Letters from Vietnam 52

December 3rd 2006 – 19:13 – HCMC

Whenever C enters a room where there are many people sitting inside, his mind gets obsessed with the number of responses he got for his greeting. He usually greets as soon as he enters the room with loud voice to make sure everyone in the room feels his presence. However, the ratio of number of people who respond to his greeting to the number of all people in the room never exceeds a half. This causes a real problem for him even though it seems stupid to think like this. He worries about the people’s thoughts for himself and makes some sequential speculations for the possible reasons.

If everybody responds him, he knows that he is supposed to think as if he is loved and recognized by everyone in the room. However, he still can not stop doubting about people’s real thoughts for him. He thinks that these people in the room might have discussed about him before he arrived and agreed on giving a strong response to his greeting. But should they do such a thing? They might think that C is an important person and he deserves a warm welcome. Or they might worry about making C angry. Or they might be afraid of being blamed with stereotype. Acting all together makes more sense than acting differently. This gives them a kind of solidarity and integrity. They feel the strong spirit of being one and stiff. Since they greet everyone by the same way, nobody can have anything to worry about their second thoughts. The unity in their voice can clears up all the suspicious thoughts. They all seem welcome so there will be more people coming inside to the room to be greeted by the same way. At the end, this might trouble some of them who want to keep the population of the room at a reasonable amount. However, they are not able to determine the level of “enough”. So they continue responding everyone’s greetings by the same way even though they do not want to do that any more. At this point C thinks that wherever people fail to negotiate on the rules, dishonesty and cheating emerge. All of them keep greeting all the guests with the same unity and same integrity.

One day, an individual wants to be more honest than the others in the room. She thinks that people in the room do not have to lie for the sake of integrity because what they do is only to cheat themselves in a way ostriches put their heads in the sand. She wants to make a difference and stops greeting new comers. Although she expects to be praised for her brave idea, others accuse her of being “a deviant from normal”. They ask her not to destroy the unity of the room and keep going with the traditional welcome greetings. However, she believes whoever deviates from honesty can cause many other problems even though he/she does not really mean. She resists in her standing and tries to convince other individuals with her independent ideas. She gets a few friends who support them but still the majority behaves in the traditional way. These few people start their own way and they sometimes do not greet the new comers if they think those are not really welcome. This new way troubles the unity supporters. Because they make up the majority, they start to threaten the minority with “exemption”. “If you continue being different in the room, we will send you away and you will not benefit from the facilities of this room.” But still these a few people who want to show that they are doing the right thing start meeting outside the room to find a solution for the problem. One of them suggests that “Let’s post a paper which reads “No entry” on the door”. This idea creates a festival environment in the meeting. But soon they realize that this also causes a problem because a note which says “no entry” is not selective. It stops everyone who wants to enter the room even though they are welcome by everyone. Another member of this minority suggests adding a few more words to the note: “No entry unless authorized” This looks better others say but still they have to define the specifications of a person who is authorized to enter and who is not! Since they can not find a better solution, they decide to offer the last version of the note to the majority.

The majority rejects all sorts of attempts to post a note on the door. They claim that a paper on the door will isolate the room from the external world and the room residents will be strangers in all other rooms. They repeat asking minority to return to the beginning point and stop causing further problems. If there is a real problem, then majority is the only group which can work on the solution. There is no need for the minorities to worry about the problems of the room because they will never be powerful enough to change the things in the room. Majority passes a new rule for those who do not greet the new comers and causes fractions in the unity of the room.

*** To be continued…

Letters from Vietnam 51

29th November 2006 - HCMC

Is it true that I always feel lonely because I am a writer? U. claimed this last weekend while chatting on Google talk. When I told him that I want to return to Turkey for at least a few years to try Turkey for working and writing, he replied me with this claim. According to him, I will feel lonely wherever I go because I am not interested in external world. This partial truth made me think about my final exodus. I still want to return home for other reasons if my problem of physical loneliness can not be resolved. I want to return home because I miss my family, because I miss speaking Turkish, because I miss browsing bookstores for Turkish books, because I miss Bosporus, because I miss Turkish food… I also told him that a return does not mean an end for anything. Eventually, I have a house in Bangkok and sooner or later I will go back to Bangkok either for working or for vacation. If I can not do in Turkey, there is always an option for other countries. As a teacher of seven years experience, I believe it will not be so hard for me to find a job in any country even though I am Turkish. Being optimistic makes me happy even sometimes I feel as if I am cheating myself. However, one needs to be optimistic to produce regularly. Desperate people create desperate truths and those truths cause only problems for others.

Pope is visiting Turkey now. M asked me to write something about it but I do not see anything special about this event. First, I do not have sympathy for this pope for known reasons. His eyes reminds me a man with different thoughts from the words he uses. He seems like he is scared of something or he wants to scare something/somebody. There is no kindness of previous pope in the present pope’s eyes. Of course, these are my subjective observations. It does not bind anyone and does not provoke any idea. The words he used before becoming pontiff and just after are also supporting me to some extent. His speech about Islam and violence was very unprofessional and he did not apologize for his speech. It might be because Popes are the shadows of God on the earth and they do not apologize since they do not make mistakes by definition. But in a world of globalization, there is no more small mistake! His words are considered as “commands” and people respect him for the sake of the position he holds. He kept saying that he quoted the words of Roman emperor and he did not mean any bad about Islam. But one should ask why he chose to quote those words which are both wrong and provocative. Couldn’t he find a better example? Beside this speech, his previous statements are also not so friendly in terms of religious dialogue and peaceful solutions. Everyone knows that one of the first things he has done after becoming pope is firing or sending away a Vatican scholar who was expert on religious dialogue, especially on the relationship between Islam and Christianity.

In other words, Pope is not visiting Turkey as he visits a Muslim country. He is visiting the head of Orthodox Church who resides in Istanbul for centuries. For long time, Catholic Church and Orthodox Church did not go well together. There are many problems between them and Pope will definitely look for some solution for Istanbul Fener Patriarchal. What amazed me the most is prime minister’s request for a support to Turkey’s EU entry. The government is using this visit for its own purpose. We all know that the negotiations with EU are now slower due to the problems with Cyprus and ports. However, prime minister wants Turkish people to forget this “lack of speed” and try to make people look at something else. What is he going to say after Pope leaves Turkey is quite known: Look! Even pope is supporting us! Firstly, I don’t really believe Pope supports Turkey’s EU bid and secondly I don’t think pope’s support will work for any good. PM of Turkey one more time messed up with religion-politics dilemma and hit the wrong rock. If he wants solution to the ongoing crisis with EU, he has to solve it in political arena, not in the way of religious leaders talk and negotiate. He is using Pope’s visit for coming elections and apparently he lost a lot of vote because of the problems with EU. Many people lost their faith in Turkey’s entry to EU. It seems like the governing party will not last one more term if they can not give the same spirit of EU to the people.

I resumed writing my novel again. I wrote the first three chapters long ago, before coming to Vietnam and I have been writing and editing first four chapters for the last three days. I have installed Turkish keyboard to my school computer so now I can also type Turkish in school. This makes submitting stories to the publish houses much easier. My only concern is the character in the novel looks like me a lot in many senses. I guess in the next few chapters I will spend a lot of effort to make him look different from me and have different environment/hobbies/friends etc. Otherwise, the story will not only look like my personal journal but also reveal my secrets in a way where people will not doubt about their findings.
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I would like to add Allan's thoughts on Pope's Turkey visit here. I enjoyed his thoughts and the humorus style in his article.

I have been gone from Turkey less than two weeks and stay current with on-line news, so I can give you a reasonably well-founded perspective on the Pope's visit there -- not what will actually be, of course, but what some of the "ground" is on which he will be walking.

First and foremost, the Pope missed a tremendous opportunity to score major points with much of Islam world-wide when he failed to use the word "apologize" in some form whenever he has tried to back out of and smooth over the effects of the mideval quote he used that criticized Islam. Muslims were looking for that specific word, and he should have used it several times. When he didn't, people felt slighted, felt as if they were being finessed diplomaticly rather than being treated honestly. The Turks are among this group. If the Pope were to make a clear-cut apology while he is on Turkish soil it will do much to win the hearts of Turks, somewhat less in winning the hearts of Muslims elsewhere.

Second, a few Turks have some tolerance for Christianity and some understanding; many Turks are simply indifferent to Christians and Christianity; and a lesser number are anti-Christian with feelings that usually lie just below the surface, like water that is almost ready to break into a boil. Of the second group, a small part could break into a boil rather easily, as is illustrated by the rally in Istanbul on Sunday. A few of these hot-heads may actually make an attempt on the Pope's life while he is in Turkey.

