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February 17, 2024 - Ordu
Finished writing the first draft of the novel.
Took a walk by the shore.
It’s time to edit now.
April 8, 2024 - Ordu
Sunny & the seaside smells like seaweed and salt water; I was hunting for meringues from one bakery to another, chatting with Turkish baker aunties & uncles. Most of them don’t have meringues because baking them keeps the oven busy for hours and it’s Ramadan, so priorities are different. We talk about meringues, they know so much. They feel bad for not having what I want, try to feed me a week’s sugar on the spot & point me to other bakeries.
On the way I drop by the shoe store to say hi to auntie Berna, giving my requested opinion on the shoe a sweet woman is trying on, debating why this one is nicer than that one. I go back out on the street into the breeze & finally find the meringues; then head back to the baker who sent me there to show her what I got. Her face lights up; I tell her I’ll make a glorious pavlova tower for my sister’s birthday. Whose grandson are you? Where do you live? Are you single? All the Turkish aunties wanting to marry me to their (grand)daughters, it’s very sweet.
I take a pause on the bench at the end of the pier, hearing fishermen behind me talk politics. Their chatter mixed with the waves & seagulls is soothing, sun feels amazing & I briefly fall asleep. I walk back to the city house my grandparents left us to pack my stuff up & leave to meet my parents at their riverside home 40 min drive from the city. I spend the golden hour building the pavlova tower with the orange sunlight filling the kitchen with soft shadows. The next day I pick my sister up at the airport. “Hey we made it to spring!”
We’ve been building up, building up, building up.
April 30, 2024 - Rotterdam & Amsterdam
Back home in the NL for a bit. Concert at De Doelen, Abramović show at Stedelijk, Faust's studio, King's Day with Nihan, The Boy and the Heron.
May 19, 2024 - London, Seaford, Eastbourne
È la vita & the month May is here and almost gone.
London / Seaford / Eastbourne;
è come un raggio caldo rubato al sole.
Dominik said: You’ve got this timeless look of a free spirit.
June 17, 2024 - Rotterdam
I was suddenly born on earth & grandma did the ritual that gave me my name; she then gifted me conjoined-twin hazelnuts from the previous harvest. Rare gift for a baby Gemini, and she made three wishes for me. Only two of them I know, and they took me to most incredible places. I can’t even begin to tell you.
July 3, 2024 - Nevlunghavn
Un début d'été: en Norvège avec ma chère famille.
This time of the year golden hour lasts a few hours here in the southern Norwegian countryside. Lucie & I swim all the way to the floating dock, bike back home from the beach, long afternoon naps with the red heat of the sun on my back until Astrid calls us for an incredible dinner each evening, and during dessert she teaches us to use pendulum for divination. At the harbour bar Norwegian men join me in cheering for Turkey as we win against Austria. Three-hour hikes on the sedimentary rocks from Mølen to Nevlunghavn, the wind, the music festival nearby with old pop & country covers. Astrid calls me toujours élégant, but I can never be as elegant as her. The night of the storm we made it home just in time; watching the sea turn an agitated deep blue with the tea Jean-Louis made, heavy rain tapping on the roof. The next day woke up to clear sky again. All we have to do is fall asleep to summer crickets, read through slow mornings and eat fiskesuppe & bløtkake.
August 11, 2024 - Rotterdam & Ordu
July & August days of harvest. I thought all was tinted blue, but something completely shifted with a soft swoosh like a breeze that I’m familiar with. So I find myself reorganising my grandfather’s library at the city house; dusting off the shelves, finding his notes between the books, seeing what he was reading at the age of 22 when he almost married another woman instead of my grandmother. Thinking about what he’d say of the shelving choices I make; giving me a shoulder bump to make space for himself in front of the bookcase, making swift changes from my placements and giving me his signature self-satisfied look that says “don’t even try to outwit me, ha ha” and I give him a soft kick on the butt in response. He has stuff on herbalism, contemporary politics, economy, Ottoman & modern Turkish history, on nation states, Balkan wars, lots of stuff on Israel & Palestine, a beautiful worn out ‘57 copy of Les Misérables with an etching on the cover, Tolstoy, Sabahattin Ali, obscure poetry. A short review he wrote on a first page in '72 says “the true face of war is told in all its horrors.” A photo of him and my grandmother immediately: we are of the same spirit.
