

So you see, I was expecting to enter a country of fairly friendly people! To be fair though, it might have been just the family I stayed with who caused me major disappointment.

When our class arrived there, everyone’s “care parents” were already waiting, except mine. I watched my classmates, one by one, take a leave until I alone were left with my baggage and the head organizer of the meeting event. He took me to his home and let me stay with him for about two days until they found another family who could take me in.

You see, apparently, just the day I arrived in Dublin, some relatives in Spain of the family I was going to stay with had died and because of the grief and whatnot they couldn’t take me in anymore.

Alright I thought, there ought to be another family! But you see, apparently, there aren’t many families who take in a Muslim like me. I was so glad that it was the month of Ramadan, too, made everything so much more easier to bear.

So after two days of searching one family was ready to “tolerate” a Muslim in their household and so I left for that new home.

They put me in a huge room and it was almost November, so even though the heating was on, it didn’t do any good at all. And because I didn’t know that it was a death sin to turn up the heating to heat up the room a little bit, my “hosts” kindly told me that if I were to repeat that they would throw me out.

Nice people.

And because it was Ramadan I had to get up early and eat something before the sun rose. I seriously tried my best to make as little noise as possible. I mean it could take me several minutes to go into the kitchen, even though it was right next door.

But that much caution wasn’t enough as well. My host’s wife apparently noticed and said I was making a hell of a noise in the morning and once again I was threatened to be thrown out.

I’m a proud person. When they threatened me to throw out the second time, even though I had already paid for my this ****** trip, I got angry and a fight broke loose.

Naturally, I contacted my English teacher from Switzerland - who was also staying in Dublin for the time being - and asked her to relocate me, because my hosts were causing me troubles. She didn’t. She said she couldn’t do anything and that if I needed to move out that I had to stay at a hotel, for which I had to pay for additionally.

I was very grateful for having had a English teacher this helpful, it was a blast having her there and she was so useful, too.

But you know, you gotta pay for your stay, even though you had been paying for a trip WITH stay all these years in high school. And apparently I couldn’t benefit from those “investments” for some reason.

Well, I was ready to pay more if it meant not having to deal with those idiots. But somehow things got figured out and I stayed with the same hosts, with a constant tension.

Not much had changed, I still was freezing in the nights and still couldn’t use the kitchen for eating in the mornings, so I bought crackers and some bottles to drink from and made the best out of my situation.

I stayed like three weeks there and kept to my room most of the time; I had no other options, I was constantly faced with being thrown out.

The instants in which I got to talk to them were generally shadowed by Irish paranoia. I remember once I was sitting in the kitchen and talking to two of my classmates who were staying in the same house and we naturally started talking in Swiss-German.

The mother came up to us and accused us of talking behind her back and demeaning her. And then she spoke in some strange language that I think was an abbreviation of some kind of Celtic.

So all in all, the trip to Dublin was quite the experience for me. I never before felt this unwanted in a country. This statement includes experiences outside the household I was staying in.

Ireland is beautiful, don’t get me wrong. We went to Galway and that other “famous” city and they were truly amazing. But I didn’t get along well with the Irish I’m sad to say. I thought I knew what discrimination meant from my experiences in Switzerland, but Ireland has shown me a whole new level in this respect.

Well, there is one special thing I learned from this: some national perceptions can be totally off. 

[stories-by-zmote]

What moves me (no “that” or adverbs in this article)

If there is a justice out there, than it isn’t human made. Humans are fragile creatures. We are driven by our selfish desires and our “urges”.

Throughout the history of mankind there is a pattern of failure. A submission to our lower needs and the consequences emerging from it.

Justice, as the word implies, is a divine thing, for only the divine may fully judge seeing all the factors accumulating a case, and hence, deliver justice.

And yet still we cry out because of non-execution of justice, earthly, human made justice… knowing of mankind’s inability to perform proper execution of it.

We arrest those who steal, but we don’t do anything about those who drove them to their current situation. We abandon every sense of shame and morality and complain about their consequences.

Life, as short as it is, has so many layers to it. And the search for justice is one of them. I believe it’s a journey without a goal, without a target. As many people say, the end isn’t what counts, it’s the journey itself, right?

I figure for people who don’t believe in any divine entity, be it God or something else, earth must seem like a pretty cruel and horrible place. Because for those who believe at least there is the consolation of receiving justice after death. For those who don’t though, it’s an unjust world and soon one thought will occupy their minds: survival of the fittest. And this thought alone is cause for more injustice.

Don’t get me wrong here though. Most people aren’t hard-wired in any belief by default. Most of the time people are undecided on a lot of things. Even those who grow up in a religious household, quite a lot of the doctrines in our believes are accepted by habit, but in the case of a stress test, we find ourselves hesitating… reflecting, for the first time maybe, about the doctrine in question.

Back to our topic though, justice. How do we achieve justice? How do form our time on this world so we can speak of justice?

Maybe the answer lies in abandoning the search for personal justice? I don’t know. It’s a tough question. Even though todays justice systems in some countries are quite advanced, they are still built on human judgment, thus they are prone to failure.

So what should we be expecting during our lifetime on earth regarding justice? Should we just fold?

I think there is a value in the argument of the search being a journey. I think we should be working towards improving our justice system, working on making it more stable in the face of corruption and individuals who want to abuse their powers.

And with this, there is only one thing left to say. No man will ever receive justice during their lifetime, so we’d better accept this fact as part of life. This isn’t argument to just accept injustice, but it is an argument for patience. The only thing in face of human failure left to do is patience.

There is no gain in turning your back on the system entirely.

PS: OK, this was bad. Not because of the “no adverbs, no “that” thing, but more because I was kind of distracted while writing this, so it might not be the most “genius” thing that is out there. :P