Third, there is a widely held belief that Christians want to unite and take or re-take lands and nations now held by Muslims, sweeping first across the East from Iraq through Iran and on to the Turkic Republics, finally uniting with Christianity's not too secret effort to capture or control Afghanistan. The Pope's main stated purpose in coming to Turkey is to meet with the head of the Orthodox Church, who lives there, and talk about a rapproachment between the major blocs of Christians they represent. This fans Muslim paranoia.

Fourth (or 3.1), the Pope is expected to urge the release of various Christian properties being held by Turkey, including the headquarters of the Orthodox patriarchate and an old Orthodox seminary, and to urge fair and equitable treatment for all Christians throughout Turkey. Such treatment includes the repeal of a law that says only native born Turkish Christians may serve in any administrative capacity in the Orthodox Church in Turkey. This has strangled the growth and life of the Orthodox Church (intentionally) in the country where it feels strongly that it has its roots. All of these pro-Christian considerations lend fuel to the belief that the Pope wants to unify Christianity, etc.

Fifth, after the Pope met briefly yesterday with Turkey's Prime Minister, Recip Tayyip Erdogan, Erdogan said the Pope had given his clear support to Turkey's bid for membership in the European Union. Turks know this is a reversal of the Pope's previous position and appreciate it. If Erdogan misunderstood or misstated what the Pope said or intended to say, and the Pope corrects him publicly, rather than letting it go, there will be a tremendous loss of face for Turkey and a corresponding rise in anti-Christian sentiment.

Finally, I am afraid that an attempt will be made on the Pope's life. That would strengthen the divide between Christians and Muslims. If the Pope were to die, he would be a martyr of the first order, the world's most prominent Christian symbol attacked and destroyed, and we would be well on our way to Huntington's "clash of civilizations." Let's all hope the Pope's visit to Turkey is a positive one.

--Allan

Letters from Vietnam 50

26th November 2006 – 11:23 - HCMC

Writing everyday a half page was going well until I ended the story. For the last 4 days, I could not apply the same routine because I could not find a new topic to write about. There are a few ideas to write stories but those are usually either overly metaphoric or frequently used by other writers before. Creating something original is not easy in the sense of writing. First the writer must know what to write and then decide how to write. Moreover, to start a story with a nice beginning is not good enough. The writer should develop the material, create characters and plot and hide the message she/he wants to give to the reader. All together, the process requires the skills of a craftsman and thoughts of an intellectual.

One of the new ideas came to my mind recently when I read Guy Debord’s thoughts on spectacles. I sent the aphorismic seeds of thoughts to A and we had several e-mails on the people, society and living without spectacles. A possible story could be like this: A man loses his way in a city or he also may be kidnapped to somewhere unknown. When he opens his eyes, he sees everyone in the city wearing glasses in different shapes, colours, sizes, specifications etc. He soon realizes that he also wear some glasses which he ha never seen before. When he removes his glasses from his eyes, he realizes that he is not able to see anything. Then the conversations start with a child whose glasses change very frequently and with an adult mother whose glasses are old and rusty. The details can make the story more remarkable but still there is something missing: Conflict! May be he will want to go back to his hometown, or he will look for someone, or a beautiful girl will attract him to another unknown world where he will see more peculiar things. As we know that the conflict is the engine of the story, then without it, the story will be dull and useless. Actually I am a little bit tired of writing stores with full of metaphors. I want to try something more real and more tangible to the real people. Hiding a philosophical truth behind a story may not be so bad but one should be very careful with this because the reader may give up philosophical transformations very easily. I like reading stories like Metamorphoses, Animal Farm, Blindness and Nose etc... And I also like writing these kinds of stories. However, since I have written so many stories similar to this kind, it might be right time to try something different.

Those who follow the news in Turkey must know the last story of “Emperor is Naked”. The story is almost the same. A few months ago, an energy company in Turkey claimed that they have invented a machine which converts nothing to energy, or in more technical terms, the machine’s output energy is much larger than its input energy. You give 1 Watt-hour and get 100 Watt-hour. They also said that it has nothing to do with nuclear energy which is still quite unknown to my country. A reasonable scientist can only laugh at this claim. It actually happens in Turkey by this way now. Scientists from prestigious universities say “it is impossible” but the company spokesman still claims that their invention will change the world. They already spent millions of dollars for advertisement campaigns. The interesting thing is they had a press conference last week. The attendees were mostly retired army generals and ultra-nationalist lawyers/prosecutors. They make the invention as the symbol of “power of Turkish mind”. However, nobody has seen this machine so far. They say because the machine is very important for the future of the world, they hide it. They also said that they have applied to Turkey’s patent institute already. This means their invention will be recognized by an official institution of Turkey. However the patent institute did not approve anything yet and they said the purpose of the machine is not clear. All this mess is caused by a few generals who believe Turkish mind is more powerful than rest of the world and they think by challenging the universal laws of Physics –especially Thermodynamics- they can create new fuse around themselves. The comedy actually starts here. Our generals think that even the Physics laws must be under the control of Turkish army so that nothing can be out of their sights. I laughed a lot when I read the news first and I thought there must be some misunderstanding. There might be a machine which can convert one type of energy to another type of energy. In fact, modern life is based on these converters. But I can not believe that a machine which can create more energy than it takes unless it can be explained by some ad hoc hypothesis by scientists. The retired army general in the press conference said that their invention could not be explained by present Physics laws. That means the whole thing is unscientific and simply rubbish. If he says they have called scientists to investigate the situation and bring some scientific explanation, I would say they might be right. But so far not a single scientist saw the machine or said something in the favour of machine. This company keeps fooling the media and makes people busy with their stupid ultra-nationalist ideas which I still can not find a connection with the machine. The funniest explanation came from another general when he has been asked about the machine. He said the machine works with the principle of inertia. Either he does not know what inertia is or he thinks Turkish people are stupid to understand inertia. First of all, there is no such a thing like “principle of inertia”. There is inertia and it belongs to the shape of the object. Two objects with same mass and same density can have different inertias depending on the distribution of mass around the centre of gravity. That is why when you rotate around your own axis while your hands are open to the both sides your speed is lower comparing with rotating while your hands are sticked to your body (Conservation of Angular Momentum –I1*W1=I2*W2-). When you stick your arms to your body, your inertia becomes smaller and then your angular speed increases. Nothing can be created by inertia because it is not a thing but it is a property which comes with the shape of object. I also read news about some electricians who claimed that the invention belongs to them but the company stole it without paying them. None of these electricians explained how the machine looks like and how it works. This is why I said at the beginning the story reminds me the story of “The emperor is naked”. There is an invisible machine which is supposed to be magnificent in terms of creating new energy and solving our planet’s deadly hunger for new energy sources. Let’s wait and see this invention of 21st century… As the 8th president of Turkey used to repeat frequently: 21st century will be belong to Turks… I hope my people will not be ridiculed by others for such a useless machine which creates energy from energy while losing most of it during the process…

Letters from Vietnam 49

19th November 2006 – 10:05 – Home / HCMC

He jumped out of the bed with the fear of being late to his job but soon he realized that it was Sunday morning. The clock was on the table, faced down! “Did the alarm ring?” he asked himself. There was no sound in the room. He felt as if the power has been cut off abruptly at the middle of a rock concert and a vacuum of nothing to fall into could easily be sensed in the air. He put his hand on his stomach to check if it turned to normal after the heavy drinking session last night. He sat up on the bed to see the clock and took the clock in his hand to check whether it still works. There was no sound coming from the running seconds of the clock but on the large glass screen it was visible that the clock works perfectly. He could not solve the contradiction and put the clock back on the table.

When he entered to the living room, the silence of the room made him confused again. No sound was coming from outside. He opened the windows to hear the honking cars and crying babies but there was nothing in the air. No singing birds, no blowing air, no swinging trees, no beeping motorcycles… It was absolute soundlessness! He thought about last night and the things happened with his friends. One of his friends, the one who is pregnant, told him that there is an alchemist in neighbourhood and he can help everyone to make their wishes true. He barely remembers that he liked the idea of going to an alchemist to solve his everlasting problems. At the end, it was too good to believe that there is someone who can solve the problems without any scientific process which generally needs more attention, more discipline and more money. They went to the alchemist’s house together. On the road, she told him that she was pregnant. He shook her hand to congratulate her and her husband as if they reached to a final point in their long marathon of business negotiations. When he thought of this scene, he chuckled but again not being able to hear any sound from himself, he felt upset. He recalled the house of the alchemist and the garden which was surrounded by all sorts of flowers. It was the most beautiful and colourful garden he had ever seen in his life. They entered to the house to meet the alchemist. Then he remembers nothing about the rest. It was all blank! What was his wish? What did he ask from the alchemist?

