Last night, or morning, or yesterday (the 31, night of the 30), I enjoyed tea, mussels, and second hand from cheap cigarettes (not so enjoyable), with five Kurdish men, a El Salvadorian (edgar), a pole (pawel), and a canadian (Jeremy). I was the Mexican sister of Edgar for the night, so don't get too excited. After our American going away party for our co-workers at TOG, Tesev, the Turkish Daily, Koc or otherwise, we ended up making friends with not just our co-workers the average chai man, the usual nut seller, or the guy who cleans your table who only speaks Kurdish, or zazaki (of the Zaza people of course). Chatting about their experiences is unique and when you know just enough Turkish, Arabic, English, or Spanish--well, conversation is limited but entertaining. It was night, but morning. Turkcell was planning its carnival and beginning to hang banners at night's end, but morning to it. I saw men ending their nights and some beginning their days.
Right now it is nearing 8:00 of the 1st. The sleepy watch guards at the desk of my guest house are just waking up with a heavy dose of Turkish Soap Operas. Perhaps the convenience store has opened. I bet that simit is being made somewhere (its always being made). People are getting up. In my case, my flatmates are leaving. One by one.
Why am I finding a sense of finality in the morning? (can you feel the subtext of the previous paragraph?). I feel like something is over and its only 8:00AM. Something must be beginning. Normally nights give that sense of closure with the promise of the next day. Anymore, with my insomnia, mornings tell me "Its okay to be awake... now. Too bad Advil PM did not work."
No. That aside, I've come to appreciate the early morning as limbo. A time of change. Not finality. Forever in limbo, in peace---my mantra. Good Morning Istanbul. Good Night America. Happy 5 o'clock. Somewhere.
have you met the zSa zSa people?!
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