« bensu soral. cis woman. she/her. 32. » was that HAZAL GÜLEN walking through the doors of amorelux ? i heard they just moved in to 701 from NEW YORK CITY, NY and work as a violinist for the seattle symphony. they seem magnanimous & conscientious but don’t get on their bad side ! they can be stoic & self-sacrificing which makes sense since they’re a VIRGO. you know they’re home when you see a flash of the bed freshly made every morning, lines of poetry scribbled on scrap paper, crossing another task off your to do list . ↷ dallas. 23. cet. she/her.
full name: emine hazal gülen.
nickname: doesn’t really have one !
date of birth: september 17th, 1989 (32 yrs).
zodiac sign: virgo.
place of birth: amsterdam, the netherlands.
current location: seattle, washington, united states.
gender: cis woman, uses she / her pronouns.
sexuality: bisexual.
languages: turkish (native), dutch (native), english (native).
tropes: the girl next door, the mom friend, the allegiant, the altruist.
positive traits: conscientious, magnanimous, dutiful, amiable, diligent.
negative traits: stoic, self-sacrificing, finicky, indulgent, worrisome.
fears: feeling as if she never honoured her mother enough, being inadequate, never being able to find her own happiness.
habits: having a strict morning routine, tucking hair behind ear when nervous, constantly apologizing, always singing or humming to herself.
likes: scented candles that remind her of the sea, road trips, the perfect cup of tea, the feeling you get when you cross a task off your to do list, traveling, fresh flowers, lipgloss, sending and receiving handwritten cards, playing the violin, reading, writing poetry, watching the sunset, celebrating the holidays, newspaper crossword puzzles, gift giving, fresh breeze coming through an open window, singing in the shower.
dislikes: sleeping in too late, cartoon television shows, people who talk during movies, coffee, core workouts, errors in spelling or grammar, dangerous driving, small enclosed spaces, being late, conspiracy theories.
tw: mention of death, childbirth complications.
if you asked her father, nadir gülen, about the day of september seventeenth, he would tell you he remembers it as if it were yesterday. because the arrival of the light of his life went perfectly alongside the departure of the love of his life. complications during childbirth caused hazal’s mother to pass only moments after she let out her first cries, and it ruined her father. it ruined the both of them, even if hazal had never as much as touched her, heard her voice or seen her smile.
her presence was always the physical reminder of everyone’s grief. the living reminder of who her mother once was. the breathing reminder of the fact they never got to see her chase her dreams. every single birthday hazal recalls the mournful eyes burning upon her, relatives never voicing but always thinking she looked just like her mother. and only looked more like her as the years passed. she knew that alongside the weak smiles and birthday presents, there was one unspoken thought on everyone’s mind. and she wished they would just talk. about her mother, about who she was, about what she liked and what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
because it hadn’t just ruined her father, or her grandparents, or her aunts and uncles. it had ruined her, too. she had her own grief to deal with. the grief of losing a mother, of losing the chance to know her mother, of coming to terms with never truly understanding the loss of her family. because hazal knew what her mother looked like, knew she took after her in visible ways. but she would never know what she was like, and for the longest time, there were no trips down memory lane.
it took years for her father to put aside his own grief, and to allow his daughter to stop feeling disconnected from what had become such an integral part of her identity. it must have been when she was fifteen, maybe sixteen years old when the memory box finally made its way from their attic towards her bedroom. her bed sheets would be scattered in old photographs of her father and mother by the beaches of zandvoort wearing questionable sunglasses and beach attire, trying on her mother’s favourite jacket in front of the mirror, or looking through the handful of novels her father didn’t have the guts to leave behind or throw out.
but moving past his grief took much longer than it took him to fall in love again. hazal must not have been older than two or three years old when nadir met cemile sezin in an airport lounge in california. airline pilot nadir himself having just flown from amsterdam to san francisco, and cemile on her way home to new york after having attended a law conference. the two shared way more than a single drink at the bar, and stories that neither of them felt comfortable telling anyone but a stranger. nadir then flew all the way home with heated cheeks and a phone number scribbled down onto a napkin. they met afterwards. more than once. they would return to that airport lounge in the san francisco airport, he would occasionally visit her hometown, and other times she would meet him halfway at an airport hotel. perhaps cemile was not the love of his life, but he fell in love with her nonetheless. head over heels, and probably way too soon.
but time simply was not on their side. cemile was pregnant with his child, and with him halfway across the world, being a father was going to prove difficult. with his job being less dependent on his location, hazal and her father relocated to new york city where cemile was working as an assistant professor of law. to say it was an adjustment would be an understatement. she found a new house to call home, a new city to be her hometown and about five months later, she suddenly had a younger sister. half sister. not that the first part of that term mattered particularly.
and in the end, maybe cemile was not related to her by blood, and perhaps her younger sister did not share in the grief of her deceased mother. but they were family, and she never failed to call either mom and sister respectively. because after all, it was cemile who first taught her how to play violin. and it was her younger sister who hazal taught to drive. it was cemile who cried at her high school graduation. and it was her younger sister who she shared her secrets with. none of that dimished her connection with any member of her family, not either of her moms, not either side of her family, not her connection to the place she was born. she would allow herself to have both.
• a few words to describe what is quintessentially hazal would be a calm, collected exterior with an unprecedented resilience. having grown up handling a lot of complex emotions (and often all at the same time) it takes a lot to sweep her off her feet. the unexpected doesn’t faze her, and she is always thinking ten steps ahead.
