Scream!

From the website: http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3283311,00.html

Letters from Vietnam 19

31st July 2006 – 11:45 - Home

Israel is dropping bombs on civilians and the whole world is watching. Didn’t we see this picture before. In the name of “war on terror”, how many more terrorist they will raise… I believe there is one thing worse than terrorism. It is war against terrorism. America invaded Afghanistan and Iraq with the same excuses and we all know then the result is convincingly disastrous. It is because terrorism is not a physical power which you can deal with weapons. It is mental, it is ideological, it is coming from the cancer cells of the society. It must be cured with correct description, correct analysis and correct treatment. I do not separate one terrorist from other one. If one kills civilians –whatever is the cause- can be called as terrorist because it is the way of showing weakness. Those who are killing innocent people do this because they have no other choice for their voice being heard by other people. They must know that it will not solve any problem. They must know that each killing will be part of an indefinitely ongoing chain reaction.

According to the poll in a Israeli website, 60% of Israelis support the war. This explains why Israel does not stop the war against civilians in the name of war against Hezbollah. I wonder how many Hezbollah militants they have killed in last two weeks! I guess 90% of the dead and injured are innocent civilians. Israel insists that one can not be innocent if he/she supports terrorist organizations. Saying this can justify any kind of war crimes because nobody can prove that 23 years old mother with a baby on her breast supported Hezbollah or not. It is because she is dead now, together with her one year old baby. Once you start killing civilians, there are always excuses and there are always pseudo-excuses (lies). You can call your actions by different names and expect the whole world to believe that this dedication to remove cancer cells only justifies your war. Prime Minister of Israel says those killed in Qana strike were hiding rockets and Hezbollah missiles. It is easy to say this but it is hard to prove it. According to Israeli officials, the village must be empty. Well, according to Hezbollah then Gaza strip must be left to Palestinians! Didn’t Israel invade Palestinian lands and send Jewish residents to there? It is all the same story! Cat and mouse! What makes me sad is to see the passive reactions of countries. They do nothing more than watching the dead bodies. UN calls emergency sessions and condemn Israel. Didn’t America hit Iraq just after Iraq invaded Kuwait? If the one who attacks is Israel, all the world becomes more tolerant. We all heard what Bush said during G-8 meetings. He blamed Hezbollah for all this mess and cleared Israel from all the sins. Rice also told to reporters that this is a necessary action (Does she mean killing civilians?) to reshape the Middle Eastern maps. Is America expecting a new war in Middle East? Arab countries seem very reluctant to any kind of war because they like to make more and more money during the peace times. Any war in Middle East will destroy their economies and decrease their profits from oil reserves. It seems nobody wants a war other than blood-thirsty two nations!

Personally speaking, it is impossible to support either of these two countries in this unfair war. My heart goes with Lebanese people since they are weaker and they are the ones under the attacks. Although Israel does not have enough reason to attack on the civilians, they might have reasons like protecting their own civilians or kidnapped soldiers. Nobody can say Hezbollah is an innocent organization and if Lebanon supports Hezbollah militants, then the solution becomes harder for the entire world. I heard that those soldiers were in Lebanese lands during the time of kidnapping. I searched on internet but could not find any information. If they were captured in Lebanese side, then Israel becomes guiltier of the crimes they are committing now. It might be because they were wrong at the beginning and all the mess is about to make people to forget what happened on the day of kidnapping. It is the power-syndrome! If those who have power are wrong, then the destruction would be more severe.

I could not do anything this morning. I looked at the pictures and read the news about the war. This only was enough to kill my energy. It is not the empathy makes me idle but feeling like I can’t do anything for those who are in need of help. It is all sad! It is all blood and tears. We are killing each other to save ourselves. Basically, because this can not be true, we just make ourselves to believe these temporary lies. Yesterday, I was reading Montaigne again. Here what he says about the attacks of Israel: It is a custom of our justice to punish some as a warning to others. We do not improve the man we hang, we improve others by him. The intention is to stop them from repeating the same mistake or to make others avoid their error.

Is it what Israel doing now? Is killing civilians help Hezbollah militants to understand what they have done wrong by kidnapping two soldiers? I would say it will only cause more troubles for Israel in the future because each bomb Israel drops on Lebanon, will give birth to thousands of new Hezbollah militants. History is full of examples of this. Turkey knows this, America knows this and I am sure Israel knows this too.

Here there are some pictures of war for the ones who can bear to see the ugly scenes of our real world (our nature). http://www.muslimcontent.com/israeli_war_crimes_in_lebanon_in_pictures-14072006

I hope this war will end soon…

Letters from Vietnam 18

30th July 2006 – Sunday – 10:37

I had a good sleep last night either because of going to bed late or because of reading Montaigne in the bed. After reading an article from Russell (Why I am not a Christian) on the computer screen, I have read an essay from Montaigne (Idleness). The book (On Friendship) is a birthday gift from S in this year. This is what Montaigne says about idleness: Just as fallow lands, when rich and fertile, are seen to abound in hundreds and thousands of different kinds of useless weeds so that, if we would make them do their duty, we must subdue them and keep them busy with seeds specifically sown for our service; and just as women left alone may sometimes be seen to produce shapeless lumps of flesh but need to be kept busy by a semen other than her own in order to produce good natural offspring: so too with our minds. If we do not keep them busy with some particular subject, which can serve as a bridle to reign them in, they charge ungovernably about, ranging to and fro over the wastelands of our thoughts.

He also adds this known point: When the soul is without a definite aim, she gets lost; for, as they say, if you are everywhere, you are nowhere. When I read these lines I thought of myself. I can not be a kind of person constantly produces new things. If I can not produce new things, I keep saying same things. This is why I keep this journal. It is two different things to create new things and to keep writing. Right now, I only focus on writing. My main idea is to keep writing as long as possible until it becomes a natural part of my life. This is a difficult task but not impossible. Of course it matters what I write or how I write but if I can not write a beautiful piece of art, it does not bother me. At the end, I am writing by myself and for myself. I have no intention of publishing them other than posting them on my blog. And I don’t think anybody reads my journal entries on my blog unless I inform people. This does not bother me either. If I can not find a real topic to write on, I write on daily things which in detail have strong power to attract the attention.

I called J yesterday. She just arrived to Bangkok from her hometown. Today, there will be some people looking for a house to rent. They will come to our house. On the phone, I made a mistake by answering her question of “How are you?” with a sentence of “I am ok”. It is a mistake because it means I can be ok without you too. The answer should be “I am suffering”, “I need you” or at least “I miss you”. Even though later I said “I miss you”, I think it did not clear my first fault. I guess almost all women are the same or at least Asian woman since I don’t know about Western ones. They seem more independent and it looks like western women do not care their men can live alone or not since they can do it themselves. A good husband must give the impression to his wife that he can not live without her and he needs her constantly. If he is happy when she is way, this means she is unnecessary or this can make her feeling superfluous. That is another reason why women feel jealous when men go to see their friends in the bars to drink and chat. Men do not mind if their wives go to see their women friends. We feel happy when our wives become busy with other women.

I downloaded a new program to my computer. It is for listening Turkish radios and watching TVs online. It works perfect. This morning I listened some old Turkish songs from an FM radio station, listened the news in Turkish and some interviews with local people. It is like living in Istanbul, drinking my tea and being aware of everything happened in your home country. Is this why they call the world is getting smaller? It is another question whether or not I need this radio functions in my computer since I am supposed to live in Vietnam, not in Turkey. I should go out and discover the city, people, culture and the history.

I started to study Discrete Mathematics because I will teach this course after next week. I have one week to prepare myself to this new course. Because I have never taught Discrete Mathematics before, it seems a little bit hard to me. I am a little bit excited. The topics I am very good at were already taught and the topics I do not remember well are waiting for me. It will be a challenging job. I will learn graph theory, homomorphic and isomorphic groups, some programming skills and algorithms. Then I will teach! I did not study Algebra since 1998. I passed Algebra1 with DD in the university and never looked back again…

Yesterday, I was thinking if we can form a connected graph for people who can remember each other’s birthdays. Let’s imagine 5 people and let’s say that everyone knows own birthday. If we use vertices for each individual and edges for each remembering, there would be a loop on each vertex. If we continue fantasizing, we can think of a group of 5 people in which each member remembers one less than the other –left side of him/her in clockwise- person. This means, A remember 5 people’s birthdays, B remembers 4 people’s birthdays, C remembers 3 people’s birthdays etc… The last person remembers only his/her own birthday. This means we would have total 10 edges (excluding the loops). If you draw the graph, we can easily see that this is a directed complete graph (K5). However, to celebrate everybody’s birthday without missing, we don’t need a complete graph because it has unnecessary edges. A connected graph would be ok. This means everybody remembers two birthdays one of which is their own and the other is the birthday of the person on their left side in clockwise. This way is more economic because if A remembers B’s birthday and B remembers C’s birthday, A can learn C’s birthday through B. There is nothing wrong with this as long as connected graphs are concerned. If tomorrow is C’s birthday, B should tell this to A and A should tell this to E and E should tell this to D. Then everybody learns it if nobody ignores the job. If we think of n people in the group, we can easily prove that there must be n*(n-1)/2 edges to make it Kn (complete graph with n vertices). If we think that a connected graph would be ok since people communicate with each other in some way and it is fast enough when birthdays are concerned, we can only need n edges. This means we can save n*(n-3)/2 edges. So, if there are 10 people in a group of people, 35 remembering will be unnecessary. We only need 20 remembering which can save our group from the barbarian invasions of no-birthday-parties-organizations. For each individual, there will be saving of n-2 less remembering. For 10 people, this makes 8. Isn’t it amazing?

