Letters from Vietnam 43

28^th October 2006 – 06:20 – HCMC

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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