He sat on the sofa and tried to think what he can do now. The best thing to do is to contact K and ask her what he wished last night in Alchemist’s house but he could not figure out how! He can not even hear his own voice! He yawned deeply as if the problem itself is something superficial and could be solved if he just stops worrying and keeps calm. If he calls her, then he will learn nothing. He might be able to ask her the problem but not getting a response directly makes the method dull. He thought about going to her house but the absolute silence of the city scared him. Without hearing the sound of the city, it would be so difficult to walk on the streets, to cross the road or even to get on the bus. Then he decided to write an e-mail to her. It was the best way to reach her although it can be considered as slow. He had to wait until she checks her e-mail and he has no idea about how often she checks her inbox at the weekends. He wrote an e-mail without hearing the clicking sound from hitting the keyboard and sent to her immediately. In the letter, he said “I am totally deaf now! It must be something from the alchemist we met last night. I remember nothing about the time after we arrived to the big house. What was my wish?”

Just after sending the letter, he called her as well. On the phone, because he can not hear what she says or even if she answers the phone, he kept repeating, “Good morning, this is S speaking. I have a problem. Please check your e-mail account as soon as possible! Bye!” He repeated the same words ten times in each calling without knowing that what was going on at the other side of the phone. After giving up on the phone, he turned to the computer screen again. Instead of waiting for the e-mail in front of the screen, he went to the kitchen and made a coffee for himself. A few cookies and coffee! Almost every morning starts by the same way he thought. Without hearing his own voice, he was not even able to witness his curses while killing the ants around the sugar container. With the coffee mug and cookie dish in his hand, he went to the chair in the balcony to watch the city which already woke up long ago and running towards life. For him, the city is not an object. It is a living creature same as a human. It has heart, kidneys, lungs and blood vessels. He looked at the tall and thin buildings on the other side of the street. They were colourful buildings with narrow entrances. He thought that this must be the best way to provide the maximum number of people benefit from the mighty business opportunities of the street. Each building has a narrow entrance means they can have more variety of businesses on the same street without letting power imbalances among the shops. While looking at the shops and the motorcycles passing by, he recalled how much he hated the noise coming from this street in the mornings of weekends. Now there was nothing coming but he was still unhappy. This was definitely not my wish, he said to himself. He went into the bedroom and checked the computer screen if there is any e-mail. A bright happiness spread to his face when he saw the little yellow envelope picture at the right-bottom of the screen.

* * * (To be continued)

Letters from Vietnam 48

16th November 2006 – 15:31

The position of my new desk is unique because I am looking at the window while working and all other colleagues in the office are either behind me or beside me. Because there are partitions everywhere in the room, I see nobody when I work. But others can see me easily, even without moving on their chairs. Sometimes I feel as if everybody in the room is watching me when I read news in Turkish. This feeling is not negative. There is no fear in it. Quite the opposite! To imagine that everybody in the room is watching me constantly gives me some sort of “irrational” pleasure. I call it irrational because I could not find a rational explanation for this. It might be the pleasure of “being watched” by others while not knowing that who, when and why! Being watched by strangers and being judged! How many of us can accept the idea of someone watching our dreams? However, this thing simply reminds me “Big Brother” programme on TV. A dozen of young people live in a house and 24 hours of their day are being watched by all TV viewers. They do it for a kind of competition. I am not doing anything to be watched or anything which can attract others’ attention. It is my desk, my computer and my books! I often look at outside from the window. Fu My Hung buildings are just in front of me. They look like five siblings walking hand to hand in an empty land. There are a few trees I can see from this place. Some construction machines are constantly working for the new road. The sky is clear but the white clouds look like splashes of paints on a blue canvas. I used to make pictures from the white spots during my childhood. Mostly the only picture I was getting was an iceberg in Antarctica.

There is also a ruined statue a few kilometres away from the school. It is visible from my window during the day. I can not figure out what it is exactly. It looks like a Buddha statue but why did someone destroy a Buddha statue and leave it in this position? It might also be a statue of a political leader. It is tall and large. There must be some better explanation for its silent stand… It reminds me abandoned historical places in Istanbul or the destroyed Buddha statues in Afghanistan. There is something sad about it because it is so lonely and so big. It can watch everyone and can be watched by everyone. However, no one helps it to recover from the effects of rain or dust. It is definitely old and like many other old things, left to die in its own terms. People rush to life everyday. There is no place for an old statue in the modern life unless it could bring money by attracting tourists. Life in practical sense is also very selective. Those who deserve to live continue the race. Those who are useless are usually left behind.

I started a work routine in recent days. I work until 5 pm and then I write for at least 2 hours. Some evenings J calls me and asks me the time as if she does not know the time. I know I am behaving selfish but this is the only way I can keep going. Beside, she also noticed that I feel more cheerful and happy if I have written a few pages before coming home. I don’t touch computer at home. I try to spend all my evening either talking with her or walking with her in the neighbourhood after the dinner. But in school, I have to force myself very hard to keep going on creative things. Actually, it works quite well. I at least write a half page a day. Next day when I start writing again, I first read previous day’s work and edit it. Then I write another half page. Sometimes it is hard to stop after a half page. In that case I keep writing until I can not write any more.

In the last three days, I even got a new friend. A gecko comes to visit me every evening after 6 pm. On the window, I can see its patties, sometimes falls but then quickly climbs again. It comes to eat the flies and other bugs on the window. Since outside gets darker, bugs stick to the window due to the light inside the room. Then the gecko comes and collects them. Because light inside is so strong and outside it too dark, I can also see my own face on the window as if I am looking at a blurred image. The gecko sometimes seems to walk on my face, climbing my lips, walking on my nose. I even talk with it when I stop writing for a short break. It is a silent but helpful friend. It tells me how I pretend to work while I am actually not working and how I am selfish in terms of my own interests. A silent gecko friend is much better than a talkative human friend sometimes because in the case of gecko I made it talk whenever I need to listen. But in the case of friend, he/she can pull the subject wherever he/he wants and we may end up somewhere I don’t want to go.

By the way, thanks to A., I stopped dreaming about speed publishing of my stories by sending them to a vanity press. A. told me that the money I would pay for the book might be more helpful to buy a little canary and listen to the songs every morning. He was right. I sometimes behave very amateur. I don’t need to beg anyone to get publish my stories because I believe they are good enough to be published in good magazines. The only thing I need is a little bit more patience and enthusiasm to keep myself sending stories to the literary magazines. I already contacted one of the biggest publish houses in Turkey and they gave me an address. After re-editing my stories one last time, I will print them and send to the publish house. I have to do this thing more frequently to increase my chances.

Letters from Vietnam 47

13th November 2006 – HCMC – 07:37

I want to be deaf sometimes. Over the last seven years in South East Asia, I developed a kind of sensitivity for noise and it seems like the process can not be reversed. I became over-sensitive to all kind of sounds, which can easily be considered as superfluous. The beeps of motorcycles, honks of trucks, loudly speaking people, ringing phones, smashing doors, buzzing machines etc are all driving me crazy these days… I react to these noises mostly silently but sometimes I become wild and lose my control. I told my students that if they come to my class late, it is no problem unless they do not smash the door behind and close it neatly by their own hands. I also sent an e-mail to all lecturers in my office to apply the same process when they enter or leave the office. The grumbling of smashing door like a thunder takes my mind away from me and I feel as if I am at the edge of being insane for a short time. Noise itself is a sign of insanity! I remember how B closed the windows and doors of his bedroom to protect himself from overwhelming noises coming constantly from the street. He also put some black boards on his windows to keep the sunlight out of his room in the mornings.

My oversensitivity for the noise did not develop within one day. I think the growing stress and loneliness inside me helped this thing to get bigger and made it an enormous problem for me over the last seven years. Yesterday I shouted to J just because she was dragging the fan on the floor while I was reading. I knew that I was not supposed to shout her because of this but I could not stop myself. The constant sound coming from the objects in the room also makes my nerves out of the border of sanity. When I have noise coming from outside I feel as if I am so helpless in struggling with big waves of the ocean. They come and smash me on my head, roll my body towards any direction possible and the only thing I can do is to curse.

In Vietnam, this oversensitivity reached to its peak point. I can’t imagine somewhere else people make more noise than they do here. Going to the city and getting exposed to the all sorts of noises make me dizzy and I feel nausea as if I am going to throw up all the noises I have just swallowed. Last week I have been to the city twice for my health certificate. I needed it for the work permit process and the HR lady gave me an address of a hospital where there are English-speaking doctors/nurses. First day I went to the hospital and returned to the school around 11 am. I was so exhausted with the noise and fumes from the vehicles that as soon as I got to the school I had lunch. The same thing happened when I went to collect my health certificate too. Again I returned to school a few hours before lunch time but could not wait for 12 am for that. I ate as if I had some kind of feeble body which needs careful protection from noise and fumes.

However there are still some kinds of noises which do not really trouble me. For example, a crying baby in a public bus makes me feel good –not because baby cries desperately but I guess I feel some joy of life in this sound-. I also do not bother seeing students talking loudly around me and making jokes. I take these noises as part of my life or basically part of the whole life. I wonder the day when my own voice starts to be a noise for me. Then I need to be deaf and mute at the same time.