Letters from Vietnam 17

29 July 2006 – 18:29 – Home

I feel much better today. Although I still have some small marks of last week’s alcohol poisoning, I feel good somehow. It must be the vertex of my life parabola or a local asymptote which goes up like a rocket in a small interval. I whistled almost all day, even in the classroom, feel happy and cheerful. I made stupid jokes in the class, laughed at myself, sang songs and always smiled. I hope it will last long. As I know from my past experiences, I am more inclined to see the empty half of the glass. Today, I enjoyed the full half of the glass...

Last week, I only missed one class. According to plan, the head of department was going to observe my class. I have been told that when he comes into my class, behave as if he is not there. As a teacher of 6 years, I have been observed many times by administrators. In fact, I myself observed Science and Math teachers sometimes. I am aware of how these observations affect teacher’s attitude. It is exactly like Schrödinger’s cat problem. If you open the box, the cat will die. If you don’t open the box, you will never know whether the cat is alive or dead. If somebody observes my class, I will definitely change my attitude towards my class and my students. I will try to look more confident with what I teach and more reliable with what I do. It is impossible to behave the same. There is only one way to make a 100% unbiased observation: Installing a hidden video camera inside the room. The teacher will have no idea about its presence and he will teach as if he is not being observed. However, nowhere in the world installing a hidden camera in a classroom can be considered as a polite way to check teacher’s abilities. It is also an expensive way. In addition, how can the administrator be sure that teacher is unaware of the camera? If the teacher knows it, then it would be the same thing. I believe in transparency and teaching can be considered as a transparent job. To evaluate teacher’s abilities of teaching should not be a tough job. The first judge in this problem is always students of course! They judge their teachers everyday, every minute. Since they are the ones who are sitting in the room to learn, they must be the best measure to check teacher’s capabilities.

As a math teacher, I believe Math can not be taught, it can be discovered in the class. Teacher’s two main jobs are very simple:

To facilitate, encourage and avoid students wasting time: This means teacher needs to be very knowledgeable in his course and he needs to be authority. A class needs this authority since otherwise it will go to wrong direction. A good math teacher does not use math books in the class other than using them for giving exercises. He has to be sure on everything he teaches. This does not mean he has to remember everything he will teach. Quite the opposite! He has to know how to find out the information and show students the way of getting knowledge, not the knowledge. If he/she is teaching inner angles of a triangle, then he/she must show how to find out the sum of interior angles of a triangle rather than saying that “A+B+C=180 and now solve this question, A=85, B=71 then What is C?” Math is the only discipline, which does not need extra materials (laboratories) other than mind. Then it must be easier to construct math concepts. High school students never need to learn anything further than what they can prove. Anything beyond proof, should not be taught in high schools!

To make sure that students can apply the concepts they discovered: Learning trigonometry might seem useless to many people, especially those who will not pursue a career in engineering, math or science. Like many other disciplines, math has its own beauty and elegance. It does not need any applications in real life to be beautiful. However, it might be a stupid idea to expect from everyone enjoying this beauty. For many people, being in a math class is almost same as being punched by Muhammad Ali. Then, we have to show our students how to apply math concepts in real life problems. Unfortunately, this part of class can not be discovered. It can be searched by students. One thing should not be forgotten here: Math teacher don’t need to find applications for all topics of math. We all know that simple algebra, basic geometry, some trigonometry are all useful in real life situations but using complex numbers or matrix algebra for real life problems are hard and sometimes make students more confused. I remember, I showed my students how to use logarithm in financial calculations, in finding sound level and in evaluating pH value of a solution. These are good applications. I also tried to show them fractals in complex numbers and it did not work. Although fractals look amazing once you could do it by a computer or even by hand-drawing, it is very hard to explain the relationship between n-th root of a complex number and the nice looking fractal. In these case, teacher must leave the beauty of math at that point since going further will mess up students’ minds and make the job more difficult.

Anyway, I was not going to write on Math but somehow it came out. I was planning to write about my birthday. It was on 7th July. I was remembered by J, J’s parents, S and my brothers (in this historical order) Good enough for a 29 year old man. What makes me think about birthdays is something different.

I did not have a birthday party during my childhood. I guess my parents did not know birthday is an important day for one’s life or they did not care. They actually do not know their own birthday. My mother says, she was born in cherry month (April in village language) and my father says harvest month (might be July, August or even September). They never had birthday parties so their children never had either. It is that simple. I had small parties in the schools I worked before. I have been remembered by students and they usually gave me small gifts (necktie from 2001 and the shirt from 2003 are still with me and I am using them, In fact, I am now wearing Apichat’s gift –the zebra kind shirt- ). It is nice to be remembered but I don’t remember I ever felt sad If I am not remembered. I usually forget my birthday if nobody reminds me!

My question is how we can remember other people’s birthdays? Or in other way: What are the variables, which make us to remember some friends’ birthdays and to forget other friends’ birthday? Love (I can not forget J’s birthday both because I love her and I am afraid to be punished!!! , friendship (I don’t remember any friend’s birthday other than Uli and Julie. I remember them because their birthdays are easy to remember. One is one month before J and the other one can be calculated by an exponential function of digits of her age in the time we know each other), family bounds (I don’t really remember my eldest brother’s birthday, must be in May) , work (no way!) , seeing each other everyday (not for me! I don’t really mind if I don’t know the people’s names in my office. Should I? ), physically being closed (sometimes) , having similar hobbies (not for me), having an easy-to-remember birthday (as Uli and Julie), having a similar birthday (a student in Rayong has a birth day one day after my birthday. So whenever my birthday comes, next day I send her a birthday message.)

So the question is still there? Are we behaving selfish when we remember others’ birthdays? We remember those we feel responsible or we love and we forget the others because we do not care! We do not care for some friends we work together, we do not care for the people we play sports etc… Not because we are so busy! It should not take long time to have a birthday calendar (I am planning to have a birthday calendar for last 10 years! But no success so far! ) Beside this, those who are remembered for their birthday, may not remember my birthday! So should I take it offensive? I think many people do it! Like little children! You did not remember my birthday so I will not remember yours! Ha ha ha!

This birthday story goes forever… It might be better to stop here… I am hungry now… need to eat…

My photo...

The City and The Dog

The City and The Dog

I was walking slowly on the pavings to go to my office. This is the road, I see every morning and these are the people, I see everyday… That is the same picture of everyday. I don’t know whether other people can notice or not, when I repeat same word many times, I realize that the word isolates itself from its meaning. The meaningless word occupies my mouth as a combination of some meaningless syllabi. For example, let me try to say the word “city” more than 20 times. City, city, city, city, city…… Now there is no meaning of the word “city” rather than two basic syllabi… When I repeat the words many times, it looses its meaning, why doesn’t it happen to this real city when I see it every morning? Why didn’t I get bored to draw same picture last 20 years… I wake up at the same time, I leave my home at the same time and I arrive my office at the same time for the last 20 years… When I walk, I always look at the buildings, cars and people… I am the painter of this picture. Today is not so different than yesterday or tomorrow. It is very ordinary day. That is again, same red light and same people, waiting for green one. Their eyes don’t say anything about their future… Hopeless, boring and fake-looking

While I was thinking on the necessity of waiting for green light, I left my meditation through a painful brake sound from a school van. There was a dog which didn’t realize that it has to wait for green light, was hit by a school van and hurt very heavily. It just wanted to cross the road. In that time, all the cars stopped, everybody was looking at the dog, suffering on the middle of the street. The door of the van was opened and a half dozen of students got out of van. They were blaming the driver for this murder and the driver was trying to send the students to the van back. Everybody was looking at the dog whose inner organs got out and the red blood was coming from its stomach. In that rush, one old man came and took the dog by a shovel to the rubbish bin 10 metre far from here. The dog went into the rubbish bin when it wanted to cross the street. Everything finished wıthin a minute. All the students got into the van. I saw one little girl, crying loudly until a grownup took her to the car. The school van went away very fast. Everything turned back its normal form. Traffic started to flow again… I looked at the cars, people and buildings again… I was still waiting under the traffic light. It is green again for me but I am still waiting. Everybody crossed the street but I could not! I looked at the blood which turned the asfalt grey into black. I worried about myself. What can happen if it is not a dog but me! What happened to the dog when it dies… I realized that, everything in the city disappeared in front of my eyes with the death of the dog. Traffic lights look like flashing lollipop candies… Pretty and unnecesseary… Life lost its meaning with the closedness of idea of the death. That was the dog, which is dead because it tried to cross the road during the red light. It doesn’t matter, what colour of light was on when I am dead! Even, there is no meaning of being a man after death. I was terrified a lot… If same thing happens to me, what will people do for me? They will take me to the rubbish bin by a hand-wheel. I couldn’t cross the street. I walked 200 metre to the bridge to cross the street. By this way, my walking is 400 meter longer but I don’t mind! I made the way 400 metre longer and I saved the rest of my life…

Ali Rıza ARICAN
May, 18, 2002 / Thailand

The Mosquito

THE MOSQUITO

I came back home very late, after midnight. I tried to find the match in the kitchen nearly 30 minutes but I couldn’t find it. I found it in living room, under the sofa! Everything started to change their places in the house! I am sure that this matchbox always can be easily found in the kitchen, under the oven. My wife puts it there because only this place in the kitchen can keep the match dry from the vapour of cooking. Why did this match come here, in living room, under the sofa? And also what is this table doing here in front of the door? Who put these domino pieces on the floor? I cannot walk! My house looks like a garbage truck! May all these mess be caused by absence of my wife? She left the house last week!

