Sociology isn’t a mixology. Is it? Mixing humans, taking the desired features from each couple, is an arduous task. Changing the will of God for the will of your worldly desires is a dangerous thing, building a community outside of anyone’s will is a very serious task to consider. It is like the analogy of stealing a bike. The person who wrote that analogy down knew well that God wouldn’t answer his prayers when he wanted a bike, so he stole one and asked for forgiveness.

A black man married a white woman, a white woman married a black man. Although they meet their ends by marriage, they both had different dreams. The black man dreamt of a daughter like her, fair as golden wheat fields when the white woman dreamt of a son like him, dark as cacao seeds. Eventually they both had a different dream otherwise they would never engage in each other’s life. They would not confess their love. They would stick to people of their kind. If the black man desired a black son, he would stick to a black woman, and if the white woman desired a white daughter, she would stick to a white man.

Narcissus was interested in his own image. Corruptor was interested in destroying someone else’s image. Both ways are extremely dangerous.

The danger is always under the question of whether you find someone who compliments your weaknesses or improves your strength. In the fundamental it is about whether you both love eating a banana or if one of you doesn’t like it at all. If you both love a banana, from shops you will more likely buy bananas and eat bananas together. But if one of you doesn’t like a banana, there comes a separation when the interests do not match. Or does it? It may also be that what you don’t like is what your partner loves. In that case, there is a perfect chance of distributing things based on the likes and no one will be offended. Maybe she likes pickles when you hate them. And when both are offered you will give your portion to her to make her feel happier when she will give you her banana to make you feel satisfied. In this way you face no danger even when you do things differently. She loves the soft part of the bread and you love its crust. You share equally without a waste.

The question of finding someone like you or different unlike you is always a serious question. This is the core of how you build your community. If it is too similar can be a conflict or if it is too different can also be a conflict. Things we fear can make us feel in love and the things we love can make us get scared. Mixing races or sticking to your kind/race. Mixing cultures or sticking to your way/standards. Mixing is a challenging task, not every mixologist can shuffle right amount of liquids altogether to create a perfect drink. How much harder it is to mix human liquids! One cocktail can make you feel in heaven when the other can turn your day into a nightmare. How hard of a task it is to choose a partner! And I am not a good judge, I am a good forgiver.

In my plot, the situation is like the English and Turkish in my head. There is a constant conflict of power in between them. They have different strengths and weaknesses. They resemble different colours, shapes, and norms in my mind. They have difficulties in expressing different means. In Turkish love is dramatic, complex, based on a deep meaning, and private. In English love is expressing your emotions directly, courageous but fancy, and public. The more language I learn the more I become but I am also divided, like empires. Unless these two languages collapse into one another naturally and form a unified cultural identity, how else can it be resolved? Only a romantic story of a couple can help me overcome my strained feelings…

In my writings, I am the authority. I really am. I decide on things, and I apply them in my life. All my writings are a life changing experience for me as an author, they are my own invocations. And so, my lover should be my perfect reader. She should get what I am thinking. An aware bonding and a mind reading skills are required. She must be a prophetess without knowing she is one, otherwise, she would look too arrogant. Do you get what I mean? I hope I don’t sound arrogant when I say these because I am asking a lot. I know I am asking a lot. I question everything on a regular basis and fit them into the narrative of my mind. Only this way I can be playful against the destructive side of life.

My lover must end my writings, period my plots with her blood. She must teach me to live together. As a result, I confess that my plot needs a professional mixologist. She must be my editor, not in the sense of fixing my writings. She must touch my heart and change my cold and distanced narrative from seeking her in these pages to feeling glad, warm and close to being with her. Do you know how hard that task is? Do you understand how thick the icy walls are between me and the society I interact with? Only a successful one can become the successor. She has to steal my heart by piercing the ice then ask my forgiveness out of her courtesy. Then I will start sharing our dreams in my pages instead of my own.

For now, my dreams are all written down for her to master me. If she reads what I wrote, she can trace me fully to find what I hid, my tressure/my heart. She can be my inspector. She can be my scientist. She can be my cardiologist. Mixing all the hints and clues all together to get me by tricking my heart with love, using my bait to her advantage to catch me with the same bait I am using to find her. In the end, the food I am attaching to the end of the fishing rod is the food I love to eat.

Only this way, she can have a word over me. She can create anything she wants to be, like an author. From all my books it is clear what she has to be. All freedom is given to her. The will to create her dangers through an oath of our love will be our adventure if she is creative. In the end, having a relationship is a dangerous mission. A lifetime hardship. A fellowship. It is to drink from the same chalice of love, respect and loyalty. Sharing secrets in virgin lands of the world, manifesting our truthful love in special ways. Mixing our sexual liquids, forming a new life. It is a serious task, this creation of us. The plot is our sociology, building a family that is free from all the wills of others. That serves only to us. This story we write and share with the world is a drink of life, Sucan. She is our children, and you are my taste in life. Your coming to me is my most beautiful social change. From isolation to your company.

I had more steps than an average man on earth. If only we all tried to step just a step more than the average man on earth, soon we would reach speed of light in our walks altogether. However, it is impossible. Kingdoms rise until a break point. Then they collapse. The rise is thanks to their slow progress, one more step a day. The fall is when their progress reaches to its maximum.

Protecting our borders are as crucial as expanding our world view. The greatest traveller has no home, greatest writer has no reader. If one wants to be a famous writer, one must become the average, not the best. The catchiness of the normal as a norm. This is how one can be read. The average person is as rare as the best person, only one person can be in the middle, others must be on the average person’s left or right slightly.

