i blog again

[iblogagain]

time flows, breaks, stops. and sometimes it flows again

"Time heals everything" is a statement I heard a lot growing up. Especially during our summer visits to my parents' hometown. The gatherings at my mom's mothers' house were filled with sorrow stories which all ended with some hope in the air despite the tragedy they held. The hope was that time would heal everything. They were mainly religious people who knew how to be thankful for what they had and saw the challenges they faced as a test of God and somehow a great learning was inscribed even though it may not have felt so at the time. I would be amazed by this wisdom, the ability not to rebel, to stay thankful and to look deeper within constantly to learn this inscribed lesson. I am not like them though. I don't believe in God, its magic plot, and i find many things meaningless. This belief that time heals everything is just a tool to help us survive. I don't think it does.

Time does something else though. It flows. It flows in multi layers. Time consists of many timelines for me. Timelines for people i care about, timeline for my being, timeline for work, timeline for education, timeline for X and Y. Each one of them flows until it breaks, stops, and sometimes it starts flowing again. The flow doesn't have to be a straight line, it could fluctuate, be in circular form, sometimes would feel like it flows in slow motion, it intersects with one another, joins and separates, some get stuck in a time frame and play in a loop. Timelines flow simultaneously but in their own rhythm and form. Our ability to construct, deal and live with all these timelines at the same time makes us happy or not or many other things. And what we call as time heals everything is actually directly related to what happens with these timelines. I think mostly what happens is we let other timelines dominate over the one that broke and stopped and left us broken. We keep ourselves busy with other timelines so that we don't think of the one that doesn't flow anymore. But i don't think it has to be like that all the time. For time to "heal everything", we don't necessarily have to block it over. And i think that is what we do with Hamide. My most important timeline has always been my mother, i think it is the case for Seyda as well. I was so worried since my childhood that something bad was gonna happen in that timeline so soon and so tragically. That was my biggest anxiety i think. Set deep in my everyday, sometimes would pop out triggered by an image, sound or a smell, i would feel worried, for no particular reason to an outsider. Considering all the scenarios i played in my head, her timeline stopped later than i thought with one of the expected scenarios but with a significant twist. Yet, it didn't stop because we didn't let it happen. Seyda has always been this head-on person. She knows to confront and deal with things, i get scared and avoid. So, she managed to trick my mom’s timeline to flow even after it stopped. And i joined her. My mom's timeline transformed into our studio's timeline. It is a timeline that is both the past, the present and the future at the same time. Everyday is filled with her memory, her design attitude and our dreams for the future. It is intense. It feels like a year in a day and a day like a year. Confusing and complex. Emotionally draining and empowering. Dark and light. Challenging and easy. Confrontational and peaceful. Flowing!

  I am notoriously known for being negative. I often believe in what people think of me and hate myself and look for ways to change unable to not really feel how to be not negative. I think maybe the problem is that i am not negative. For sure i am a worried person. I would first think of all the possible worse case scenarios before a positive one. But i think that is more related to my fear of failure. For a negative person, i think it is an impressive effort of staying positive in making a timeline that stopped flow again, especially at a time where many other timelines are simultaneously crashing. How much more positive one can be?

So, this year is the 4th year of my mom's timeline being transformed into Hamide Design Studio's timeline. We have set together a nice program for this occasion, for the 4. Hamide Days, covering the period from her birthday (20th of February) to her funeral (4th of March): A print launch, an up-cycling workshop, and a postcard writing session. All reflect the essence of her timeline and our timeline. Please check out the program, invite your friends, and join the events if possible.