Why did she go? This was a normal discussion, which we do always! Why does she go? To go means to escape from the problem. Does she think, “I am an unbearable man“? Anyway, nobody can say that she is so normal. How many women in the world use hair pins after wasting a lot of time in barber to make their hair curly? And what about money she paid to hair-dresser?

Anyway, she went and I am sure that she will not come back at least for one month. I am sure that she is waiting for me now… I will go and apoligize from her and her mother… I will kiss her mother’s hand. I will beg to her “Please come back! I need you “Noooo! I will not even if I know I will die tomorrow. Why should I go? I can hire a woman for cleaning house and if I can be a little bit more careful about my life, there will be no problem I am sure…I will not feel her absence! What did I do to apoligize? If I argued with her, she argued with me too! She acts like a new bride. We are married for last fifteen years… I will not go and I will not beg! Now, I am going to sleep. I slept for one week without her and I can sleep without her until I die.

Why is this bed so untidy? I left it so! I didn’t try to keep it tidy because I could not find any reason to make it tidy. When I go to sleep, it will be same! To spend the time with this bed is absolutely wasting time…This is same as ironing pyjama before going to sleep! If she has time, she will even try to iron my underwears…

I am now in my bed… I am trying to sleep on my right shoulder because I don’t want to have nightmares. If I dream her, that means I miss her… No, No, No!!! I don’t want! I don’t care her any more. She can do whatever she can! If she went, she may know how to come back! Morever, I am staying away from her troubling voice!

What is that? Something, around my head, is turning and buzzing. It may be a mosquito! This vampire was here yesterday too. You! Blood-sucking monster! Dismiss, get out the room!
If you disturb me, I will kill you! I swear that I will not kill any insect in all my life but If you trouble me, I can renounce. Dismiss now! This is last warning for you! I have to sleep now. Tomorrow morning, if I go to work late, I am sure that the boss will talk to me a lot and probably he will tell me same things. Do I have some problems in my private life? Do I cheat on my wife ? Do I drink alcohol too much and don’t I care my wife enough? It is not your bussiness! If I am late, just fire me off… It is not your bussiness to think and talk about my marriage life.

Are you still here? If you do something, do it quietly! Vizzzzzzz, vizzzzzzz! This sound kills me. It reminds me my wife. She always talks without any break! When I realize that her voice was cut, I start to worry about her. It may be something wrong …She talks when she cooks, when she washes the dishes, when she irons, when she watches and you won’t believe that but even when she has sex…Whenever, I say; please stop talking and let me do what I have to do! You won’t believe that but she stopped making love many times because I said to her something about her talkativeness. She turned her back to me and forced to me to beg her…Please, let’s talk and let me finish what I started to do …Please talk and let me know you are fine and your health has no problem…

Please stop! I don’t want to give up from swear! What do you expect from me? I am not a fat man whom you are looking for! I have no enough blood and no enough fat for you. When I got married, she was very beautiful woman like a super model and I was look like a real man. Now, look at me ! I look like a thin stick… If I can be a little bit taller, they can use my body as a flagpole in front of an official building… And, look at her, she looks like a sack of flour…When you see her , you can say that “don’t walk , you can roll, it is better for you “…

If you want, you can go to see her. You can tell her, you saw me. If you talk about my problems of loneliness, she can be happier. I know her…You don’t know… She can be happier when I am unhappy. When you go out from this window, first turn to right and go straight.When you see the sign of Barbaros Street, take a taxi which has an open window. After seeing a big Ataturk statue, turn right and you will see a small road. There is a wooden house in this road. This is her mother’s house. Probably, she is sleeping now. Go and wake her up! Don’t tell her, I sent you to her. She can torture to you. Be careful! Anyway, you will be a spy from enemy! She can force you to talk…She looks like a cruel queen! You don’t know her, I know…

Do you know how to read? How can you go? Are you illeterate? It doesn’t matter … She can read and write too but what else! I have never seen her when she reads something in her hands. She tells to everybody, she was the president of Literature Club in the university! She lies, I know but nobody else knows. She doesn’t have time to read because of talking. Dir dir dir dir dir dir…. Never stops… If you don’t read, don’t interrupt the man who wants to read. I was taking the books my home same as I was bringing beer … Under my coat or in my back pocket. She was criticizing the books which I was reading too…Why I bought a book about the sexual life of ants or about political history of Hitits… What can I do? I like reading… When she spends a lot of money with other women in the same building for cooking pies and shopping, I did not say anything about money…but my books are luxury. Enemy of book! Fugitive from Medieval Ages!

Look at me, my dear mosquito! You look like a beautiful girl. At least, your buzzing doesn’t bother me any more. I am not escaping from you! Whatever you do, but try to keep your husband at home! I have never read any book about family life of mosquitoes. I promise you, I will find a book and read very soon …

Let me repeat! Keep your husband at home… I started to spend my time out of home because of this woman. Of course, she never gives me a rest at home. What can I do? I went out to see my friends and I started to play some small gambles. She made me to join this kind of parties. And then, I started to come back home very late… Stop, stop! Don’t bite me now! Yesterday, you did enough! Please, this evening leave me unsown. Time is 3 a.m.

Are you asking what happened after that? Let me tell you more! Same as all women, she started to blame me. And then, fighting…
Last week, she left the home and neither called nor asked me for one week. But, I know she worries about me! What else she can think? We have no child so that she can worry about it. How many times I repeated, let us go to see doctor! It may be a small physiological problem. Only doctors can solve this problem. Let us go … No, No … After this age, how can I show my sexual organs to another man. No, my life! Why does the doctor want to see your sexual organs? This is last thing to do. No, no! She went in her own way. First, she went to one witchdoctor in the same building. After she understood it is useless, she started to go to an imam … She recited many religious words, drank holy water but no! Nothing changed! I said, please my rose! Let us go to see doctor…You can pray and beg to God anyway but we have to go first in the way of reason …No, my dear mosquito …I could not convince her…She swears not to go!

Let me finish my dear mosquito! I can tell you more! Fuck off the job in the morning. I will not go to God’s damn work. If I sleep after this time, I can wake up only in the afternoon… May be, I can call her and tell her, “Wake me up in the morning early by calling!” No, no! If I do that, I would be accepting to be a looser. She can think about me “I can not live without her“Yes, I can live… She will come back herself! If she knows how to go, she has to know how to come too! I will wait here! If there is no wife, I can find many friends to talk…This evening, I found you. If you don’t bite me, we can be good friends… Heyyyy ! Are you still here? Where are you, My small friend? Where did you go? Did you leave me? You too, left me without any reason, same as my wife…

In the morning, I used a little bit cream for the places on my face, bitten by the mosquito and went to my wife’s mother’s house… On the road, I said to myself, We have been married for fifteen years and she has never bitten me .

And I have never seen that mosquito again…

Ali Riza Arican / Jan 30 , 2002
Klaeng / Thailand

Colors of the Earth

COLORS OF THE EARTH

While she was waiting at the reception of a small private hospital she remembered the first day she went to a government hospital with her father to get eye-glasses. They were blunt days with no colors in! She only remembers the cold hospital corridors in which there were old people coughing desperately and little children crying as if they arrived to the end of the earth. In fact, the smell of the medicines in the hospital was enough to make her frightened and the bleak faces of the sick people were more than dreadful. The slow motion of patients and swift motion of doctors were creating a world of contradictions. There were pictures of nurses on the walls with her one finger on her lips, saying “shhhhhttttt, be quiet”. There were no nurses as beautiful as the one in the picture. She could also remember the red covered health-control book which was given to his father by social security fund of government just because they were poor. She thought it was ten years ago! She was 7 years old, just started elementary school.

They were living in the ghettos of a big city, in a small house with 2 rooms. They constructed the house with their own hands on a land which does not belong to them. After years passed, they still don’t have the land and they live with the fear of one day police or some officials from city municipality will show up, a paper in their hands, reading that they have right to ruin their house, their life, their hopes…Her father kept saying government has to pay compensation to them if they destroy the house. Mother never believed him but never told him her own ideas either. She was an ignorant woman, never thought she could have opinions even though most of the times she herself was more rational than father.

Father was working in a car factory in the city. He was listening to the stories of rich people. He was believing the stories of city people. He was looking at the world with different eyes. Mother has never listened such stories. She was like an ancient stone, forgotten under an old bridge. She believed what she learnt in her village life. City was not a teacher for her. She hated it and she never liked the colors of city.

She remembered the first day of the school. She was happy like all her friends. After a few weeks, this happiness was replaced by her worries about the things on the board. She was not able to see the details. Everything was almost same! They were reading “b”but she was reading “d”, or sometimes “c’. Teacher was getting angry when she gave wrong answer. She was helpless! World was too big, she was too small!

Then her teacher called her mother to school. Her mother came to school building in a cold morning. It was a foggy and a little bit rainy day. Her mother never went to school herself but she had absolute respect for teachers. Like many other women of their village. They were immigrant! From one inner country to another inner country! From a life of joy to a life of miserable days in a city of millions! Days were gray she remembered her childhood. City was gray! Almost everything was gray! Then she got the first eye-glasses in her life. She was seven years old. It had a thick black frame with two large glasses. She first felt that the glasses covered all of her face, then looked around, “things seem better” she said to doctor who himself was wearing a similar kind black-framed eye-glasses. She felt important, as important as a doctor! She was wearing large eye-glasses like doctors. Doctor asked her some big and small letters on the board which was a few meters away from her. She knew almost all since they are all written black on a large white paper. Doctor said “ok”. Then, he shouted, “next one”.