I also wonder why people live in HCMC? What makes them to live here? I can understand the locals who are continuing a life of their parents so for them there is not much choice but what about the foreigners? When I ask friends at school, they usually say the same thing: You will get used to it. But there is nothing special to getting used to the noise. I don’t want to get used to it because it will kill my senses slowly without giving me anything special. There are many foreigners living in this city for long time without having any problem with noise and dirt. People seem as if this is a heaven for easy and inexpensive living. I can admit the word “inexpensive” to some extent but the word “easy” would be an exaggeration for this city. Life here seems like life in a caravan for years. You have to move and make noise to get rid of the trouble in your ears. It may not sound a good idea but it seems to work perfect when it comes to the word “adapt”. Darwin states three rules for evolution: Migrate, Die or Adapt. If you can make your own noise, you will be protected by all other noises coming from outside. I think this is how people live here. Whenever I go to the city the first thing strikes to my attention is the constantly honking motorcycles and cars. Then it is also not difficult to notice people beside the road listening music very loudly. This explains the whole situation. If you don’t want to get troubled by the external noises, then make your own. It is like a mother who does not tolerate the cries of somebody else’s baby but when it comes to her own baby, she becomes a heroine to answer the needs of the baby.

The city lives and grows with noise. There is no way to stop it and there is no point in complaining about it. If I don’t want noise around me, I should not live in the city. People in the city adapt themselves for all kinds of intrusions –mental or physical-. But people like me are less adaptive to new situations. I need a few things with me wherever I go. A few books, a computer to write, a mug to drink coffee/tea and of course my beloved wife are the four indispensable for me. Anything more than these needs to be careful investigation before interrupting my silence. At the end, I believe the silence is the best music human mind can create. The rest is noise!

Letters from Vietnam 46

12th November 2006 - HCMC

Last week I went to the dance club to see if I can learn dancing. As soon as I arrived at the club room, I have been greeted by a few students who are enrolled in my classes. It was good to see some familiar faces at the first time since this way my embarrassment could have chance to turn into fun. When dance teachers came, my nightmare started. Almost everyone in the room was able to do the steps without much problem. A girl from Statistics class tried to help me by showing the steps beside me and repeating the same thing probably tens of times. It seemed easy but soon later I realized that it is as hard as playing an instrument. As a person who learns everything by mental studies –not by observing and imitating-, it was too hard to teach my body how to move after a certain step. She tried very long time to make me feel comfortable at my first day and I tried to be very patient not to leave the room. However, I could not learn a single sequence of steps for the entire session. I left with the feeling that there are certain things in this life I should not try at all. My self-confidence helps me only in certain positions. I am definitely very stable in a Math class and feel well after writing a beautiful paragraph. Playing an instrument, singing and dancing are three of the many things I will never be able to achieve. Of course if I try harder, it will not be a problem but the question is deadly at this point: Do I really want to dance? The answer is definitely “no”. Watching the South American girls dancing on the streets makes everyone envious but this ambition only is not enough to make one a good dancer. After the first lesson I easily gave up dancing classes with a great frustration since I knew that I would not be able to allocate sufficient time or energy for dancing. It requires constant attention, regular exercises and great determination which I do not have for dancing at all. The good thing is, as Nietzsche says, “that which does not kill me makes me stronger”, I learnt one more thing about myself without losing much time and energy. Now I can only enjoy watching dancing couples and appreciate their skills. There is no question of all human accomplishments are results of self-determination and hard-work. When I multiply big numbers in my head or take their squared-roots without using calculator, my students usually ask me how I am doing this very quickly. I told them several times that there is nothing special about this because one can do the things he/she loves. If you love dancing, you can dance very well and make people feel jealous. If you love numbers, then you can play with them as if a magician plays with poker cards. And of course, if you love words, then you can write beautiful poems and amazing stories to be remembered for centuries.

Last week there was another important incident, which happened in virtual world. I am member of Turkey-Thailand group which aims to provide communication among Turkish people who either currently live in Thailand or used to live in Thailand before. Last week, a guy wrote a complaint about his disappointing experience in Embassy of Turkey. His complaint was about the behaviour of the secretary at the front desk and her prompt reaction towards him when he rejected to supply another document for the visa application of a Thai friend. His behaviour towards the secretary of a state institution was not acceptable and seemed unbalanced. However he wrote his complaint to the group and I believe, although he was wrong he deserved a response from the authorized people who are also members –even moderators- of the group. But instead of answering his complaint and telling him where he made a mistake, the moderators ceased his membership and fired him out. He wrote to me next day about the situation. I felt sorry for him but I was also angry for the action taken by the moderators. The group itself is not a state institution; neither exists to protect the state’s rights. If he said something wrong, then whoever has right to answer his comments, has to do it in a way people do in modern times. To ban him from the group and sending him off the group as if a football player is sent off with a red card for his brutal actions is very undemocratic and very primitive in terms of management. The difference in the analogy is obvious. Unlike the well-defined rules of football, our group did not have any rules before this incident. The group was serving for the people and it needs to embrace all diversity in the population regardless of whether the population is small or not. I wrote a condemnation letter to the group mentioning that banning is the action of the managers who are either powerless or not be able to moderate the diverse situations. I got several answers, which were condemning my condemnation. I did not withdraw my letter. Soon later, one of the moderators of the group stated the rules of the group for the future references. Then people turned to write about daily things again. What I understood from this experience is very simple: As Turkish people we all appreciate freedom for ourselves. When it comes to the freedom of others, our love for ourselves passes over all other social responsibilities. We are very weak when it comes to support others’ freedom or search for rights. Another lesson I learnt was about Turkish state institution’s impatience to the criticism. I admit that the guy at the beginning made a great mistake when he wrote the things to the group before he talks with Embassy officials but still this does not justify the action of the moderators. When he called the Embassy for the action against him and told them that “this is against democracy and human rights!!!”, the official at the other end of the telephone line told him this historical sentence: “Who told you there is democracy in the group?”. Those who believe in different democracies for different individuals or using it only for their own benefits are called either fascist or dictator.

I started to write a short story narrating this incident and combining it with my never-ending authentication procedure. I only wrote a page but it already went in a Kafkaesque road in the first page. I will try to get rid of the pessimism of “The Castle” and have some humours to make it a sarcastic criticism.

Letters from Vietnam 45

9th November 2006 – HCMC

After a break of nine days, I am back to writing again. After the last entry to the blog, I only write a letter to C and a half page beginning for a new short story. Yesterday evening I stopped working at 4 pm and started to work on writing in Turkish for almost two hours. I realized that this is the only way I can keep writing since it is almost impossible to write at home. J wants to talk with me once I return home and this is the only right thing I can do. I can not blame her for feeling lonely or loving me. Actually, I must be thankful to her for being so patient with me.

Whenever I start writing a new short story I am having the anxiety of hesitation: what if I can never complete it? I wrote a half page yesterday and stopped writing when time was 6 pm. I re-read my two paragraphs several times and edited them more than twice. Polishing a small piece of story is much easier than working on a whole story. As soon as I stopped writing I went home. On the road I tried to keep thinking about the next half page which I will write today. My mind was clear and fresh in terms of the plot and characters. My only concern was time! The same question again and again attacked to my mind. What if I can not complete it and it stays as an incomplete story like many others. There are more than twenty half-stories in my computer. Some of them are almost finished and if I have enough courage to go through them, they will be complete in a few hours. However I can not return them because I lost the enthusiasm which made me start those stories at the beginning. I believe that a short story must be written in a short time. The longer time it takes the more deviant it becomes. The sparkling idea which gave birth to the story can take the whole process if it is hot and fresh. I think I will delete most of my half stories in coming days. Destroying them can help me to stop being obsessed with old ideas. I am not sure how it can help me to star new stories but leaving something behind and not looking at back always inspire new innovations.

Last weekend we went to Mui Ne again. It was nice to stay away from city even though it was only for one day. We took a morning bus and left the city at 9 am. At 1 pm, we were on the beach, walking barefoot. I took Ben Okri’s short story collection with me. It was an easy read and I have finished it without much trouble. I can not say I really enjoyed his style when he mentions dreams and modern magicians. His other book I have read last week was better in terms of style and technique. It was an essay collection and most of the essays were about poets, story telling and the value of art.