[iblogagain]

a post about a book about menstruation

It doesn't take long for girls in Turkey to understand that an unequal life awaits them. While being proper is the state you need to go after as a girl, you witness the most improper act imposed on the boys from early ages: "come and show your aunts your little penis dear". Wait, what? This absurd proposal leaves you confused: should i feel neglected that my vagina is not worthwhile for sightseeing or should i feel relieved that it is not? The relief of not to be pushed to show your vagina takes over the concerns of your value. But you are always reminded of your value. I remember many gatherings where my parents were kind of comforted for having two girls. The advantages of having girls would be listed; being less problematic compared to boys, helping the housework and the possibility of being taken care of by the girls when you get old making the top of the list. In other words girls would be more proper human beings, you could count on them. The daily reminders of a girl as a proper figure accumulate to the point of transforming you into one that knows intuitively what is proper for a girl and what is not. Your first menstruation and the following hundreds is a an area for instance your intuition tells you here is another thing to be improperly proper about. It is something perfectly natural but you are supposed to hide it, find or learn secret vocabulary, develop habits that will keep you discreet. So, you join the gang of the women population who says my aunt is visiting or beginning of the month for your menstruation, hide the main reason why you are crawling on the floor in pain and find an excuse for not attending the family gathering, roll and hide the pad discreetly in your pocket before heading to the toilet, avoid eye contact as you stand in line in supermarket with pads and most importantly to normalize all these ridiculous behaviors and not to discuss like many other topics where you aim for the properness norm of the society. 

So, with all this cultural history in your soul when you see the book on menstruation "Gennemblødt" shining proudly at the 14-days-loan section at the library, after a night you spent online watching the surreal coup attempt in Turkey from your room in Copenhagen, you feel like shouting "yes, i am home". You don't but you naturally smile and grab the book. It isn't even important if the book is good or bad. It exists and there is a library you can just walk to in about 700 steps and borrow it. That is the kind of life you imagined for yourself and you are living it. That is one of the things that make you connected to this city, make you say “I Feel From Copenhagen”, to be in sync with it, what it proposes you is what you need and want and value. 

The book is good by the way. Everyone should read it, boys included. I liked that it has both informative sections and personal stories, has a critical voice over the industry providing menstruation products, introduces activists and artists exploring this topic, and discusses the flaws in policymaking around it. Maybe towards the end i felt a bit bored of the repetition of menstruation is not something to be ashamed of idea but i get that it is necessary because we were told the otherwise for like ages. Despite my awareness i would continue being uncomfortable about it i am sure. 

So in the fashion of the book; my personal story:

I think I was 11 or something when i got my first menstruation. I woke up to find out that my favorite pistachio green tights were ruined. I had no idea what it is and thought i got super sick. I was already being treated for urinary tract infection and this was the new chapter. I was so scared thinking that now i have kidney failure and will be connected to dialysis machine, wait for a matching kidney for years and die at an early age. Even worse, my mom's kidney would match me and she would die at an early age because she was already not very healthy leaving me feeling terrible for the rest of my life. Obviously we had some family friends who were suffering from kidney failure and i have been listening to their stories every other night gatherings under their excessive smoking. I think my mom told me what it is and I felt a relief that i won't be waiting at the hospital corridors for the rest of my life. She gave me a gigantic pad that i hated. It wasn't discreet like in the commercials because she couldn't afford them. That day we were supposed to go to my aunts, which i wasn't very keen on already. So i made big fuss about not wanting to go; i had pain, it was all new, and i didn't like the cat. I don't remember the result, if my grumpiness helped me to get out of my family obligation or not. But the potential was there, i found another good excuse to slip off things in addition to i have homework to do.

[iblogagain]

rocking the earth since the first bite

For a very very long time i was imposed to “dream” becoming a primary school teacher despite my super intelligence and talent visible in anything i was doing. They claimed “it is the best profession for a woman, working hours are great, you can come home early to cook, clean, and take care of the family.” I was like in primary school when this was happening, what family to take care of? Absurd! This was the conversation almost at all dinner gatherings following the proud statements of my parents on how good i was doing at school. I was asked what i would like to be, and then regardless of my answer i was presented the housewife dream gift wrapped as primary school teacher dream. Being perfectly housewifed by my mother, unfortunately but not surprisingly my father was on board as well. 

But this is typical of Turkey, to undermine women and pave paths for them that is way below their capacity and way irrelevant to their dreams. Being raised as a proper child, i think i bought these imposed dreams for a while. But when i realized how much i got bored when the teacher had to go over the same topic because not everyone was up to pace, i knew that despite the promising working hours, i couldn’t be a primary school teacher, it was too boring for me. Besides, men were kind of assholes and i didn’t plan to become a housewife to one any time soon. So, i went on dreaming my own dreams. They were big, of course!