First years with eye-glasses were cheerful. She enjoyed wearing them as if she looks more important than anyone around her. Beside this, she could feel that the colors are brighter than what she had assumed before. The city was still gray and life was still hard. Her mother wanted her to study till end and to be a teacher but she had no idea of meaning of being a teacher. She screamed, yelled, run and played! When she was 10 years old, the glasses must have been changed. Her father got permisson from his job for one morning and took her to the same hospital. Doctor was not the same but the new glasses were exactly same as the older ones with a difference of size. She wanted to say that she wants to have blue frames but she was afraid that her father could be upset since blue frames might cost extra money. She did not say anything and got back home with same large-black frame. Nobody realized that she changed her glasses. Nobody realized that she was growing…

Years passed quickly and she finished high school. After getting her high school diploma, she went to show it to her father. Her eye glasses were the symbol of her success! She never fell in love! She was never loved by a boy in her school! The black frame was protecting her as if thick walls of a castle protect the civilians from enemy attacks. No rose could have passed her black walls! No beautiful eyes took a taste in looking deep into her eyes which are hiding large thick lenses… Social Security Fund was really successful in securing the beauty of her eyes from the young boys’ demandful stares…

She begged her father to work in a pharmacy shop near her school during summer break. The only thing she wanted to buy new glasses –not from social security fund- with her own money. Her father hesitated first and later did not think much as if worrying more made him upset somehow. He said yes then she was here! After working three months with a pharmacist in a shop she saved enough money to buy her eye-glasses herself.

She was sitting on a nice cloth covered chair in an air-conditioned room, waiting for the patient to leave the room. The walls painted blue and the table of the secretary was covered by a light green fabric. The room smelled fresh flowers although she could not figure out where it comes from. She looked around to find some flowers but she could not see a single one except the plastic flowers on the little table beside her chair. She leaned forward to smell it but later she gave up as if she did not want to be ridiculed by the secretary. Because of her old fashioned, large eye-glasses, the secretary might think that she is blind or almost blind. She tried to read the magazines which are put beside the flower. She read a few stories in the magazines but felt bored soon. She did not know that it was not the stories bore her! She continued waiting until the door opened and the doctor came out with a smiling face. He was wearing glasses as well but there was no frame. “He was looking at the world without a frame in front of his eyes” she told to herself with a startling expression on her face.

After five minutes of controlling her eyes, doctor offered her the number of the lenses which she has to use. She also learnt that her two eyes do not have same problems. For the last ten years, the glasses treated her eyes equally and according to doctor this made her eyes worse. However, there was still a remarkable difference between them. Doctor chose two different lenses from the glass cage and told her to hold them in front of her eyes. “This one is for left eye and this one for your right eye” he said. She did as she has been told.

The first thing she has seen was doctor’s deep green eyes. She was shocked! She thought a green like this was non-existent to her before. With two lenses in her both hands, holding in front of her eyes, she moved slowly to window. There was a part of the sea, very far but still bright. It looked like a living animal, somehow moving toward herself, getting bigger and more vivid. “Sea is living!” she thought. She looked at the trees, birds, sky and the people walking on the road. Everything seems new to her as if she was blind before and looking at the things one by one to learn their true colors. She did not know what to say to doctor so she waited the doctor to start the conversation. She smiled with a feeling of she looks more beautiful than ever with these two pieces of lenses in her hands. Doctor turned to her and asked the lenses! “Do you see the things clearly?” She did not know how to answer since the word “clearly” became ambigious. If these colors are real, then what were the colors she used to see for last 10 years? She barely said “yes”. Doctor said, “ok then” and added with a hesitation for breaking her ambition “Leave them here and choose a frame for your glasses”.

“Is it possible to get the glasses today?” she asked slowly without any confidence in her voice. Doctor was aware of her joy, took the lenses from her hands and said “yes, if you can wait for two hours, I can ask the technician to do it now”. She smiled and said “I will”

After choosing a small, transparent frame for her glasses, she sat on the same chair, closed her eyes for two hours, and dreamed the old days with the new colors she has just seen… The azure of the sea was not leaving her mind. The trees outside was waiting for her. The room smelled much stronger now. The voices around her were clearer. She felt like she exists more than ever without knowing what this feeling really means to her. She never opened her eyes until her new glasses arrived.

Ali Riza ARICAN / 18TH April 2006

Letters from Vietnam 15

15th July 2006 – 16:56 – School (written on 10th July)

What happened to Zidane? He must have been so angry and frustrated! Otherwise, behaving like that in a world cup final is not acceptable for a player who is experienced and well-respected by almost all fans around the world. I think his head will not be forgotten for both heading the ball towards the fingertips of Buffon and head butting Materazzi’s chest. I watched the match in this morning at 7 am. Vietnamese channels broadcast replays every morning. It was as exciting as watching a live match since I was not aware of the result. Last night, I had a two bottles of beer and that was enough to knock me down to bed. I can remember the time I was laying on the bed and thinking about setting the alarm clock of my mobile phone for 1 am. Then, everything disappeared and it was morning.

Right now, we are in Mui Ne, east coast of Vietnam. This place is one of the many coastal towns on the shore of South China Sea. We arrived here yesterday at 1 pm after a 4 hour long bus journey. We had two drivers and they were totally different in terms of using honk to express themselves. First one was an arrogant guy with never-ending troubles. He constantly honked to almost everything on the road. It was a total nightmare… The second driver was a neat gentleman. He honked for once or twice within more than 1 hour and I had some chance to close my eyes and grab some thoughts until I can retain something from them. Actually, I read for almost all the journey –despite the honks- and I am determined to finish this book before getting back home.

The bungalow we are staying is very near to sea. It might be only 10 meter away from the sea. It is a quiet place. There are a few foreigners and one Vietnamese couple in other rooms and everyone seems very quiet as if they prefer the voice of the sea to the other human-made music. Last night, I sat in front of the sea and watched the waves in the dark. The only music in the night was the voice of the sea, the only motion was the motion of waves, the only odor in the air was the memoirs of the sea, which itself can be considered as a big unconscious. In the morning, sea was very near to our room –might be only a few meters-, in the afternoon it goes back and leaves all the wreckege behind, on the beach. It is a big dream, a big source of all dreams. Nights bring the small things back to our conscious and days we forget them again. It works in the same way for the sea. It spits out all the rubbish in the night and swallow them again in the day time. It is a recycling journey, going nowhere.

Although it looks so tempting, I could not swim because of large waves. Whenever I try to get away from the shore, a fear inside me rises and keeps me near to the beach. This fear shows itself as big waves or a strong wind. I am having panic whenever my feet lose the contact with the ground. I am happy with the presence of earth under my feet.

Mc Ewan’s novel is getting more complicated as I am very near to complete reading it. The writer has a deep understanding of human nature and this alone is enough to entertain me. However, there was an appendix at the end of the novel which confused and frustrated me. From a good novel, we only expect a good fiction. If all the characters are real and even the plot is taken from some kind of psychological case, then how could we appreciate the imagination power of the writer? It is all gone! I can understand that a writer finds his/her topics from newspapers, scientific journals, daily life experiences but life itself should not be a novel. I am saying this not because life is less entertaining than the novel, quite the opposite! Life is always more amazing than any kind of fiction but this does not solve the problem. A good novel must be an imitation of reality, not reality itself. Mc Ewan –if appendix is real- took the main character from a case study. What happened in the novel actually can be read in this short case study. The main character was an erotomania and he was obsessed with a male who is highly appreciated in his community. The obsessed guy finds signs of love in his potential love object’s each behavior and persuades himself as being loved by him. All these things are exactly same in the scientific article and in the novel. Then, I would like to ask where the fiction is? The only way I can forgive the writer is if somebody tells me that the appendix at the end of the novel itself is part of the novel, a fiction in itself. Then, it will make more sense. Otherwise, I am so sorry for this beautiful novel. It just shows us the writer’s inability to create a fictious world and characters.

We took the bus back home at 1 pm. This bus was more comfortable than the one, which brought us. I slept for a while and at the break place, I bought some fruits. When I took the bag of rambutans, I ask the seller one extra bag so I can put the seeds and peels inside this second bag. I was eating outside and looking at how Vietnamese people throwing everything in their hands to the street very easily. Even the girls with beautiful clothes were behaving the same. They were eating the fruits and throwing the seeds and the peels at the middle of the road. When I dropped one seed to ground, I leaned down and took it back to my second bag. I thought, this could be a good example for them but it did not work at all. They continued doing the same thing. There were foreigners around and they were laughing at the scene. I went back to bus and slept more for the rest of the journey. We arrived at HCMC in the evening, around 6 pm due to the traffic in the city.

Letters from Vietnam 14

12th July 2006 – 19:37 – Home

We were on the bus again, this time moving towards Cu Chi Tunnels. It took around one hour to arrive there. It was raining again, slowly and desperately. We paid 70,000 VND per head for the tickets. Our guide bought the tickets for us. The first thing we did was to watch a documentary movie about the tunnels. A young Vietnamese girl’s voice was filling the entire space in the room. As usual, she was speaking about how brave the Vietnamese people were during the war and how much they sacrificed for their country. As the black-white movie strips move in front of my eyes, my mind went to the old documentaries about First World War. Turkish state channels used to broadcast them very frequently to increase the so-called ‘national unity’.