Thank you Dora Lionstone for the beautiful portraits of Victoria and me. You captured exactly the way we are when we are together.
September 2, 2024 - Ordu
The country house of my grandparents is where we gather each August for the hazelnut harvest. Mom, auntie and I arrived first, dashing in like we’d never left. Stock up the fridge, turn the bathwater heater on, wash the balconies, terraces; rounds of laundry for all the beddings & towels of the main & the guest house before more family arrives.
Even the roads here are paved to channel rainwater without disturbing the sun-drying harvest. The house’s foundation stones are the same as those from our family home three generations ago. There is a serender: an elevated communal structure for storing food, grains, tools. There’s a stone oven for cornbread, börek, pide.
Though my grandparents are no longer alive and I’ve missed many harvests while abroad, this year I stepped in. Now the seasonal workers coming for our orchards call me “the grandson from Holland”. Ten years ago my grandfather was so proud that I was going abroad to study art that he gifted me that year’s harvest. The yield we sold to Europe funded my first two years in the Netherlands back then. Hazelnut is a generous friend of ours.
Seasonal workers share their lunch with me. While gathering hazelnuts they forage mushrooms too.
My great-uncle Şenel, an agricultural engineer, does field work touring the region and analyzing the harvest.
My auntie and mom behind pomegranates posing with angelic faces, despite having launched a demonic tickle attack on me when I overslept for breakfast.
Great-uncle Şenel guided me through this harvest. We wrapped it up hand-in-hand. We still collaborate on our family tree project during late afternoons on the terrace with tea & cake.
What took me completely by surprise was how vividly I felt my grandmother throughout the entire harvest. Her presence was so palpable in the orchards. I don’t know yet what it was. But on the way from the last orchard to our house that sunset I cried the sweetest cry I’ve ever cried.
It’s intense and fulfilling; we still have a few tasks left. I’m grateful for all the sweat.
Think of me, my family, the seasonal workers and the orchards when you enjoy some nutella.
September 13, 2024 - Ordu
An old desire; it was in the root cells of my maturing parts. From the days of intimidation; you bullied me a bit back then. And the summer days when you walked around shirtless, you were older, tanned and toned. My eyes used to beg for more. And when I was 26, what happened there? It left a sweet memory. Now the grays and whites in your hair are sweet too. And the cutest baby boy you have. The way you play with him. The energy you always show up with. The way you sit. Talk. Joke. Think. Observe. Smile. Your warmth. Kindness.
You're a beautiful, rare spirit. You don't know how much I desired you years ago, you were one of my earliest desires. I’m glad my existence feels supportive to you. Thanks for sharing that while we sat under the stars. It’s true, for you I am always here.
September 14, 2024 - Ordu
Copper roof shining under the pigeons huddled. Whitewashed walls draped in light and shade. The sky is so big that it’s clear there’s the sea behind these hills. And I’m on the bed by the back balcony with iron bannisters. Daytime breeze caresses my body as I read and read and read and gather. As I change and surrender, as I long and suffer. I am filled, filled, filled to the brim with compassion. Something’s coming and I feel it’s really about time.
September 15, 2024 - Ordu
Happy belated birthday L.
Apologies for this late letter, yet since you won’t be reading it, it doesn’t really matter.
There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t thought of you since you came into my life.
You should become 100 one day, and grab this 110 year old man by the hand and take him to another trip.
The strength of my memory makes it hard to be so out of touch with you. I remember the most random things about our times or about you, unexpectedly. It used to give a ping! of deep-stabbing pain. Now the smile it brings is bigger than the pain. I only remember that crisp brightness of those days. Anyway.
You know I loved you. You probably don’t know it’s forever. Be well.
-M
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