Suspended and hateful in Istanbul

in a small room filled with cables and electronic gadgets and clothes out of my emptied baggages in some "turn right after migros, and then, take the first left" street in a middle-class tall building filled old neighbourhood of Istanbul, I scream to those people who have their home and roots and jobs and belongings and future-heres and feeling-homes.... "I AM HOMELESS!"

I though I was coming home, for I was out of home for so many years, yet, walking in these streets, where I had walked a zillion times with so many feelings and hopes and worries, I felt no nostalgia nor coming home. Instead there was a washed out feeling of "oh, I have been here before".

SO, Istanbul, you shall no longer be my home-city-that-I-was-once-in-love-and-that-I-left-in-tears
Instead, you are the rotten-city-destroying-and-shamelessly-forgetting-everything-that-made-it-Istanbul.
you are not my home.

Comments

  1. AysegulKMarch 7, 2011 at 10:49 AM

    ah, my beloved, home is an impossibility. we carry the idea of it like some dead animal in the trunk.

    ReplyDelete

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