After the documentary, I took some photos of the pictures on the walls. They were real war pictures. After leaving the room, we went into the woods. It was still raining and nobody in the group seemed to worry about it. While walking, my mind took me away one more time. Perhaps, the things we were going to see in a minute were one of the finest –or embarrassing in terms of war- human made structures. How did these people dig the earth to build a network of tunnels which reaches the length of more than 200 km? What kind of circumstances might have caused this? Can a person –as a human- be proud of this work? Naturally, Vietnamese people are proud of these tunnels because they show how patriot they were during the war. I can understand and accept this very easily. What I can’t understand is something very different from nationalist perspective. Isn’t it embarrassing enough to understand the reasons behind these tunnels? We are humans and easily subject to violent behavior. We beat our rivals, torture our enemies and at the end kill each other for almost nothing.

I always wonder about the two people who pull the triggers against each other. Let’s isolate them from the time and location in which they have met and put them in somewhere else, in another time. Isn’t it more likely that these two people will be good friends? Can’t a Palestinian and an Israeli be good friends if they don’t know each other’s nationality? I am sure they can. Instead of killing each other, they can enjoy life. War is one of the worst parts of our history and unfortunately it seems unavoidable for some people who usually like to have easy solutions for their long-term problems. These tunnels show us how cruel we can be as we push our own kind to the under-earth to survive. What we can conclude is there was no safe place to stay on the earth and these people had to dig down to create a new world. They show us how we were –and are- determined to kill each other. It speaks in its own language; saying that I am the witness of bloody war and I am the witness of human’s limits toward unbearable ends. Of course, these tunnels were not built to live in. They were for fighting, for killing, for escaping, for trapping and for communicating. They built the tunnels to fight against the people who came to invade their country. Those invaders lost the war and went home. Did they learn their lesson? As history repeats itself, war is not something related with politics or nationalism. War is much beyond that! Desire for power and desire for showing this power are two main things behind wars.

Then we arrived at a hole. There were stairs going down and our guide asked us who wanted to go first. He also said, he will wait at the other end of the tunnel for us. We went down, J was in front of me, bent our body more than 90 degree to fit into the hole. It was too small for me and I really wanted to leave the place as soon as possible. It was dark and the bag on my back was causing trouble in this tiny hole. This somehow reminded me my own short story which I had named ‘The well’ fairly. The tunnel had a very heavy smell which I suspected methane. This heavy gas might be the reason for the “no smoking” signs around the woods. Whenever I saw the first exit, I felt happy as if I missed the sunlight in a less than 1 minute long journey. I thought Vietnamese people might be smaller and thinner to maneuver easily in the tunnels but living without sunlight for days and nights must be beyond perfection. How can a person live without light for many days? Many of the group members left the tunnel just after me, a few of them continued until the next exit. Those continued were ready with torches in their hands and no bags on their backs. I walked towards the next exit to meet the guide. He showed us the traps which have been used by Vietnamese soldiers during the war. Some were amazingly torturing but clever, some were simply deadly. The iron jaws of the mechanism were built to stab a man’s chest or genitals. I took the photos but did not look at them for long time. Later on, we have been invited to a little meal which consisted of what Vietnamese soldiers ate during the war. Boiled or steamed roots of the trees in the woods were waiting for us. We were offered to dip these potato-like roots into a salty-spicy sauce to eat comfortably. Our guide did not forget to mention that soldiers of war times did not have the luxury of the sauce. This was the end of the journey. We walked back to the exit of the museum –I just realized it was a museum- and waited for the bus driver once again. Before the exit gate, I saw snake and scorpion whiskies I have mentioned days ago. A snake in a bottle, dumped into some kind of alcohol and water mixture. Do they think it is a good idea to drink these bloody whiskies after seeing all these war pictures and memoirs?

Letters from Vietnam 13

11th July 2006 – School – 12:12

Then we arrived at a large area in which there were small houses for monks –most of them were ruined-, monks with their one-piece-robes, and young girls with blue-white ao dais, small houses and a large, colourful temple. We got off the bus and with our cameras in our hands, entered to the large temple. The building looks new and it has been decorated with charming colours and statues, especially dragons, huge eyes and lions. It was raining and we had to leave our shoes outside the building. I put one on the top of other upside-down so both of them will stay dry in the rain. I went in, J was following me.

We directly went to upstairs, to the balcony. In the second floor, there were people playing some instruments (one of them was guitar but the rest was unknown to me but I knew that others were two-string instruments) and chanting some hymns or songs which I can't understand. Those who play the instruments were seated and those who were chanting hymns were standing. I stood behind them to see them better. There were four young girls just in front of music playing guys and there were two middle-aged women. They were all hymning. One old lady surprisingly looked at me and smiled. I thought she was not chanting but just after her smile, she returned to her usual hymn. She was the only one moving around and showing tourists where to stand and where to go after spending a few minutes at one point. It is more or less similar to the faithful faces of devotees of any other religion. They were not looking at us as if we were invisible observers and do not bother them with our existence. They might be in a state of mystic experience, so I moved away soon to look at the other participants of the ceremony.

The columns of the temple were carved into very colourfully decorated dragons. According to the book, 28 columns represent 28 manifestations of Buddha. Did Buddha know 28 is a perfect number? Probably not! But somehow, I could not stop myself asking this question. In the first floor, there were many worshippers, some were sitting, and some were standing. Those who stand put their hands on each other and kept them on their chest. This reminded me the praying (namaz or sala) of muslims. There were four colours: white, red, blue and yellow. Women were all together at the left side and men were at the right side. Those wearing white were lay followers of the religion. That is why all the women were wearing white robes (symbolizing purity, of course!). This also means that women can not be priest to enjoy other three colours. Men with the rank of priest and higher are robed in solid colors depending on their spiritual sect within Cao Daism: yellow (symbolizing Buddhism and virtue), blue (Taoism and pacifism) or red (Confucianism and authority). All these worshippers believe in Cao Daism but they represent different religions. The hierarchy of the priests is similar to the one in Catholic church. All the great saints are respected and they all share the same stage. At the front, there were two priests with red robes. I looked at their head carefully. They had a large eye picture on their head. The same eye can be seen on the windows too with a difference. The eye on the windows was inscribed by a circle, and circle was inscribed by an equilateral triangle and this triangle was at the middle of a rectangle. There were lines from triangle to rectangle as if it enlightens everywhere (I guess, those lines were put there for two reasons: To keep the triangle at the middle and to keep the thieves outside of the temple.) The ground was superfluously decorated with amazing colors and designs. It looks like the walls of Blue Mosque. I later found more information on this temple and religion. Things I have read on a web site were difficult to believe, so I have quoted it in the following paragraph:

A full appreciation of the temple requires some knowledge of the Cao Dai religion. While many other religions are insular, Caodaism trumpets its foundations in other faiths. Caodaists describe their religion as the unification of Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism: These faiths are represented in Cao Dai theology through such concepts as reincarnation, vegetarianism and yin and yang and also on the Cao Dai banner - a tri-colour with one colour for each religion. Cao Daism garners inspiration from farther afield as well: Striding a spire high on the temple's roof is the Hindu trinity of Brahma, Shiva and Krishna. A mural inside the temple commemorates French novelist Victor Hugo, Chinese Nationalist Party leader Sun Yat Sen and Vietnamese poet Trang Trinh as three saints, witnesses to the 3rd alliance between God and humanity.

After finishing our tour in the temple, we went outside and took some pictures of the lions in front of a side-door and huge eyes on the windows. Because we only had 30 minutes to spend we did not walk around the temple. There must be more things to see but there was no time. If we would miss the bus, there would be no way to see the Chu Chi Tunnels by ourselves. Beside this, there were guards around and telling the restricted areas to tourists. I guess we were not free to walk around at all. I just sat under a tree and talked with J about what we had just seen and what we will see next.

Letters from Vietnam 12

5th July 2006 – 20:35 – Home

One of the reasons why I like traveling by bus is books. Shaking up and down with the rhythm of the bus is like recharging my batteries. Since there is nothing to do other than hopping on the seat, reading is the best practice to forget the time and the bumpy road. Fortunately I was ready for this bus ride. I bought Ian McEwan’s ‘Endurable Love’ from a second-hand bookstore on Pham Ngu Lao Road one day before the trip. It has an intense plot, which kept my eyes open for the entire journey. Although this is the first book I am reading from him –except the book Steph’s mother gave to me which I returned it without reading- , it seems familiar. It is a sensual and a little bit sarcastic side of Kundera. He is quite realistic in his descriptions of love and I can say he is very good in defining deep humanly struggles such as fear, heroism, faith and death. A man who is victim of his own fears loves a woman and being loved by a strange man. I did not finish the novel but it will not take long. I am happy that I bought a good book and it made me return to regular reading schedules.

Trip to Cu Chi and Cao Dai was planned last Sunday. We went to Pham Ngu Lao Road to buy tickets. It was only 5 USD for a round-trip ticket so we even did not think much. On Monday morning, we woke up so early to catch the bus. First we took a public bus to Ben Than. Somewhere in the city, around twenty primary school children got on the bus with their young teacher. He was with them but his authority was quite useless on the bus. The kids were pushing each other, pulling hair of their friends, shouting, yelling, and laughing, crying, fighting for a vacant seat and even troubling me since I was the only foreigner on the bus. One boy behind me was constantly touching my shoulder and waiting for me to turn back. Neither he stopped disturbing me nor I looked back to be part of his game. J seemed to be troubled but there was nothing to do. They were kids and they were doing what they were supposed to do: playing games. I tried not to worry about them. Soon later we arrived to Ben Than. After having a little bit confusion about the bus which will take us, we were in the right place with a right guide.

