Does an Experience Only Become A Memory When We’ve Forgotten It?

You see, I want to remember everything. A bit of a stupid effort really but it actually isn’t such a stupid intention.   Think about the little things that differ the action and motion of the things we do in daily life. Maybe the search for but’s and bee’s in our daily events. It’s like the 1 soppy face in a fantastic party or the long pause of uncertainty that is bound to be a heart breaker. Think about the very pointless history log of our internet surfer gadgets, they actually record pointless information but it becomes data when send it of top IT tech guy who is fascinated by Marketing. Even saying that think of how boring relationships would be without it.  How would you ever know what your half has been up to?  My point is, I want to treasure the moments I have spent here, in my very own house and remember them till death do us part but realistically I won’t. I want to remember the mood-changers and 101 epiphanies I have had sitting here on this very seat.  I think about the memories that coo itself out from the locked up part of somewhere up there when doing something else. It’s also the things I find myself repeating over and over, the oh-so-very important promises I constantly make to myself about eating healthy and drinking less kind of things that in actual fact I should remember and do(!!). For instance I made the very same promise last night, only to get up this and fry the eggs rather then boiling them.   They things are part of my life god damn it, are there any psyches out there that has an actual scientific explanation as to why I don’t remember? Does an experience only become a memory when we’ve forgotten it?  It was a hassle during my academic life too, revision never stuck, the deadlines were a constant blur, the library fines I had to pay and the list can go on.  Me and dyslexic self had love and hate relationship, we would both have to think of interesting ways to remember the important stuff which was ever so time consuming.   While I’m packing my shit up, it hits me more that within every inch of this house there I things I don’t want to forget. Good and bad, the memoirs in the shape of objects that won’t fit into the boxes I’m storing to be shipped, skipped and distributed. Funnily enough, if it’s not had an effect on my life, my thoughts or my bank statement, I’m just going to end up having to leave it here. So, again, all I really want to do is remember every second of it yet my intention is not worth the effort, as I can’t even seem to remember anything without my differently shaped hand-held objects as a stimulator. You see, I want to remember everything. A bit of a stupid effort really but it actually isn’t such a stupid intention.

Think about the little things that differ the action and motion of the things we do in daily life. Maybe the search for but’s and bee’s in our daily events. It’s like the 1 soppy face in a fantastic party or the long pause of uncertainty that is bound to be a heart breaker. Think about the very pointless history log of our internet surfer gadgets, they actually record pointless information but it becomes data when send it off to a top IT tech guy who is fascinated by Marketing. Even saying that think of how boring relationships would be without it.  How would you ever know what your half has been up to?

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Que Sera, Sera. Whatever Will Be Will Be.

ImageThe effort I have gone through to define, find and identify the ideal man has more often then so taken me to hell and back. Quite a few times too. Never did I ever think or anticipate that love is everywhere. In Istanbul I found the love, I so much envied not in a man but in my friends.

“When I grew up and fell in love I asked my lover, “What lies ahead? Will we have rainbows day after day?” Here’s what my lover said to me…”

Two people, two very important people have taught me love, respect and solidarity. All the stuff I have learnt about socialism and love are defined by these people, the friends I learnt to love in this country.

This city has had the power to kill me and revive in matter of minutes and many times over too. As I sit here today, trying to pack up my house and split it to take, store and throw, I have more than enough time to contemplate what I have learned.

“Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see”

My too-blonde-to-be-Turkish girl and my oh-so-handsome-and-courageous friend have/has been around for the yet so simple but yet so important things as well as the most outrageous and fearful events.

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Oh, So Scary!

LondonFor the past month, I have been very reluctant to write, every time I think of a fantastic topic, a funny experience or an offshore experience, I sort of end up musing about it but never actually sitting down to type it up. I keep finding myself in guilt waves, partly because I am not writing and partly because I have decided to move back to UK and therefore can’t be this expat writer and typist/ blog-ist anymore. It feels slightly hypocritical. 

 I can blog out there i guess and I most certainly will but this concept of me and Istanbul will sort of fly right out the window…

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Can’t We Just Listen a Little Better?

ConversationWhen you’ve got something to prove, you do things bigger and louder. When you feel like you are not heard your intuition tells you repeat it. But if friends, family and all the other kinds of listeners you can think of listened, actually listened, you wouldn’t feel so bad.

Just of the top of my head I can think of something everyone has said louder or repeated many times to be heard, some of them don’t even know that they are insisting on such an effort. Most just feel hurt.

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