In the evening we went to a restaurant near to our resort. There were French people inside so the TV was speaking French all the time. Soon later I noticed that Vietnamese music comes from behind my table. The music was coming from a Vietnamese man’s cell phone and I guess he tries to impress his girlfriend with either the music or the quality of his phone. It was irritating because the sound was loud and he never stopped it. For more than 30 minutes we have listened to a mechanical sound which is definitely not as beautiful as the sound comes from a stereo. When they left the restaurant, he put his telephone into his bottom pocket and the music was still on. I told J that his bottom sings… We both laughed but still tried not to make it too visible for our music-lover friends J

Whenever we inserted the key holder to the socket of electricity on the wall, the TV in the room automatically turned on. And more surprisingly, whatever the channel we watch, there was a red word at the top of the screen: FACTORY. We both did not understand why TV screen always shows the word FACTORY with big, bold and red letters. It must be some kind of error from the settings of the TV. Unlike the first time, our room was away from the sea this time. There was no way to listen to the voice of the sea while trying to sleep. However, I woke up in the next morning with the noise of the construction. There was an ongoing construction beside our resort and we had he nearest room to the area. I could not sleep in the room so I took my book and went to the beach.

After reading two books from Okri I returned to the biography of Kafka. I don’t want to finish it easily because it is, like Kafka’s own books, a heavy read. There are so many words whose meanings I can not figure out from the context. I use a dictionary to keep going. Today I read 6th chapter in the book and I realized that Kafka also suffered a lot from “not being able to write”. This is a quote from his best friend, Brod’s diary. He writes this paragraph after convincing Kafka to describe the events they have seen during a festival. According to the plan, they will both write about the same thing and then they will compare with each other:

I was pursuing a secret plan. Kafka’s literary art was lying fallow at that time: for months he’d completed nothing and he often complained to me that his talent is obviously leaking away, that he’d totally lost it. He was living for months on end in a kind of lethargy, very depressed; in my diaries I find recurrent entries about his melancholy. Le coeur triste, l’esprit gai… Even when he was in his deepest depressions, the effect he had on other people was stimulating, not depressing, except in moments of closest intimacy.

Letters from Vietnam 44

31 October 2006 – 18:34 – HCMC

What am I supposed to do if I don’t write? I told A that I am giving one-week break to writing in order to listen myself and have a better start after a quiet week but soon later I noticed that it is almost impossible to stop writing? First, I need something else to make myself busy so that I can maintain my distance from writing. I know that what I write on my blog can not be considered as creative writing and I know that all blog entries do not worth more than a single short story. However, my purpose in keeping the blog does not contradict with this insufficiency. Basically, I am keeping the blog just because I can not create fiction. The day I can start writing stories again, probably I will either ignore the blog or quit keeping it totally. I don’t know what keeps me away from writing in last few years. I lost my old glorious days of “sitting in a quiet room and stay motionless until finishing the work”. Now, I am more impatient, more amateur, and duller in terms of creating something artistic.

I can also judge myself with this claim: I am keeping the blog because I am lazy to imagine fiction. One easily accepts that keeping a journal is much easier than writing fiction since writing the life only has nothing to do with art. It could be either history or observation. Because art is a recreation of life, not the life itself and it can be shown in a story. Years pass and people die. We may not know how Dostoyevsky lived his life day by day but we all know how Raskolnikov killed two women. Because Dostoyevsky lived a real life and it is definitely less interesting than fictious life of Raskolnikov. Some people might want to read Dostoyevsky’s journals but again the reason for this would be Raskolnikov. Dostoyevsky’s life is important to the readers because he is such a great writer who once created Raskolnikov brilliantly.

Right now there are many half stories waiting to be completed but I have no idea how I can make them full stories. I should stop blogging and start worrying about creating characters but this itself is a big problem in these days. My biggest problem is being away from the sources of my first language. I have not read a beautiful paragraph in Turkish for almost six months. The only Turkish I read is the news from Internet sites. As it can be imagined Turkish newspapers do not have a fantastic way of giving news to the readers. I guess this only makes me thirstier because the bad Turkish and usually bad grammar keep me more away from the beauty of the language. I sometimes read online magazines on the Net but except for a few, they are also usually not very well-designed in terms of the way they use the language. Writing in Turkish now is scary as if I am walking in a lake where I do not know the depth of the water for my next step. I am not confident… Then why am I writing in English? It is because I have an excuse if someone says “stop writing bullshit”. I can tell him/her that this is not my first language and I have right not to write beautifully. This inferiority complex makes everything more imbalanced for me. The more I write in English, the more I feel inferior in writing English because I will never be confident in writing English and I am definitely sure that neither my English nor my imaginary writing skills improve by this way.

Now I can think of only one solution: Stop reading/writing English and start practicing writing in Turkish again as if I am discovering my language again. This definitely might help me if I can keep going and supporting myself with good stories from the Net. Of course, I will read and write English at work and for e-mails/letters to friends but other than that I will only use Turkish for writing fiction.

* * *

J is coming this Thursday. I am very happy since at least there will be someone to talk with at home. It may not seem so good in terms of writing but who cares! What did I write when she was away? Nothing! Then I should stop thinking that loneliness is necessary for writing. It is a relatively concept. I need her and I need her presence beside me while I am busy with writing. Her presence is enough to keep me working on rational works.

What else? What else? What else?

Nothing else… I want to read some stories from online magazines and go to bed early…

This is all I want to do now!!!

I have three classes tomorrow…

Letters from Vietnam 43

28^th October 2006 – 06:20 – HCMC

The alarm clock was set to 7 am but I could not sleep. What woke me up? A deadly dream… I was eating in a friendly environment. I guess my brothers were with me on the table. Then I felt the food on my throat. I did not consider it as a problem and continued eating. After a while whatever I ate stuck somewhere at my throat. I was not able to breathe. I put my hand into my throat and tried to remove the pieces from my throat by my fingers. Then I felt the spasm of my entire body. The shivering and shaking took me away from my purpose. I tried to drink some water. I had one glass but it did not help me. I drank another glass… Then I woke up breathing frequently as if I am just given the chance. I looked around. It was still dark outside. I tried to sleep but I could not.

This is second dream I have experienced this week. Both dreams are similar to each other. I am losing the control of my life and messing up with the things around me. Is it loneliness making me this much desperate? Or is it the days which are passing unsatisfied in terms of reading and writing? I don’t know! Probably I will never know… I feel sleepy and tired! It is morning 06:31…I have two classes today but I feel no urgency to feel the burden.

I got e-mails from friends. A. writes about my obsession to Kafka. He thinks that I should overcome with the obsession and look forward to the future. But this is hard for someone who has no future! I can not write Turkish any more! When I try it takes an hour to write a paragraph. Being away from my language has made me infertile. I can’t find the right words and I can not use them properly to create something poetic. It is so hard! I need to read something Turkish other than news and confession…

C sent an e-mail too. He got the postcard I sent him three weeks ago. He talks about being 30 and looking at life from the age of 30+. I also feel like I am getting closer to 30 and did not achieve a single thing in my life yet. I worry about myself and meaning of my life. What is the point in living if not creating something? Either a child or a story! I am infertile for both purposes. Life is not a dream any more! It is as solid as a rock. During the university years, I felt somewhere inside me that I was different from others. This difference made me feel optimistic since I wanted to do the things nobody else did. But now, I look at my life and regret the null past. Now I am an ordinary person. Nothing makes me special. I was always an ordinary person. The worst thing is I believe this now by myself without the help of anyone. I found that I am useless and unnecessary for the people around me. I found that the light inside me is not strong enough to make the street bright so I and others can benefit from it.

I just opened the window and raised the curtains. The light of the morning sun filled the room with some kind of happiness which is still not touching me. There is a little bird outside, singing for the new morning. I tried to find it but all my attempts failed with looking up and down from the balcony. It should be hard to sing this long with this voice.

I talked with J yesterday evening. She said there is one more ceremony for her grandmother this weekend. Then she will be free. I told here, buy a ticket and come! It is hard to live alone. I need a company in this silence. Someone who can make noise in the kitchen, someone who can ask me how I am and how my day was! Once a person gets used to it, it becomes addiction. To be addicted to a person is not a bad thing at all. Although it makes you weaker and more vulnerable, it is still worth to try in terms of sharing a life and catching the happiness in small things. She told me that she translated my river story into Thai and read to her mother. She said, she cried while reading. Her mother fell in sleep!!! I laughed a lot yesterday after hearing this. At the end, it is only a page… If you were awake at the beginning, you are supposed to be awake at the end too. It must have a strong sleeping pill inside the story which I did not mean.

By the way, someone took the dead Gregory Samsa from my door. I saw it yesterday morning too but it was not there in the evening. Kafka turned a man to a large beetle and made a historical touch to the modern literature. What if we think that beetles become men! Isn’t it more likely? I think it is worth to imagine!

Time for breakfast! I will write a short story today or tomorrow… Let’s see how it goes…

Letters from Vietnam 42

27^th October 2006 - 17:43 - HCMC

When Z claimed that he wanted to live without being part of a category, his friends and his parents tried to persuade him for not pursuing an ideal which has no exit. Nobody knew his motivation and nobody had chance to learn. However, Z believed in himself and he continued to do what he really dreamed of. He first got rid of all social obligations, and then isolated himself from all worldly businesses. He was free at the end! He was selfless because he did not take any history together with him. He did not have a past and he did not have a prospective future. There was only ‘now’ for him and he lived only for ‘now’. It did not take long for him to see that self is an illusion which comes from where he belongs to. The more he stayed away from his past, the more he felt weightless. He lived the life of an ‘absolutely free man’. Nobody told him what to do and he decided on everything for the best benefit of himself. He lived a life of a dervish in the heart of the city, in a small apartment. But soon his fame spread to the entire building, then to the street and to the whole city. It did not take long for the entire population of the country learnt about his lifestyle.