I think I kind of have realized some and am on the path to realize some more of my big big dreams. It doesn’t so much matter at the same time if i can do it all, the important thing is my mind is set to follow them. But looking back i realize that i couldn’t follow some, because i was held back. It is to blame men that i know and men that rules the society in Turkey. I have always dreamed of studying abroad and basically not coming back. But I haven’t even applied to any school till it was possible for me to take my mother with. Because i knew i couldn’t simply leave my mother behind, not because i am a mommy’s girl, but because i have always felt that living in Turkey was some kind of a war zone and you don’t wanna leave your mother behind at a war zone, to a society where she doesn’t have value, where she has been taken for granted, treated unfairly, were subjected to violence and abuse, where all these bad things were just a normality of the daily life, its present and future. “Luckily”, she was diagnosed with atypical Parkinson’s disease and it became possible for me to take her with to wherever i go! Ironic!

Being 33, I have lived through a reasonable amount of women’s day. It is sad to say that in Turkey, we still have to give the same message, which is women’s right to live, basically! There was one pattern on facebook today observable in the statuses of all my Turkish women friends: the violence towards women in Turkey. They all wrote about it; how women’s future is being taken away from them, statistics of how many women were killed by their husbands, brothers, how many of them were subjected to violence and sexual abuse, how many children are forced to child marriage at the age of 12. The numbers are sad! The numbers are scary! Not only because they are insanely high but also because you know as a woman in Turkey you can be another number in one of these statistics at any time. Your outfit, the time you went out, the answer you gave, the smile on your face, the dreams you have, the opinions you defend can be used against you at any time by your murderer, attacker or even by the law set supposedly to defend the innocent. We are not even at the stage to discuss equality. We are at the stage just to show that there is a huge problem! We are still at the very beginning.

Today, i wanted to create a set using our “Super Kvinde (Super Woman)” postcards. I thought of making a reference to this “Adam & Eve” story, where obviously all this inequality mess has started. Reading the story in various religions and mythology left me speechless, once again. All i could say was “No wonder!”. I would like to take this opportunity to mock this ridiculous story ruling the societies like Turkish around the world and say “rocking the earth since the first bite of the forbidden fruit. Happy International Women’s Day! And men, get a grip!”.

[iblogagain]

and sometimes love is so far away...

[iblogagain]

to dispose of, disposable, disposability, at someone’s disposal ...

I dont know if it is the calendar "Planning Dreams and Some Errands / 2015" hanging on the wall that i have been waking up to every morning or Facebook's your year in review service or the boring top ten something of 2015 articles dominating my feed or the fact that 2015 fucked me over in a major way; but this year i felt the urge to write a review of the year behind.