While waiting for the bus to move, a little boy approached to the bus window. J was sitting on that side so I just told her to ignore him. The boy was selling chewing gum and we already had chewing gum. When he sees we did not want to buy from him, he looked at J straight and shouted “fuck you”. It was an irritating scene. He was a little boy with probably not more than 10 English words in his memory but somehow he knows how to curse in English. Those who send him to streets to sell the pirate products –Even the chewing gums are pirate here. Once you put it in your mouth, it melts in a few minutes and gives a feeling as if you are chewing a piece of paper- must also be teaching him how to swear. This is another interesting issue in Vietnam. People do not behave nicely here. Especially those who have been rejected become enemy very easily. It happened to me today as well. I was leaving a shop in the evening and at the other side of the door there was a middle-aged woman whose both hands were busy with bags. I opened the door and waited behind so that she can enter first. I did not expect her to thank me but I guess a tiny smile on her face would be nice enough for me to be happy with what I have done. She looked at me straight with the most meaningless face I could ever have imagined and entered the shop. I went outside with a feeling which kept me restless for a while. Had I done something wrong? Does she know me? I noticed how much I miss Thailand one more time…

We were lucky because we got the best guide. We did not see the other guides but somehow we were sure that this is the best one. He himself fought in Cu Chi Tunnels and lost many friends during the war. When he speaks, he also mentions the worth of life and family, beauty of peace and joy of having children. Apparently, he was very happy for being alive after all the fluctuations in his life. He was also very ambitious on doing his job and I guess his ambition was coming from his own personal history. He himself saw the bad sides of the life and left them behind. It is something like going to hell and coming back to tell people how terrible the hell is! He was coming from dark, fearful, bloody days and trying to tell us how lucky we are. How could we possible understand him? We, all the young people on the bus, have never seen a real war in our lives. We see suffering people on TV but that by itself does not help us to appreciate life or peace.

He also said that he has been to tunnels only once after the war and in that time he could not stay for more than 1 minute. The tunnels carry only sad news; remind him only lost friends and fear of death. Once he used to live there days and nights, now he appreciates the mighty sun and the cheerful rain. I looked at his face many times with a careful investigation. What I have seen was not only a veteran of a bloody war. I have seen the joy of life in his face, joy of having children and having a future of his own. He was an erected symbol of life, standing in front of us and talking about his family and friends. Although he talked for the entire journey, he was not boring. There are always things to learn from him and he always has things to say. Whenever he started talking, I stopped reading. Whenever he stopped talking, I started reading.

Letters from Vietnam 11

2nd July 2006 – 20:56 – Home

I was watching Discovery Channel in the morning. The program was about how the chimpanzees behave like human beings and how they make use of spoken language for simple communication. According to some scientists, they use a language, which is very similar to ours. To prove their theory, they first recorded the sounds which are produced by the chimpanzees when they were shown different fruits. Then, scientists showed four pictures of different fruits to one chimpanzee and at the same time a computer produced the sound which corresponded to one of these fruit’s name in –so called- chimp’s language. In each trial, the chimpanzee chose the right picture. This theory reminded me another thing I saw everyday: The language of honks.
Here, one must be very careful with honks. No driver honks if you stand at the middle of the road, because you do not cause a problem. They honk when they approach to a junction in order to avoid a possible crash. They also honk when they drive their cars or motorbikes during red light or during the time they are not supposed to move. Honk means basically “I am coming, get out of my way”. If it is long and continuous, this means “I am coming fast”. If it is discrete but frequent, this means “I am doing something wrong, forgive me and let me go”. If it is discrete and infrequent, then this means “Nothing is wrong. I am going on my way. You can ignore me”. They honk so often that after a while you get used to it and you start not to hear it. It is one of city’s infinite sounds. It comes from heart of the city and it belongs to here. On the first days, I was quite scared of traffic because of the chaotic scene. Now, I just walk on the streets as if it is normal. Even crossing the road was a big problem at the beginning. Now, I don’t look at left or right any more. I just walk without stopping. It is easier to walk among the motorbikes without looking at what is coming towards me. As long as they can see me and I move slowly and constantly in one direction, there will be no accident. If I suddenly stop or suddenly start to run, I might be hit.

On Friday evening, I and J joined to our newcomer friends in a Vietnamese Restaurant. We were all around 10-12 people. Except for one Canadian and one American friend, everyone was Asian. We went to a local Vietnamese restaurant to have some noodles. It was delicious noodle soup with some crap pastry in it. The restaurant was behind Ben Than Market but for most of us it was difficult to find. While eating, I saw some customers popped their paper towel bags to use their wet paper towels. It was first disturbing because whoever sits on a table, the first thing they do is to pop the plastic bag and attract others’ attention for a few seconds. Later, I realized that it is part of culture and I am one of the few foreigners who really care about the noise. Before we left, a well-dressed Western couple came to the restaurant and they did the same thing. After this moment, I took the plastic bag in my hand and popped it loudly.

After finishing our dinner, we all together went to Latin Bar to watch Argentina-Germany match. It was a three floor bar located at the city center. We went to the top floor to watch the match on a large screen TV. After we arrive to the third floor, a Vietnamese couple also sat behind us. I was expecting them to join us and watch TV but they were busy with kissing each other. I saw them whenever I needed to go to the toilet after starting to drink. They were in a hot mood and it seems like nothing bothered them. This is another thing, which surprises me about Vietnam. Unlike any other Asian countries, in Vietnam, showing affection in public is quite normal. If you walk on the streets, you can see couples kissing each other on parked motorbikes. Not only one, they are in a row beside Pham Ngu Lao road or in the parks of the city. The thing I did not understand is why they don’t go to more private places! Is it because hotels are expensive? Or Is it because they don’t want to go further than kissing and hugging? I call them ‘motorbike hotels’ since it is difficult to find them in other countries of Asia. I believe it is a good sign for the future of the youth in Vietnam, because at least they are not shy any more and they don’t need to hide their feelings. If love is part of our nature, we should be able to live it naturally. The more young people can learn how to love and how to keep love as a precious gift, the fewer people in the society will need to go after prostitutes.

The couple stopped kissing each other during the penalties. M woke up. J tried to understand what was going on. I was so excited that I could not sit. At the end, Argentina lost. We were all supporting Argentina without knowing why! I guess I have my own reason from my own personal history. The first world cup I remember is Mexico 86. In that tournament, Argentina played with West Germany in the final. I was nine years old and somehow I was cheering for Maradona’s blues. Argentina won the match 3-2 and made me happy. This old memoir was my only reason to support Argentina this time. We took a taxi and went home. It was almost 1 am in the morning by the time we arrived at home. I was tired and feeling a little bit dizzy. I went straight to bed and had a long, smooth sleep.

Next morning, I woke up early because I had a class at 9:30. I went to school and did my teaching. The only bad thing was I learnt that the school’s Internet Service Provider blocked the access to gmail accounts. I can not use my personal e-mail in the school any more and I don’t want to use the e-mail address, which is provided by the school, for sending e-mails to friends or family members. Now, I am just hoping that ADSL will be installed to my house very soon and keep me away from noisy, crowded and even expensive internet cafes.

Today, I bought tickets from a tour company to visit Cao Dai temple and Cu Chi tunnels. It is only 5 USD to go and come back by the tour company’s bus. Tonight, I will read more about these two places. I hope I can write something different after going to somewhere different.

Letters from Vietnam 10

28th June 2006 – Home – 19:45

How long more will I continue writing this journal? Things already settled in a certain kind of routine and my life started to repeat itself again. I wake up at 07:15 every morning and leave home at 8:05. The average time for the bus to come is around 4 minutes (so far only for four days but I continue recording the time everyday) and average time to arrive to school is 3 minutes with an insignificant standard deviation. At the end, the whole journey takes around 15 minutes (including walking time from my apartment to bus stop). It is becoming monotone again, all the numbers approach to a mean value to kill the excitement. When the numbers approach to a mean value, there will be fewer things to write about, there will be fewer things to amaze me. The more monotone life I have, the more I will hate myself. Weekends are good opportunities to break this monotone style but if I spend five of weekdays in one way and the other two days in another way, then isn’t it called a harmonic monotone life. Exactly like the infinite series of ((-1)^n)*(1/n) with a larger period, smaller frequency. It is moving up and down but the whole process just repeats itself with a slight change in each step. If I consider writing and reading as a job, this can make difference. After coming to Vietnam, I read very few things. I don’t know why but it seems very hard to hold a book and read it for longer than 1 hour.

I told Ulas that I am writing these journal pages just because I want to keep on writing. Writing daily things in a foreign country is always better than writing nothing. It keeps my mind fresh. It also helps me find topics for future stories, but this is not a real purpose for keeping this journal. It can be considered as a result.

Today, another question came to my mind while I was going to school. Is it possible to write everything happened on one day? If it is not, then can we suspect the sincerity of the journal? Let me ask in another way: is it possible to call this writing ‘a journal’ if I hide things? I might hide things intentionally or I might hide things just because I find them worthless for writing. Then, how can a reader believe that I am not hiding things? As Tolstoy says, “if I write my journal, I can hide my personal life but if I write a story, it is almost impossible to hide”. Is it because stories are fed by unconscious more than they are fed by conscious? The intention of writer can vary from the intention of text in fiction writing more than it does in journal writing. If this is right, then we can say that a good fiction writer gets his/her material from his/her past experiences and put them together in a way even s/he could not understand. Therefore, writing fiction is not a result of hard work but a result of colorful childhood/youth.