Then a few young people wanted to have a same kind of freedom for themselves. They all isolated themselves from all the categories they belong to and started a free life. They felt as light as a feather as if they are not bounded by any rules of the categories which they left behind. It was like an earth of no gravity! You can stand but only if you really want! A place with no authority! A place with no self in itself!

Soon later, these category-free people felt that if there is no rule, then they can do everything they wanted. This of course caused a big problem for the people who still belong to other certain categories. First security forces warned them to keep quiet. When a few category-free people have been arrested by the police for excessive use of certain things, people from other categories united against them and had large demonstrations on the streets. It was time to get together for category-free people but nobody knew how!

Firstly, it was hard since if they come together then they will lose their most important characteristic which makes them unique. They had meetings but could not reach to a common point. Many of them left the life style of category-free people and joined one of the big categories in the society. The rest stayed silent for a short time until someone made a standing for the rest.

One day, Z talked with another category-free man and told him that category-free people must have some common points other than being part of category-free. They both put all their tangible characteristics to compare and at the end they found a common point: Both of them were drinking the coffee without sugar and with cream. This was the only common point in both. Now it was time to find others who also like to do same thing. It did not take too long to find a few more who also like to drink the coffee with cream and without the sugar. Then, Z invited them to join them so that they will have a ‘self’ and possibly a ‘history’. Almost all the category-free people joined them. The rest died without any category and being forgotten soon. Those who joined to this new category wrote their history. Z has always been remembered as the founder of this new category and his category-free years have been recognized by “dark ages” of his life. His first meeting with the other category-free man was official beginning of time for the new category and the history for them started at that point. Before that there was only darkness and chaos. After that there was sun light and joy.

Years later, one woman in the category of the people who like the coffee without sugar and with cream, accidentally has tasted the coffee with sugar and with cream. She exclaimed with her slowly enlarging eyes! “This is good!” she said without knowing that it was the sugar which made it tastier for her. She offered the same coffee to her friends who are also in the same category. Soon later, there was a small category whose members were enjoying the coffee with sugar and cream. But this caused another problem with the old members of the category. They said it is against the rules of the category and those who continue drinking coffee with sugar and milk have to leave because they are ruining the glorious future of the category by betraying the history.

All the new adventurers turned back to old habit of drinking coffee without sugar and with cream again except for one. Her name was L and she said she would rather to become category-free than return to old fashion. Her friends tried to persuade her not to pursue an ideal which has no exit but she did not listen to them. He started a new life for herself only and did everything she wanted without considering her history. She was feeling selfless like Z felt long ago. But the fame which destroyed Z did not leave her alone either…

The cycle of category-free people never ended…

Nobody knew that this was the history of self!

Letters from Vietnam 41

24^th October 2006 – 16:41 – HCMC

I don’t like being touched by the ticket guy whenever I want to get on the bus! I actually did not understand the true function of his action when he tries to hold a passenger’s arm and pulls him inside the bus. I am sure most of the people can get on the bus without his assistance. There might be some very old passengers who are in need of his help but the rest is usually ok. The way he holds and sometimes even squizzes my arm is very unpleasant. He also does similar thing to the young girls and I have seen the dismay on the faces of several young girls when he tries to hold them and almost drag them to the seat. Two days ago I told him not to touch me with both in my body language and in English. I don’t know what he understood but at least I was safe on my own feet. I did not let him to pull me inside the bus while the bus was still moving with a low speed. I wonder he does this thing because he does not have many things in the bus to make himself busy enough. This happens when someone’s job is too slack for his/her potential. He might not have any other duty than collecting money from passengers. Then whenever he has time, he goes to the door and tells to the passengers who want to get on to wait for the ones who are getting off. But isn’t this a stupid problem? If the chauffer opens both doors, then one can be used for getting on and the other one can be used for getting off. If everybody uses the same method, soon people will stop using the back door to get on the bus. Anyway, it is not my job to change the bus services in HCMC.

They have removed all the red tiles from the wall of the stairs and painted the wall white. Now, it looks much better than it was before. Last semester, whenever I walked up to those stairs, I felt like I am climbing one of the towers of a castle. Because there was no sunlight coming in to the stairs, they have installed lights, which always reminded me the torches on the walls.

The metaphor of the castle reminded me Kafka again. I have sent my diploma to the embassy of Turkey before going to Thailand. When I returned, I got it back with the necessary –according to who?- stamps on it. The lady at the embassy did a great job by translating the official stamps of Foreign Ministry and Education Ministry into English. She also sealed the translations with the stamps of Embassy. I was hopeful that the process of authentication is over this time. Soon I realized that we are living in a Kafkaesque world and hope is only a tool to prolong the torture. I went to Human Resources department in the afternoon to ask the situation about my diploma. This time the problem was unsolvable. In my diploma my two names were written together as if I have a 7 letter name. But on the authentication papers, on the passport and on my transcripts, my name is written as two names (3 + 4). Immigration department asks me to authenticate that I am the same person whose name is written on the diploma. Basically, what they want me to prove is 3+4=7. I was shocked since I have never imagined this could cause a real trouble. I have worked as a Math teacher in 4 different schools before and none of them minded this little difference. Now I have to prove that the diploma is mine! Because three authentication stamps on the diploma are only verifying that the diploma is from a valid educational institution but proving that the name on the diploma is mine. I talked to the HR lady and told her that I will not pursue anything anymore. If the officials in the immigration think that all these stamps are not enough, then I will return my home upon the expiry of my visa. I am tired of the long process and I am tired of asking people for a favour. She did not say anything! I left the room and I haven’t heard anything from her again.

The only solution to my problem I can think of is to go back to my university and ask for a new diploma on which my name is written in 3+4 form. Since this thing requires enormous energy, time and money, I would rather not to pursue the procedure and stop at the point where I can not go anymore. These guys at the immigration have no idea about what job I am doing and how it is impossible to teach Statistics or Discrete Mathematics without having a proper Mathematics degree. I gave up!

When I arrive at home, the little cockroach was lying upside down in front of the door. Then I laughed reminiscently while looking at Mr. Gregory Samsa who already reached to the end of the novel. He was lying there, in front of my door, making me laugh at myself since I was the one who could not get the way inside the castle in spite of my all optimistic efforts. All the roads going to the castle seem clean and tidy if I look from a distance but once I tried to enter those roads, I see the impossibility of my dreams, the utopia…

I was planning to write another short story today but the little cockroach and the authentication problem threw me out of my planned path. I will write on the concept of “self”, “freedom” and “dependence” tomorrow. Right now I am only writing the question which will lead me to the story: Are you from those who can not be categorized? Life goes on… I am hungry…

Letters from Vietnam 40

23^rd October 2006 – 22:20 – HCMC

I have to write now! Although I am feeling a little bit tired now and I have a class early tomorrow morning, I have to write. It is an urgency to express my gratitude or confused mind.

I went to the Bayram Party of little Turkish community tonight if the word “party” could be good enough to describe the event. It was like a wedding party with lots of colourful balloons and children chasing them in an indefinite cat-mouse game. It was to commemorate the Bayram all together with happiness and joy. The main purpose is of course to remember that we are one and we will always be one. The unity messages are always followed by applauds and whistles. The good words and good wishes were everywhere. Everyone bought presents for everyone and I was the one of the few people who did not buy a present. This made me feel troubled a little bit. As a person who is not very social, I always feel like I am not good when it comes to make people around me happy. However, this time I had an excuse. I did not imagine that the party would be this kind. Funny thing was I was the one of the few outsiders in the party because I cannot be easily categorized. I felt the strange inferiority of the state of “not being able to be categorized”. There were students, there were teachers, there were businessmen, there were children, there were locals, there were foreigners and there were waiters. Actually I was one of the many teachers in the party if the profession is concerned but definitely I was different. The best definition for myself would be “a guest” and thanks to the anchors who spoke on the stage I really felt like a true “guest”. They were all friendly people and sometimes I could not stop myself laughing at the words or the gestures. Some of them reminded me my old days, some made me laugh simply because they were funny. It was one of the best experiences I have ever had in Vietnam. I left the party with a growing faith inside me. A faith to happiness and joy of life… A faith which is dedicated to the human’s uniqueness filled my heart as if I was the unclaimed baggage which is found on the luggage band after thousands of rotations. Before leaving the party, I was greeted by a lady whose name was A (I guess it was beginning with A but I am still not sure). She was the spouse of one of the top administrators in HCMC. She surprisingly shook my hand and said one more “good bye”. I thought about this gesture and tried to catch the change in the movement. This party was quite different from how it must have been! Or my mind is still old fashioned and things change in the Turkish community very quickly. I would not mind to exchange a few words with a lady from the community but shaking hands was something unusual –or I suspect so-. I went downstairs with a little bit bewilderment but soon I forgot everything… I was happy somehow with the feeling of “home”. These people invited me to their parties and made me feel like I am having a bayram at home. I did not know how to thank them so I guess my silence could be explained by the embarrassment of a beggar when he has been given a gold necklace. I will definitely see them again in near future with a few gifts in my hands. At the end, I owe them this extraordinary feeling of joy for tonight.