Being a person unable to define a my favorite this and that list, of course my review does not include any top ten something list. Contrary, being a person creating themes and concepts, I also tend to see things through themes, so i couldn't help but wonder what the theme of 2015 was. It hit me just like that the moment i asked this question it was "disposability". 2015 was not the year of snake or dog or tiger or whatever, it was the year of "disposability at its best". It was a year where on the global scale and on personal scale we didn't hesitate to share our love for disposability. Obviously i struggled a lot in such a series of 365 days in a row. In my family, we do not by any means like disposability, but we like re-use / cycle-ability and up-cycle-ability. My mom would save the plastic bags of pasta to wrap my sandwiches for lunch at school that i brought back home for the next day while my friends would throw away their aluminum folio when finished with their sandwiches. We would use melamine tableware for picnic while others would bring along disposable cups and plates.  My father would record radio shows on cassette tapes because he thought they were archival not disposable once the broadcast was over. We would keep seeing people who kept breaking our hearts, who demand so much, or who were just basically super annoying, because we believed they were not disposable but they were just how they were and we should tolerate and hope for the best. In other words, we would try to see the obvious or hidden value in things, ideas, and people. But this year i feel like we humans were not satisfied with the option of disposable cups and plates so we disposed of other things. We disposed of the term "human" in favor of "refugees" so that we forget that refugees are human. We disposed of refugees in favor of our fears, love for money and power. We disposed of peace in favor of war and conflict. We disposed of bodies in the Mediterranean, oh yeah right, they disposed of themselves! We disposed of rational thinking in favor of irrational thinking sourced in some fear of some stupid people ruling our countries because we disposed of the act of voting in a careless way without enough and comprehensive consideration. In other words we disposed of humanism in favor of individualism. While disposability dominated the news, which i sometimes disposed of from my feed because they were so hard to handle, I found myself in my own disposability scenarios, which left me feeling extremely depressed and as a gigantic looser. Well to begin with, the immigration office told us that we were disposable as we didn't serve enough to the Danish Commercial Interest, in other words we were neither as rich as Mærsk nor had employed as many as Mærsk. Of course they disposed of the subtitles of this decision as us being from Turkey, and the series of historical events that go back to the Turks accepting Islam (I guess it was the 8th century?), being a pain in the ass as the Ottomans, and failing to become a member of the EU. This also meant that i disposed of my both short term and long term dreams, as they weren't the dreams of the authority. This also meant that i disposed of current and future happiness. Having trouble accepting this forced disposal of dreams and hopes and plans, we disposed of our time to spend on work or on just having fun in favor of fighting the decision, which caused us to dispose of a lot of money only to hire a lawyer who would fail to do an appeal on time and dispose of our right to appeal. We also disposed of a lot of money to the accountant so that the lawyer uses the approved  accounting in his disposable appeal. In addition to this, we also disposed of our privacy to seek support from the public, only to find 273 people at our disposal. As the daughter of very strong and ambitious parents, i couldn't just dispose of my days over the thought of life kind of sucks, besides there were many bills to dispose of my money, so i tried to dispose of some things that were kind of on my way to a rather happier life. So I disposed of some sweat so that i feel better about myself. OK I also disposed of the sweat so that others don't dispose of me because i am the fat short funny girl with fabulous hair but the short funny girl with fabulous hair. However, unfortunately not enough sweat was disposed of, meaning i was disposed of to the "not hot" section immediately and repeatedly. I disposed of some money on booze so that i could have more fun and come across more likable, only to feel a hangover and hate my voice. I disposed of my disapproval of the online dating and created a profile on Tinder, only to dispose of people showing up on my phone with valid and invalid excuses and to be disposed of with the same mentality. I disposed of my shyness time to time so that i don't waste my potential, obviously fits to professional scenarios. But despite these major acts of positive disposal scenarios I still felt very disposable, and it was my inability to get what i want or need or deserve in my personal relationships. I disposed of my feelings in favor of friendship and then the vice versa, only to find myself very broken and lonely. I disposed of my brokenness in favor of moving on, only to find more humiliation. I disposed of words dominating my mind to make things right, only not to be understood or not to be cared about at all. I mean i got the silence treatment, which is sometimes the worst. And sometimes I disposed of the words dominating my mind to my own mind silently so that the angry words to be disposed of mutually are less. Some found it very easy to dispose of my good intentions, boring niceness, help, good memories and more at moments of disagreement or frustration and did not hesitate to dispose of some bad adjectives to define me such as self involved, selfish, boring, disgusting, asshole, dumb, sticky, awkward, incomprehensive, stupid. I disposed of my need to hear an apology because I figured out the other was not feeling for disposing of an apology, and acting like nothing bad happened was at our disposal at all times.

And i disposed of so much tears till the point that i couldn’t dispose of anymore.

In the light of these interactions I felt very disposable. I was not a human but was just a brain at some's disposal. While everything is kind of disposable in the year of 2015, unfortunately 2015 itself is not disposable. The memories created this year will not be disposed of unless we experience memory loss or something. But the time 2015 had is disposable and it is almost over. And that means the time to make a new year's resolution has arrived. And I choose to focus on the opposite of disposability, i choose to focus on value this year. I want to see the value in things, ideas and people and i want to feel valuable. Happy 2016!