Right now, we are watching Discovery Channel. It shows bird flu epidemic in Vietnam. There is a Vietnamese doctor whose family is Nguyen (what a surprise!). Before this program, we watched news in Spanish for 20 minutes without understanding a word. We will be paying around 15 USD for cable TV but more than half of it is useless. There are channels in English, Russian, Hindi, French, Spanish, Korean, Japanese, Chinese and Vietnamese. Both of us can only watch channels in English. The others are totally unnecessary. I don’t really complain about this because I am not a real TV fan. The only reason we have cable TV is J. She is at home all day and she gets bored easily. There are no friends or she does not want to make friends.
In the morning, I discussed on a problem with A. Later on, our discussion extended to a more philosophical point: Is statistics part of Math? For me, it is a branch of mathematical thinking. For him, it is something different from Math because there are gray areas in Statistics. Don’t we use numbers to make decisions on things which are not black or white? Numbers help us to predict and decide. There can not be gray areas in Statistics or we do Statistics because there is no gray area in it. Managers use tools of Statistics because words are not enough to understand the motion in stock market or to forecast the future profit of a corporation. Probability as a theory makes decision making process easier because it consists of pure numbers. We all know that numbers don’t lie. The future may not be exactly what the numbers offer but on average, it cannot be so different neither.

Today, one of the administrators of the school told me that they got a letter from my old school in Bangkok. The letter complained about me as I resigned from my job after signing a contract for next year. I guess, F is still angry with me and somehow he wants revenge. It is like a dog that is chained to a tree. It barks and shows anger but never hurts. What does he want to do? Does he want my school administrators listen to him and fire me on the first week of the semester? Hopefully, I informed this school about all the incidents happened and they knew that they were going to get a letter from Bangkok. Therefore, whatever F writes, I have more credibility than he has. I already started to have good relationship with students and had my own way of teaching which is different for them.

I believe I did nothing wrong since I gave them a notice for at least 2 months before and it is what my contract says. I have right to break my contract as much as they have right to sack me if I do something wrong. The amazing thing is I knew that he would send a letter to my school but I still worked on schedule of the next year at the last weekend of the term. I spent two evenings on the schedule and a Monday morning to correct the conflicts, even though those days were part of my vacation. I may not have done all these things but I did because I have my own working principles and I do enjoy working. I prepared the schedule and gave it to the manager of the school before leaving. F knows that they will use the schedule I made –on my vacation days- for the whole year. He should thank me instead of complaining about me. However, human being is bound with certain things which are difficult to be overcome. Revenge is one of them and it brings nothing to the one who pursues it. I hope he will soon learn that I have gone and had a new life here. It is his job now to continue without me and forget what happened in the past.

Letters from Vietnam 9

27th June 2006 – 20:10 – Home

One of the many surprising things in Vietnam is the absence of the stray dogs in the city. As a person who had lived in Thailand for more than six years and got used to see hundreds of stray dogs on a normal day, I was expecting a similar environment here in Vietnam. However, things are very different in this country. There are no dogs on the streets. Strangely enough, I needed to see a dog beside the road to notice this difference. The dog I saw yesterday was the first stray dog I have ever seen in Vietnam. I thought about the reason for this and found two possible answers. I heard from people that Vietnamese people like to eat dog meat. They believe that eating dog meat keeps their body warm enough in cold winter nights. Especially people from north of Vietnam like to eat dog meat a lot since north of Vietnam is colder. For this reason, some people collect the stray dogs from the streets and sell them to local restaurants. Even in Thailand, local people (especially in Isan) sell their naughty dogs to dealers for only a plastic bucket or a bowl. The other reason might be their sensitivity on personal hygiene. Local people may not really like to see dirty and sick dogs on the streets. Although this is quite unlikely because of the dirty scenes of the city streets and polluted air, it is still considerable.

Another difference from Thailand is the uniforms of motorbike taxis. There are no certain colour uniforms for motorbike-taxi drivers unlike the orange uniforms of Thai taxi drivers. In Thailand, young people become motorbike-taxi driver but they still have to pay some local authority to be registered. They have numbers at their backs and they belong to a certain taxi station. Here, everyone who has a motorbike is a potential motorbike taxi driver. It is one of the easiest jobs as long as they have a motorbike. Once you walk on the streets, someone can stop for you and offer you a ride. They might think that you look foreigner, so you would have money. I can definitely say that they charge at least twice from foreigners. That is why they insist a lot even when they see a foreigner waiting for a bus at the bus-stop.

Once I start to walk in the main streets of the city, it is impossible to avoid street vendors or booksellers. They sell photocopied books on the streets with a price less than the original price of the book. This reminds me my own country but with a little difference. It is easy to find pirate Turkish books on the streets of Istanbul or Ankara. Turkish people or mostly students who do not have enough money to buy original ones are always being tempted by these booksellers. Here, the situation is different. They sell books only in English. This means they sell only to foreigners. When I say I don’t want to buy, they insist on the importance of reading books and showing me different books written on Vietnam War by Vietnamese or Western authors. One day, a little girl approached to my table at a restaurant while I was waiting for my order and asked me to buy a book from her. I said ‘no’ but she did not leave. She offered me a small game. She said “let’s play rock-paper-scissors game.” If she wins I would have to buy the book, if I win, she will leave my table. Although I knew that I have 50% chance of winning, I said ‘ok’ and we started to play. First, we both made paper so it was a draw. Then, she made scissors and I made paper. I lost. She smiled and I bought Paulo Coelho’s ‘Manual of the Warrior of Light’. It was a copied book but I did not mind. At the end I lost the game but I won a book.

They also sell pirate movies in Ben Than market. On last Sunday, when we returned from Diamond Plaza, we bought several movies. Two of them were French and others were in English. I bought ‘Crash’, ‘Munich’ and ‘The Cache’. The quality is low but I will not complain since the price is less than a dollar for each.

Yesterday, I did my first teaching in Vietnam. I always feel excited when I start with a new class. Although I have been teaching Math for last 7 years, it is inevitable for me to feel uncomfortable in front of students who do not know me. I introduced myself and talked about the course. Surprisingly enough, almost one quarter of my class has a family name of ‘Nguyen’ and around 10% carries the name of ‘Tran’. Instead of memorizing their names, I decided to memorize last three digits of their ID numbers. I found this much easier because each number can be considered special in a way and I can find a connection between the number and the student. At first glance, I saw numbers like 256(2^8), 911 (Sept. 11), 112(first three Fibonacci), 496 (perfect), 499 (prime) etc… There are two western boys in this class and they are naturally comfortable in speaking English and asking questions.

I used PowerPoint in the class first time in my life. I told them I will use Power Point only for the first two weeks and then only whiteboard. Once we start the mathematical part of Statistics, Power Point will be useless.

Letters from Vietnam 8

25th June 2006 – Home – 21:34 / HCMC

Today is J’s birthday. Her mother called in the morning at 6 am so that J will not forget her own birthday. Actually, telephone’s sound did not wake me up. I slept until 8 am since I went to bed late last night due to the world cup matches. I promised to buy a nice gift to her when we would be financially stable. I still have to pay a lot of deposit for this apartment and almost one third of my next month’s salary will be cut due to the J’s health insurance for one year.

To celebrate her birthday we decided to go to the city center and eat some good food. Because we spent all the Vietnamese currencies yesterday, we only had enough money to take a bus. Actually, I was happy since it was already time to learn the city bus network. Here taxis are more expensive than those in Thailand and motorbikes cannot take a couple. We took the number 34 bus which starts from the university and goes till Ben Than Market. The rate for the bus was quite cheap (2000 Dong = 5 Baht), but this low price showed its result soon. The seats were dirty and smelly; the drivers were usually careless and furious. The bus passed through the small streets of the city so it gave a chance to see the real face of HCMC. Small and distorted roads, street vendors, internet cafés, barbers, small shops, motorbike repair shops, playing children, small restaurants etc were sharing the streets and creating their own environment to survive. There are internet cafes in almost every 100 metres. Most of the children and young people made themselves busy with online games or chatting in these cafes. The interesting thing is that Vietnamese government does not inspect these cafes. Many of them are open for 24 hours and there is no age restriction. When we get closed to the river, we have seen a Christian cemetery beside the road. The cross signs were distributed everywhere and there were no order of any kind. If we put points to replace each grave, they might look like randomly distributed. Some crosses were not erect, some were broken. I thought even the dead people joined in the chaos of the city.

After a 30 minutes ride, we arrived to Ben Than Market. For me this place is center of the city, even center of the country. We started to walk through Le Loi road till Opera House. On the road, there were many shops selling things for tourists. We looked at them but did not buy anything. Once I have seen an exchange place, I entered. The rates were written on a board behind the clerk. I gave him $60. He gave me equivalent amount in Vietnamese Dong but there was a problem. The rate he bought dollars from me was not same as the rate on the board. When I told this, he started to speak Vietnamese with J. Once he understood that she is not Vietnamese, he spoke with me in English but I did not understand what he meant. The difference did not make much problem because the amount of dollar we are selling was very little and the difference even could not buy a bottle of water. However, my deal was different. I wanted to know why he wanted to use a rate which was not on the list. Neither he could explain, nor did I understand. We left the place with what we were given.