I left home around 5 pm. I took the 102 bus and arrived to Ben Than in 30 minutes. Then I walked up Le Loi road. I walked up to the Rex hotel and realized that I was on the wrong road. While I pass the street, I saw this little guy with green uniform. I guess he is one of the tourist polices. I am still not sure whether I should call him police or not but he somehow looks like a policeman. His main job was to cross the street with the pedestrians. He just stands and waits for tourist to pile up at one side of the street. When he I ready, he gives them a sign and starts to walk with them. He crosses the street probably twice every minute. I thought about this little guy and his job. It can not be considered as a dangerous or a lucrative job. It is as simple as walking. Then the easier his job is the less he will get paid. I stood at one side of the road and watched him for a while. He was a serious guy and doing his job properly. It is all about caring about others. I thought about him as if he is one of the most important figures in the city. If he disappears now, nobody would notice his absence except for his supervisor. His job requires almost no skills. However, there was something attractive about his job. He was outside all day and observing all kinds of people. He helps drunken tourists to cross the road. He helps young children, pregnant women, businessmen, old ladies, government officials, students, young lovers, flower sellers, beggars, teachers etc… He observes them all. He must feel that the city needs him. His assistance is not something unnecessary.

While standing there, I decided to make the imagination longer and went through it. This guy’s grandfather had worked on Mekong river as a sailor. He was doing almost the same job with his tiny boat. The grandfather was taking passengers from one side of the river to the other side of the river. He listened to all sorts of the stories about his grandfather from his own father. In one of the story, grandfather tells how one can listen to the advice of river for a better living. Grandfather believed in the river as if the river is life itself. All the stories he narrated came from the heart of the river which flows through the purely refined human experiences. River speaks, river cries, river gets angry, river feels joyous, river keeps silent and even river sings… The summary of life can be found the infinite length of its current.

But one day, the grandfather did not listen to the river. It was a windy day. The current was strong. A few people came to spread the ashes of their loved one to the river. The grandfather asked to the river. The river told him that death is not the only thing these people are afraid of. They are more afraid of the people who might knock their doors in the night. Grandfather knew that only those who are not honest to themselves are scared of uninvited guests of darkness. Instead of rejecting them, he took them to the middle of the river. Nobody knew what he wanted to do. He might have felt the threatening look in the eyes.

They arrived to the middle of the river. Then the current became stronger, the wind blew harder… The boat capsized and all the people on the board have been killed by the current.

His father did not pursue the same job because there was no enough money in it. He basically started a small business but failed. Before his father died, he told him how grandfather died in the river and how important to listen to the river if one wants to survive. Then this little guy took this job to achieve his father’s wish…

* * *

It could be a story If I work on it but I am lazy to start a new story now. There are many incomplete ones and I should work on them before starting a new one.

I am tired again… Time to sleep… I hope I can write better things in coming days…

Letters from Vietnam 39

22 October 2006 – 21:02 – HCMC

This is the end of weekend or beginning of next week. I have no idea what I have done for last two days. Yesterday morning, I wrote a page and left home to walk around the city. I went to some bookstores to find some second hand books. Of course the one with the most books is n Pahm Ngu Lao road. I bought Sartre’s “The Nausea” and a book on Jung’s psychology. In the afternoon, I went to Mexican Restaurant. It is a nice place with a beautiful music but the constant intrusion of local sellers makes it a little bit less charming. I sat there and read David Park’s novel. Then I came back to write more. I was tired of walking but still could not sleep until 3 am. I watched football matches of two British teams and I chatted with an old student for more than an hour. The more I chat with him, the more I felt guilty of wasting time.

Today was a little bit different… I woke up around 9 am, had some breakfast and sleep again until 2 pm. Because there was a dinner at the hotel with a few teachers from the school, I have cancelled my plans of playing Frisbee…. Instead of Frisbee, I went to gym to work out.

Ohhh, I feel so sleepy now… I want to write a few things but they are not so important… I will get back to writing soon… Tomorrow evening I hope…

Now, I am going to bed now to have a long sleep…

Here is the beginning of the story I started to write yesterday. I don't know when I will finish it. I don't even know whether I will finish it or not. It looks ok to me by this way although it can not be considered as a story...

The Mousetrap

I woke up with a confused mind this morning. That was just a dream but I could not decide whether it was a drama or a comedy! I was driving a red Ferrari in an unknown place. At the beginning I felt the happiness of driving a luxury car but soon after this fake gladness, I fell into the guilt of a thief or a betrayer! Something was wrong! The girl sitting beside me was neither my wife nor someone I knew. Then something terrible happened. The steering wheel of the car broke off and I was in the middle of the road without any control on the car. The steering wheel was in my hands without any connection to the car’s body. It was funny if I had been a cartoon character. I threw the steering wheel out of he car and tried to control the car without thinking about decreasing the speed. Somehow I managed driving but soon I realized that I could not be able to stop the car by pressing the pedals. The guilt inside me grew larger and larger as if it wants to swallow me while I was busy with the car’s problem. There was no way to stop it and the girl beside me seemed untroubled with the problem. “Who was she? I asked myself after waking up. A lady with large sparkling eyes unlike the small unsown slits of those who come from her ancestors’ country! I knew where she was from! I knew the odour of her breath! I knew the smoothness of her skin without touching her neither in dream nor in real… However, it was still scary to be with her.

I started to interpret this dream even before I woke up. I don’t know how and during what portion of my sleep but I remember the thoughts passed through my mind. Am I losing the control of my life with a single look of a woman? Her presence beside me and her calm reaction to the occasion made me think that she enjoyed the whole occasion somehow. While I was bewildered with the lack of control, she was happy with sitting beside me as if the only thing she wanted to achieve in her life was to sit there beside me and smile.

All my day passed with the thoughts about this dream. Wherever I looked in the room, I saw her face. I tried to forget but the more I tried the more it sticked to my mind like overly chewed gum in the hands of a little girl. I remembered the first day I saw her! The first encounter, the first smile and the first words to be exchanged! Her eyes were trying to escape from direct contact as if eyes are the first witnesses of passionate loves; her hands were holding each other as if they are protecting themselves from my hands. I thought melodramatic fantasies in which she was a victim and I was a hero. The wrong thing about these fantasies was the laughter escorting it at all the time as if she was watching and recording the scenes of my mind with an illegal camera. In fact, there was something illicit about her, something incoherent, and something threatening!

While crossing the street, I, unintentionally, behaved like her husband and she briefly dismissed my attempt of protecting her by keeping her at my left side while cars were coming from right side. Similar thing happened in the bus too. I was leaving her the windowside like good husbands do but she looked at my face and forced me to sit on the windowside. I felt embarrassed with her independence or at least beingindependent from myself.

When she said that she has been married for four years I felt happy but later the similar guilt settled on my soul again. I questioned my happiness! Did I feel it in a way I should have as a friend or a co-worker? I doubted it. It was more or less the possibility of sharing a sin! Unfortunately, the possibility of sharing something unethical made me feel better since I would be able to confront myself with claiming half of the responsibility if it really occurs. The shame of provocative thoughts held me in the air for a while as if I am the hat of a guest waiting for being hanged to the nail on the wall. The fire of passion surrendered my mind in a way I could not think logically any more. It was a fire and like all the fires I decided to wait for the end so that I can discover the cause of it. But what if it never extinguishes? What if it burns and destroys everything I have before it stops. I felt like a helpless mouse in front of a trap. I am in front of it and I knew what will happen if I take my next step. I knew it clearly by observation but I still attempt to put my foot in the trap and get caught by the enormous pain of self-infliction. The piece of cheese was not the thing which can be held responsible for all this. It was never-ending hunger inside me…

Letters from Vietnam 38

19th October 2006 – 9:49 – HCMC
For the memory of grandmother…

“This is the river!” a boy shouted as if he has never seen it before. They were on the road for more than two hours to release the ashes of grandmother to the infinitely long surface of the river. They have carried the ashes in specially decorated containers and this is the last journey grandmother is going to take. The children were joyous with the first scene of the water and they were giggling with the happiness growing inside them. They were not aware of what made them happy but somehow they were thinking that it may not be so right to show happiness where others were either looking pale or shedding tears quietly and invisibly.