[iblogagain]

I think it was Sundays that we used to listen to this program on the radio TRT3 on classical guitar. It was mostly Pepe Romero they played albums from, luckily he recorded everything. Those days guitar was an instrument i admired unless i saw it on the back of a wannabe pop-star teenager. I had a good friend studying guitar at the music school, and she would suggest good concerts to go to, from which I always left amazed by the contrast of zing zing pop guitar and dong dong classical guitar. It has been quite a while that my listening habits changed. When you move, you don't get your CDs with, Spotify is super annoying, and you don't buy new CDs because you don't know if you can stay in your new home. And i guess finally i gave in and started to act like my generation, and now listening to these indie stuff, which actually at the end of day always makes me feel tired and drained with a headache. And now guitar is an instrument that really annoys me. I always swipe left the guitar players on Tinder. Tonight, i went back to my roots and listened to some Heitor Villa-Lobos, of course by Pepe Romero.Was much needed. Only problem was Spotify.

[iblogagain]

LILLY music

I am in love with these kinetic sculptures by Anne Lilly.

It is like watching a dance performance, looks stunning both in still and on the move. Flowing, surprising, and hypnotic! Great music choice as well.

[iblogagain]

Ling Ling Lingering ...

This is the first day of the last month of the deadline the immigration office set for themselves to make a decision if the Ankara Agreement could give us the right to stay in Denmark or not.

In other words, the first day of the last month of 20 months journey.

In other words, the first day of the last month of living in anxiety.

In other words, the first day of the last month of hating opening the postbox or ebox.

In other words, the first day of the last month of you could continue your life as you wished or not.

In other words, the first day of the last month of turning into this most depressed person in your circles.

In other words, the first day of the last month of constantly explaining yourself to people why you want to stay here.

In other words, the first day of the last month of feeling frustrated for feeling not being able to express what you have been going through and what should be changed to people you are giving interviews to.

In other words, the first day of the last month of feeling like people even the closest ones have to see your story in a film by a significant director so that they could empathy with what you have been going through.

In other words, the first day of the last month of losing all your creative writing skills to writing boring letters to the immigration office, lawyers, and journalists...

In other words, the first day of the last month of the chance to cycle through Copenhagen and feel fabulous and grateful despite the heavy rain in your eyes and wind that messes with your hair.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could feel safe out in the city despite the time, the dress you are wearing, or your alcohol consumption.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could bike from one exhibition to another on a Friday night.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could borrow almost any book you want from the library just around the corner.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could feel just happy for living in Copenhagen not just because it is the statistics you should contribute to but because it just happens.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could talk Danish with your stupid accent and everyone looks at you like you made no sense.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could buy good wine for reasonable prices from Netto without being have to put it in a black plastic bag or being judged.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could recycle properly.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could see not just one but even more than one park in one day on your route back home.

In other words, the first day of the last month you don’t have to worry about dying in a meaningless traffic accident.

In other words, the first day of the last month you feel like there could be some human politicians trying to make a positive effect in how the majority of stupid politicians are running the country.

In other words, the first day of the last month you look forward to the summer not because the winter sucks but because the summer rocks here.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could experience world class jazz and beyond at Jazzhouse just an email to Klaus away.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could meet some very nice friends you made over the 4 years and 2 months you have been here for a beer.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could feel lucky to be here.

In other words, the first day of the last month you count the months by the festivals they are hosting like April for Pix, July for Jazz, November for Dox.

In other words, the first day of the last month you feel nervous for feeling far from accomplished in going over your bucket list.

In other words, the first day of the last month you can practice your profession and make a living.

In other words, the first day of the last month you can pass through the high end design shops that sell your products, and feel proud secretly.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could visit your mom’s grave without applying for a visa.

In other words, the first day of the last month you could feel home.

In other words, the first day of the last month for being yourself and being a better yourself.

The first day of the last month of all these and more is almost over ...

30 more left.

Ling ling lingering for the passing 20 months!

[iblogagain]

not ... enough but strong enough

I feel like my life is dominated by “not ... enough but strong enough” situations.

I am so tired.

and I am also tired that when i say this, some jump in with an example of a person who is in a worse situation than me.

Yes, i know. There are people in war zones. There are people lying sick waiting to die.

But i also know how i feel and i feel extremely tired.

This constant flow of negative events leaving me breathless, speechless, heartbeatless (is it even a word?), hopeless, joyless, apetiteless, motionless, sleepless, and all positive feeling-less.