• hazal has grown up with a natural sense of curiosity, mostly regarding her mother, but has gotten shut down fairly quickly. would get taught from a young age to simply let your head down and not ask too many questions. your grandparents couldn’t handle it, would be what she would’ve been told by her father way too many times when there were questions about her mother laying on the tip of her tongue. she prides herself for being critical and never allowing others to demand control over her thoughts but at the very same time, she has learned how to wisely keep her mouth shut. to be quite frank though, maybe she keeps it shut a little too often these days.
• the literal embodiment of mom friend energy. will be the one holding back your hair after a night of drinking a little too much. will always carry snacks in her purse in case someone ends up being a little hungry. always reminds her father of his upcoming anniversary (and every year cemile thinks he’s actually remembered).
• she tends to worry, a little bit too much for her own good and way more than others would. overthinks any minor decisions and takes on the mental load for friends and family alike. will remind you of that car appointment you had scheduled, or that work call that you couldn’t forget about, and the fact you ran out of ketchup the other night. honest to god, she’s fucking tired by now. not even necessarily tired of it (she will die before she stops doing this) but tired because of it.
• tends to be someone that is very easily forgotten. she rarely ever takes the center stage, and finds herself perfectly blending in on most occasions. after all — she’s sociable enough to mingle with crowds of strangers, yet quiet enough to never really linger on your mind afterwards. she always put the welfare of others before her own, because she can take care of herself. for the most part, at least. because at times she begins to feel a little alone. feeling as if she never measures up, always coming second (maybe even last) in someone else’s mind. people always thinking she does not need them, and does not need them to look out for her, because she is always caring for everyone else. but perhaps she kind of does need someone else to be there for her, too.
• professional musician, and to be a bit more precise, an incredibly talented violinist who fell in love with the instrument after her step mother introduced her to it as a toddler. it was love at first sight, and soon to be a very lucrative bonding experience with this new woman in her father’s life. every little step in her career has also led up to this moment — upon graduating high school, she stayed with family in new york city to study a bachelor in music at juilliard. upon finishing, she simply hadn’t made up her mind about what to do with life, finding that she wanted to perfect her skills — simply learn until her professors swore they had nothing left to teach her. she pursued then a masters in composition as well, before being offered a place in the seattle symphony, which is the eventual reason for her move towards the west coast.
• equally an amateur poet. hazal is an avid reader, eats through stacks of books on a monthly basis and will be reading at least three books at the same time, whether that be literature or poetry. she even dabbles in a bit of writing herself, though, that isn’t something she plans to pursue professionally in the slightest — quite frankly, the thought of that scares her, and her poems are not nearly quality enough to be shared with those outside of her inner circle. but she carries around this little notebook at all times, sometimes buried deep inside her purse somewhere, simply ready to be pulled out when inspiration strikes unexpectedly. she occasionally leaves her friends short poems in their bags, or will slip them under their doors when she passes by. perhaps as a reminder she cares for them. because in her eyes, poetry is simply a way to add a little beauty to the ordinary sometimes. and she wouldn’t want them to forget that.
so first and foremost ... i would like for you all to know i’ve got a connections blog set up for both my muses & it’s just filled to the brim with gif sets and other posts that i think could be a good basis for a plot. basically, it just gives us lots of room to headcanon, chat and plot so much pain and chaos like the evil geniuses we are. so feel absolutely free to take a look over there & suggest things based on that. you’ll be able to find the blog here (or look for @knowthyneighbors) and it’ll be tagged for each muse. but there’s also these brief ideas below that i would absolutely love !
i am not up to date enough with pop culture to make any of the references, but give me one of those cute the ... to her ... you know. best friends whose dynamic will literally be entirely up to debate & based on the chaotic things we think the two of them will come up with. could’ve met in new york, or amsterdam, or even more recently in seattle.
casual romance where maybe they never had the best reputation, but hazal is thoroughly convinced she can fix them. news flash, she probably can’t but her father did not raise a quitter.
confidantes of sorts, where they both know each other like the back of their hand & who sees right through her when hazal likes to pretend she isn’t rubbing the stress away from her temples.
unrequited love, from any side could be so interesting. she loves to get up in her head about them, and they are either oblivious to how she feels about them, or they simply do not know how to let her down gently.
or vice versa, someone who has feeling for her and may practically be the only person who gives her the time of day. who thinks about her first instead of second, meanwhile hazal doesn’t look at them other than friendly.
perhaps a plot where they’re frenemies and they are trying to keep the peace for the good of the building, but they wouldn’t come within each other’s vicinity if it were up to them. perhaps there is a story to it (they keep hogging the laundromats, or they make way too much noise at night) or perhaps there is just bad vibes only at this point.
something such as enemies with benefits could be very spicy. they think she is a total buzzkill, she believes they do not have their head screwed on right but none of that really matters when they are occupied with other things.
perhaps this is a little bit lame but i would die for a book club. it doesn’t have to be a big thing, perhaps some of the residents simply get together one evening a week & plan to read the same books, then get tipsy in one of the common areas or someone’s apartment while discussing what they thought about the book.
something like a former pen pals plot could be adorable. maybe childhood friends who met each other on holiday once and exchanged information. perhaps they got paired at one point for a school project and stayed in contact. hazal would love to send them handwritten letters and postcards, although let’s be real we would probably get into the msn and aim era as well, but it would be just adorable.
titsay
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