The coolness of the fresh water easily spread into the air with its strong odour. Everyone in the bus was stunned by the glimmering light beams coming from the surface of the river and it was difficult not to feel the power of life once watching the elegance of the purity in the water. Although they came here to commemorate grandmother’s death, livelihood of the water and its indefinite being force people to be optimistic for their future. The river was there, before they came, before the little boy exclaimed, before grandmother was born… It was infinite with its people around…The river created the people and gave life to villages around. It was the power of life they came to celebrate. It was recycling itself through mountains and the ocean. It becomes rain, then river, then ocean, then air, then cloud and then rain again…

The sun was setting down on the downside of the river as if the whole river is pouring into the sun to cool it down. It was late afternoon and soon it will be night with the silence of mourning family members and sound of flowing stream. The river was only one! It was one piece with arms, feet and body. It was a living creature same as people and trees. It was both the source of life and the life itself. It was one at every point as if it wants to deny the existence of time. At the beginning, at the middle and at the end where it joins to the ocean, there was only one river. All the fluctuations and turbulences happening in the river will disappear when it reaches to the ocean as if a crying child is hugged by his mother and soon he calmed down.

The family members stood beside the river and looked at it as if it is the one who will take the grandmother away from them. The cycle soon will be completed by the return of the ashes to the water again. Then, grandmother will travel in the wind and water, she will be part of earth and ocean, she will be part of indefinite cycles of being, births and deaths. It is the last journey for the people who are sending her but it is only a small part of a big journey of life which has no end in the every sense. She soon will be flying in the chaotic turbulences of wind then will land on the little waves of the water then soon she will join to the ocean where she actually came from.

The shimmering light from the surface of the river was amazingly vivid in the eyes of the family members as if they are spreading the ashes to a mirror whose surface is cracked and thousands of suns were blinking. Each fraction was a moment in the life of grandmother. Here she was born, here she got married, here she gave her first child, here she lost her husband, here she saw her first grandchild, and here she learnt she is sick… All the tiny reflections of sun were giving a little clue about her life. One of her life-long friends looked at the river as if she was looking at her friend. They were going to school together somewhere on this river… She tried to catch the moments of joyful days on the glimmering surface.

Then, the oldest son took a handful of ashes into his right hand. It was time to say good bye but it was difficult somehow. He has seen others were doing this ceremony many times without feeling what it really means for the ones who lose their loved ones. He looked at his children’s faces and saw his mother’s deep silhouette. Without any intention, he smiled shortly. The birds were still singing with the joy because they knew that if the sun sets today, it will rise tomorrow again. But the eldest son of grandmother knew that this is the last time he will have chance to be with his mother. He released the ashes in his hand to the wind… The colour of gray started to move from his hand as if a sort of magical elixir was flying away from an alchemist’s hands. The ashes soon became the part of the air. It did not take more than a few seconds for the ashes to disappear with the power of the wind. They were in the river now as invisible tiny dust particles moving with the current of the water toward the redness of the setting sun. One more time, grandmother was moving in the hand of nature as if a body floats on surface of the water without caring where the waves take it just because the ultimate trust between the waves and his/her body. She will soon arrive at the ocean to unify with the “one” and melt in the pot of “oneness”. Some call it God, some simply call it nature, and some call it Brahman. It does not matter what worldly name you give to the light of one regarding on your belief. The ultimate end for everyone and for everything does not change… To return where we came from!

Then other sons and daughters came one by one… They did the same thing while hardly keeping the tears in their eyes. The river promised them that grandmother will safely take the journey and will soon be “one” in the boundless mercy of the ocean. There was a silence in everybody’s heart… Silence for grandmother’s long prosperous life… Prosperous with deeds and children…

The silence was broken with buzzing sound of a telephone. It was the eldest grandson, calling from hospital. He told his father that he just held his first baby girl in his arms. Father smiled and without much thinking asked his son what name he plans to give to the new baby. The eldest son understood what his father wants to say. He slowly said the name of grandmother to the ears of his father as if there was no other choice. Father smiled and lifted his telephone to the air to show people around him as if he is showing the baby. He shouted “My son had a daughter…” The people smiled with enormous relief. Then father added the words, “She will carry my mother’s name…” The joy one more time struck to the family. Grandmother was back! As the river promised, the ashes become water, water becomes air, air becomes clouds, clouds become rain and rain becomes river…

Letters from Vietnam 37

18^th October 2006 – 06:23 – HCMC

Arrival to Vietnam was quite easy this time. Nothing was surprising! The military-dressed custom officials, long queues in front of the desks, taxi drivers who ask every 3 seconds where I want to go and of course the sounds of honking cars… Everything was ok! I did not feel strange in Vietnam this time. I might be getting used to the invisible order in the chaos! I rejected all the taxi drivers and walked to the bus, which was waiting just 50 metre away from the exit door of the airport. I waited 10 minutes in the bus and then the journey started. I was starting to feel sleepy due to the meal I had in the airplane. Instead of putting my head into the book’s pages, I watched the city through the window.

Motorcycles were moving like ants! Their movement reminds me the rush of ants carrying grains of rice to their home. The main purpose of the movement is to get the best benefit for the future of the colony. Especially the workers live only for the sake of the queen and the queen lives only for the sake of the next generation. As soon as the queen becomes useless to the colony, workers eat the queen too. Eventually, the only thing the ants serve is next generation. The selfishness of productivity! These motorcycles were doing the same thing! They drive with the highest speed they can and they beep as frequent as possible to make the journey easier for everybody. I was not sure they were rushing either for reproduction or money but if we think human life as a whole, it is impossible to deny the desire to have children for a person. Then everything we make is a result of our desire for next generation. This is what we call “life”.

When there is no order in a system, the chaos evolves to order in a matter of time. Here the traffic can be considered as the system and it is determined by individual motorcycles and cars. There are certain rules, which are known to everyone but still they are not enough. There is a cyclic relationship between the individual vehicles and the traffic. They determine each other and at the end the best for all works. For example, the speed of an individual motorcycle is determined by the density of the traffic and at the same time density of the traffic is determined by the speeds of all motorcycles. –we can think of the average speed-. The chaotic scene disappears once a motorcycle enters into the system because chaos is only visible to outsiders. Those who do not observe the rules of the engagement from inside may not be able to see the order and how order is created by chaos. I think the evolution of living things can be understood by the same way. That is why we call the most primitive form of life as “selfish gene”. The sperms race for the egg and the strongest one can enter the garden of magic. The French feminist writer, Simone de Beauvoir, denies this process for the ground it supports masculinity of the society. In her famous book, “Second Sex”, she argues that the egg plays an active role when it lets the sperm gets inside. She also shows scientific studies regarding this rarely known fact. What she says is basically the egg chooses the best of the sperms which are somehow equally strong to enter. I don’t know what modern science really says about it but if it is true, it might change our perception of power struggles of genders in modern society.

After motorcycles I have seen the booksellers on the pavement. I have seen English or French books before but these were Vietnamese books. It reminded me Istanbul streets again… While I was looking out the window, I felt that the young girl sitting at the other side of the midway was looking at me as if she wants me to talk with her. I don’t remember how we started talking but soon I learnt that she is a high school student and simply wants to practice her English. I wish I could tell her that I am not the person she was looking for to practice speaking. I talked with her about her school and her preferences about the university. She said she wanted to study design. At that moment, I remembered that there was a very nice article in the newspaper I bought in Bangkok. I gave it to her. She was surprised as if I was giving her something valuable. She thanked me and gave me a paper crane she just made by using the ticket for the bus.

At Ben Than I walked shortly to the bus station. There were people everywhere. One funny thing about Vietnam is lady motorcycle drivers. They drive motorcycles but they do not ignore their health. It is very easy to see ladies riding motorcycles as if they just robbed a bank because the cloth they cover their face with shows them like burglars. I guess the function of the cloth on their faces is to protect their lungs from the dust and gas. They also cover their arms and hands with long hand gloves. J thinks that Vietnamese women care about their skins more than Thai women do. I think it might be correct because Thai women consider only about skin colour as the factor of the beauty. Since Vietnamese people have a lighter skin, they might be considering the smoothness and softness of the skin as a main factor.

Then I arrived at home. It costed me only 4,000 VND to come home. If I have taken a taxi, I guess I would have paid more than 100,000 VND. I liked the deal and happily entered the apartment. The room was smelly and the floor was dusty. I opened the windows and let the fresh air to come in. At the end, it was nice to be home… I say home although I did not really enjoy living here but as a simple person I usually feel I am belong to where I make money and where I keep my books, computer and letters… From this perspective, my home is Vietnam now and it will not change for at least eight months more. Then I will decide whether I will stay here longer or not.

After putting my bag down and giving a noisy breath, I said to myself –because there was nobody to greet me- “Welcome back home!”.