And each time fighting so hard so that i am also not left dreamless and powerless.

Hi, my name is Seda, and i am not good enough for many things; not tall enough, not thin enough, not beautiful enough, not attractive enough, in Turkey not Muslim enough, in Europe not European enough, in Denmark not Danish enough, not fun enough, not drunk enough, not spontaneous enough, not courageous enough, not athletic enough, not fresh enough, not rich enough, not positive enough, not lucky enough, not friendly enough, not extroverted enough, not dominant enough, not considerate enough, not comprehensive enough, not  not-stupid enough, not normal enough, and according to the immigration office not significant enough, but have been very very very strong enough to find ways to handle being constantly evaluated as “not ... enough”.

Yet, about to also be not strong enough.

Often, I just wanna disappear knowing that i can’t.Often, I don’t wanna wake up knowing that i have to.So I just wanna scream “WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUUCK?”

[iblogagain]

Paradise: Love

a very very very good film!

amazed by the layers of it, that was put together in a very effortless way.

[iblogagain]

That is so tolerant of me, women, and the police

tolerant: Showing willingness to allow the existence of opinions or behaviour that one does not necessarily agree with.

I decided that I am a very tolerant person.

But not just me, all the womankind is very tolerant.

And surprisingly, the police is also very tolerant.

Last Friday, i was stupid enough to chase my stolen bag.

Didn’t wanna lose my precious yellow card and expired residence card, since i am kind of in a transitional stage thought it would be a hassle to renew them.

I got them back in exchange for a sexual assault.

Don’t get so upset or shocked, i wasn’t raped. 

I guess it was an assault that we silently describe as “tolerable”. Because it is “totally OK” for a stranger to touch all over you, try to kiss, dry hump, push you around, and close your mouth so that you can’t scream for help. As long as the precious dick of this very nice stranger does not enter your boundaries, it is tolerable. You should be just happy that you are not raped! And i was. I mean he could have perfectly done it. I was also very happy that the police came, listened to me, didn’t judge me at all as they do in Turkey. Because if it were in Turkey, i would be the the twisted person in this scenario; coming home at night 2 am’ish, wearing a summer dress showing a cleavage, after a party where i had some wine! So i was very very happy with the sensitive Danish police. That is why i was so surprised when i got the police report. The significant part of the event “the sexual assault” only managed to get into the police report as some sort of a subtitle “that i was injured/mishandled in the case”. I don’t understand why the language chosen is so vague even though I told all the details despite the fact that it is so annoying and uncomfortable to talk about and even though they listened, took notes, get sample for DNA test, and even categorized the level of the assault. At the end it is registered as theft of a bag. While, it should be the theft of the feeling secure and safe, independent, free, and equal to men, and feeling like you are not in Turkey and there is no need to be afraid of all the strangers you pass by. But it looks like my Nokia phone that i bought for 99 DKK, my sunglasses for 80 DKK, some used lip balm, a flash disk is more precious than all these ridiculous feelings.

I shook for 2 days, literally! I was so tense and couldn’t feel warm. I  didn’t wanna be out, talk to anyone except few close people. My whole perception of safe Copenhagen, which is the first adjective I use to describe CPH, turned upside down.

This Friday night, i had to pass by the same road at a slightly earlier time. I thought of taking the bus for only 2, 3 stops. Then I manned up and walked by it. This feeling of fear is terrible, it takes away all your freedom, it is dangerous, it locks you to your home, it steals the city away from you. We shouldn’t tolerate this, we shouldn’t tolerate any level of sexual assault. They are all significant!

[iblogagain]

as if i wrote, but couldn’t had

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loved this! perfect interpretation of the space both in terms of architecture and culture.

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delicious!

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OLALA! Hamide turns 2 today, officially   To celebrate, for every purchase made through our online store, we will give away one "meet the locals of Copenhagen_bicycle path" poster. The campaign starts on Friday the 19th and ends on Sunday the 21st at 23.59  Cheers to our mother Hamide, if she was any less special, none of this would happen! http://hamide.tictail.com/

[iblogagain]

was foggy

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ECHOOOOOOOO the eight-channel robotic choir: cuteeeeeeeeeeeeeee!