I am not the average person, nor the greatest or worst. When it comes to defining my position, I can only say, “I am here”. My hierarchy is geoid for I live inside this world. Unless the conditions change, it must stay like this. I must stay inside the earth. This is a limit. The greatest traveller must walk outside the world, must walk between planets, must walk between galaxies, must walk between universes. All I can do is I can walk in between universities. My border is from Atatürk University to Göttingen University so far. This is how much steps I expanded myself, but also limited myself. I could always go one step further. I could also go one step closer. Staggering!

One step closer to the truth of walking is the realisation of how ordinary of an act it is. As normal as for a worm to crawl, for a bird to fly; we walk.

In fictions, the wise is a wizard with teleporting skills. In the reality of a walker, wisdom is about not teleporting. In today’s words, it is the choice of walking instead of driving. The more you choose to walk, the more you become a walker.

He dropped the coin into the jukebox. “Herkes Gider Mi” by Beşiktaş Çocuk Korosu, from Cem Adrian album. The dialogue from the music echoed inside the pub:

Person 1: Are you still alone?

Person 2: Just free.

Person 1: So, are you unhappy?

Person 2: Just used to it.

Person 1: What about in love?

Person 2: Just incomplete. What about you, are you still waiting?

Person 1: Waiting is as pointless as singing the most beautiful song in the world to someone who cannot hear.

Person 2: What about hope?

Person 1: Hope is as difficult and impossible as describing a rainbow to someone who cannot see.

He chugged his beer down the throat, squinted his eyes to the barkeeper. With his burnt throat, he made a sour face. In a silent voice, “one more” he said. Barkeeper answered, “Enough for today, you must head back home buddy”. He asked, “Does everyone leave”? Barkeeper misunderstood his philosophical question and responded, “Everyone left already. We are alone”.

He: Have I you?

Barkeeper: I am tired, don’t make the night hard.

He: Am I used to you?

Barkeeper: You are only drunk.

He: Am I not sober enough to realise I am alone? You still are my bartender.

Barkeeper: Do you hear me buddy?

He: One more, please.

Barkeeper: Can you even see me?

He: I promise to visit and see you again tomorrow.

Barkeeper poured them a glass of her favourite afterwork cocktail.

They drank together. One more usual cup than a day before.

He staggered to his left and right ever slightly until he went back home. His unsteady fingers danced inside his pocket before finding his keys. Each clink and clang made him remember the chorus’s symphony.

He could not remember other important bits like how he got back home, how he got in, how he was naked, how there was an unknown woman in his bed.

He thought to himself, “I think I just found teleportation” before losing his consciousness and fully collapsing onto the floor.

(This is the story of an alcoholic.)

The next day, the mysterious woman in his bed left his house in fear. The barkeeper didn’t see him. There was a smell of death in the streets. The neighbours called the police after a month. They broke in and found his dead rotting body. Buddy.

And I had written a word more than yesterday.

And you had read a word more than yesterday.

And we had cried two more tears than yesterday; one tear from the left cheek and the other from the right cheek has staggered.

We fell into the silence still hearing the music in our ears as if our remorse is talking to us.

Our heart. It staggers.

I had more…

I had one more…

I had no more…

Mind

May 2048

The short journey of my mind began here at this present moment, just after the spring flowers have blossomed. Such a sunny day. Such a lovely day. Does it mean sun is love and sunny is lovely? In this exact moment, yes. A moment later can be a strong no. In my today, it might be sunny, but in your today, it might be a rainy day.

It is 16:48. I stopped traveling to write about my journey. Sitting on the chaise-longue, sipping my cold drink. Wondering after my first exploration of the area. Excavation. Burials. History at this moment. Is writing part of my journey? Is taking photographs while traveling part of your journey? Or is your camera blocking the view? Hard to tell, huh?

Is this cup I am holding, the clothes I am wearing… The glasses… My laptop is on my lap, I am writing. Are all these yokes limiting my view of life? Heavy is the burden. Which of us can really live? I, myself, am mostly observing how others live. How the woman on my right walking on the sand is trying to avoid the rocks! She must look down because she is a cautious person. Even the rocks she is not carrying are limiting her view. Imagine now, how limited our view about life is! How I have to miss your point of view to live my point of view, and this is just mental. For someone, the bare breasted woman feeding her baby daughter next to me would be offensive. She is my wife. Crazy right! I am topless, sunbathing here on this beach and my wife is doing the same. Our daughter is butt naked. We could be butt naked, too. We just didn’t prefer it today. Would you prefer to sunbath naked? This is your point of view whether you agree and join us or not!

What is equal is not the fact that I and my wife can be topless together on this beach. Equality is “sun is love at this moment”. In another space and time, it may be rain and love. For you, it might be a hijab is love. The fact that we can live without thinking if we can live “like this or that” is equality. One day, I may walk on the beach with my shirt on and my wife might be topless. This is just.

I know there would be people bothered by my phallus swinging around when I walk naked. As if my arms are not swinging also. This is their limit. To some other the limit is when a hijab woman shows her ankles or a piece of hair. Who decides on these limits if not us? I would not judge someone’s limits, in the end, we all have different limits. Today, you may try to cover my body, tomorrow you may try to reveal it. We all desire to control. That is natural. It is also natural that we can’t decide whether it will rain today or not. All I see is a bright sky. You can never control my mind. I can never control yours.

What I can clarify is that I will block you if you block me. See, you are reading me instead of looking at the horizon. Unless you look at the horizon, you only witness my words. This is the whole problem in life: Looking at other people’s lives when we should be living for our own lives.

Is looking part of life? We both know communication is part of life; reading is part of life. Your being bothered by my phallus is part of life. Fight Club. Never seeing my phallus is also part of life. Again Fight Club. It all depends at this moment. And with this story our minds are as cloudless as the sky. Sky is love now. Think! This is the sharp end.