When we arrived to Lam Son square, we started to take photos. There were two Japanese girls who asked me to take their photos. After their turn, one of them took our photos. We turned to Dong Khoi Road for Notre Dame Cathedral. This road is known as Rue Catinat to French community. During colonial times, there were perfumeries, chic boutiques and cafés on this road. The name of the road was changed to Tu Do (freedom) by President Diem. After Saigon fell to North Vietnam in 1975, the road’s name has been changed to Dong Khoi (uprising).
Notre Dame Cathedral is located at the end of this road. It has been built in late 19th century and there is a Virgin Mary statue in front of the cathedral (at the middle of circle). Another interesting thing is that although this is my second time around this area, I did not see this statue when I was here the first time! These kinds of things happen to me a lot. When J came to Vietnam, she went to Zen Plaza on the first day. When I asked her how she found Zen Plaza herself, she took me to balcony of the hotel room and showed me. It was just 300 metre away from my hotel with a large sign writing ‘ZEN PLAZA’. I was staying in that room for more than a week but I had never seen that plaza there before she showed me.

Cathedral is not open at the weekends. Cathedral has twin spires and they make it look like ‘ears of a hidden jackrabbit’ (this metaphor is not mine; it was written by novelist Anthony Grey). We took a few pictures in front of the statue and the cathedral and after learning that we can not enter, we went to the Diamond Plaza which is just behind the cathedral.

We were hungry and this plaza had some Western food. We went to third floor and had some pizza and salad. It was the most expensive pizza I had ever eaten in my life. We paid almost 300 Baht for a medium size pizza. I did not mind since it was a birthday. While eating, I thought about why cost of living in Vietnam is higher than cost of living in Thailand, even though Thailand looks richer and more developed. First there is no competititon here. There are a few department stores and a few supermarkets in ‘western’ standards. This makes the prices higher for the people who want to have ‘western’ standards. If I can eat what Vietnamese people eat, I am sure it will be very cheap. Local people live with very little amount and they seem satisfied with what they have.

Letters from Vietnam 7

24th June 2006 – Saturday – Home / HCMC

Today is my 14th day in HCMC. I did not have enough chance to travel around. The only day I traveled in the city was last Saturday. I have spent almost every evening last week to look for an apartment. I met with four different real estate agencies and checked more than 10 houses. The result is almost perfect. I rented an apartment with a reasonable price. It has a large living room with a nice kitchen. There is a lofted bedroom and there is an empty area on upstairs. The agency will contact with the local companies to install ADSL and cable TV as soon as possible. There were many houses like this but somehow this one is cheaper than others. We even did not need to buy so many kitchen utensils for this apartment because the land lady left most of the kitchen tools. After having two noisy weeks, this is like being in a vacuum for a short time. There are no more motorbike engine sounds, no honks and no yelling. Here is definitely another place in HCMC. According to some friends, there are many Korean nationals in these blocks. Most of them are investors or high-ranked company employees.

Today is also our first shopping day in Vietnam. We went to a near supermarket to buy basic things to start off. We bought rice cooker, iron, some cheese and bread. I was hoping that bread in Vietnam could be more delicious than bread in Thailand but today I realized that I was wrong. It is as bad as the bread in Thailand. Actually, I had to try other shops before making a claim like this. Anyway, we came home but J said we forgot to buy some basic things for Thai cooking. I went to supermarket again and bought fish sauce, Soya sauce, oyster sauce, garlic, onion and other things which are essential in Thai cooking. At the end, I realized how much I miss home-made Thai food.

I got my timetable from the school. I work from Tuesday to Saturday. I will be off on Sunday and Monday. It will be very interesting to have Monday off since everybody will go to work but I will stay at home as if it is Sunday. Now, my beautiful Sundays turn to beautiful Mondays. My schedule seems easy and I hope I will have a lot of time to read, write or even study for actuarial exams. Eventually, I will be teaching statistics which I have been teaching for last six years as a part of high school mathematics curriculum. The only difference is I should avoid theoretical parts and focus on applications in Business. The level of the curriculum is a little bit higher than high school level. The Program Manager told me that students are very good in Math. This means my job will be easier than I thought.

Yesterday morning I saw a man with a 2 meter-long snake on his shoulders. He was walking on the streets and showing his snake to the people. I was irritated but the people around him seemed to be very relaxed. He also had a basket in his hands in which there were snake skins and other things which can be considered as ‘snake products’. Later I learnt that this guy sold the snake. The potential customers are Vietnamese people of Chinese origin. They drink some kind of whisky which is made of snake’s body and other ingredients. Disgusting enough but they believe that drinking this whisky makes their life longer and it also has aphrodisiac effects. Besides, it is obvious that the image of snake as an immortal being spreads all over the world. Because snake renews its skin and rejuvenates itself, people in ancient times praised snake as a symbol of immortality. In the Epic of Gilgamesh, the immortality ixir is drunk by a snake just after it was discovered by Gilgamesh (or Lokman in Islamic legends).

There are a few people using helmet in HCMC. It could be 1% of whole motorbike drivers. This only explains why the casualty rates are very high. Our school gave us free helmet and made it compulsory to wear while coming to school on bike. It is good since people sometimes need obligations to understand the value of life. Once you enter the main roads of the city, the first thing to see is a thick and black stream of motorbikes moving in all directions. They do not mind small accidents. When I went to pick J from airport, I took a motorbike taxi. Because the driver of the motorbike did not stop at red light, one girl coming from right direction needed a sharp brake. She could not stop and her bike slipped on the wet asphalt. She fell but my driver did not react as he had to (another prejudice, isn’t it?). He just laughed as if it was her mistake to fall. I told him that it was because he did not stop at red light. Then he said something in Vietnamese which I could not understand. He continued laughing while I was worrying about the young girl. (Probably a high school girl who should not drive motorbike by herself.) This happened when motorbike had hit me too. They don’t stop unless it is a real bloody scene. This might be one of the reasons for constantly moving traffic. There is no waiting on the roads of HCMC but death waits at every corner for their ignorance.

Letters from Vietnam 6

21 June 2006 – 20:57 – Hotel Room - On Saturday – last weekend

I walked slowly toward to city center. Suddenly, the roads became clean and traffic became silent. There were less motorbikes, some luxury cars and high buildings –usually big hotels, HSBC and Citibank-. I saw a bookstore and without thinking much, I entered. There were not many books in English. Especially, I have not seen any book written by Vietnamese writers and translated into English. While looking around for Western classics, I found ‘Flowers of Evil’ by Baudelaire. I bought it because I believe only poetry can heal the wounds of crowd and noise. It was inexpensive too. I went out with Baudelaire’s book in my hand. Walking in the streets of HCMC and holding the book of the poet of ‘Albatros’, made me feel strange a little bit. There were young boys asking me for shining my shoes but I was wearing sports shoes. I told them it is not possible to make my shoes shine. They insisted. I said nothing and continued walking. I wish I could help them but I knew if I helped one of them, I would not be able to avoid all others.

After turning around large buildings, I found my way towards the infamous cathedral. First time in my life, I used the city map to find my direction. As a person who has very little sense of direction, it was very challenging. When I got to the circle, I sat on the center and took a few pictures of the cathedral. It was red and somehow looked new to me. The color of red reminded Hagia Sofia museum in Istanbul to me. The city municipality painted it red because otherwise it could be considered as church or mosque. I walked around the cathedral but could not find the entrance. I have not seen anyone going in or getting out of the cathedral either. I went back to the center of the circle, bought a bottle of water from a little girl. Suddenly, I realized that the rain started. The central post office was just beside the cathedral. I went there to wait for the rain to stop.

The post office had huge pictures of Ho Chi Minh on almost all walls. I did not take any picture since there were people working inside. I sat on a bench and started to look at my Vietnam book. A young girl at another bench asked me what I was looking for. I said I was not looking for something special. She was speaking pretty good English and apparently she wanted to speak English with a foreigner. Because it was still raining outside, I decided to continue talking. We talked about a lot of things. I especially asked her about Ho Chi Minh, history of Vietnam, her school and the city. She told that she studied banking and finance at a local university and she is just on her first year. She also studies English at British Council to improve her English, so she can go to Singapore next year as an exchange student. When I asked her about the books, she said she does not read books other than comics. She also told me that Ho Chi Minh was a great leader and he did great things for Vietnam. We later discussed about Vietnam war, America and possible bright future of Vietnam. She did not believe me when I said I am a math teacher and came to HCMC to teach statistics. According to her, that a math teacher who carries Baudelaire in his bag walks in the streets of HCMC is very strange. I could not blame her! When I talked about the religions, she confirmed the old muslim man’s words by saying that there were no any political pressure on any religions and people of Vietnam were always free to choose their religions. When I asked her religion –with hesitation-, she told me she believes in herself only. She does not believe in any of the ‘major religion’s. I did not want to ask many questions about religion since it is a sensitive topic and she might get offended. I changed the topic to history again. According to her, Vietnam never did any bad thing in the history. Vietnamese people were always peaceful, always helpful and always good. This also reminded me my country’s ultra-nationalist ideologists. They say that Turks never did any bad things in history. Turks did not kill innocent people, did not execute any kind of genocide… Turks were always good, always peaceful and always helpful to their neighbors. I again did not want to argue with a young girl I have just met. When I noticed that the rain already stopped, I gave her my e-mail address and went outside. I also learnt her name –Jub- just before leaving the post office.

I went to Independence Museum after that. I went inside, surprised with the questions of the girls at the entrance. They first asked me where I was from, then asked me where I bought the T-shirt I was wearing. The last thing they said –after I handed them my ticket- was that I was very handsome. I laughed and joined to a group of tourists with a guide which was assigned by the museum. I took many photos and tried to look at the war pictures as near as possible.

It was almost 4 pm when I finished walking in the museum. I walked back to my hotel and there has been no electricity yet. I went to internet café to spend time. Until 9 pm, I could not go to my room because of the power cut.

The only good thing after all these things on one day was a comfortable sleep without interruptions…