The Mosquito (Thai Version)

ภรรยาผมออกจากบ้านไปตั้งแต่อาทิตย์ที่แล้ว ในทันทีที่เธอหายวับไป ฝุ่นและสิ่งสกปรกก็เข้าปกคลุมบ้านนี้ เหมือนเรือที่กำลังจะล่ม น้ำทะลักเข้ามาจากทุกทิศทางด้วยพละกำลังมหาศาล ไม่มีใครหยุดเรือที่จะล่มได้หรอก ไม่ว่าจะมีมือกี่มือหรือขากี่ขา มันจะล่มในไม่ช้าก็เร็ว เมื่อตอนที่เธออยู่เรามีแต่ความรักกรุ่นไปทั่วบ้าน เราสัมผัสจูบกอดกันและกันในทั่วทุกห้อง บางครั้งเราทะเลาะเบาะแว้งกัน บางคราวจังหวะชีวิตก็ท้าทายเรา ให้เอาชนะคลื่นที่ถาโถมเข้ามาให้ผ่านพ้นไป เพื่อจะกลับมาสมานสมัคคีกันด้วยความรักและให้เกรียติกันเป็นเวลากว่าสามสิบปี แต่อาทิตย์ที่แล้วเธอก็จากไป เธอบอกว่า “ ฉันทนไม่ไหวอีกต่อไปแล้ว” ผมไม่ทันได้ถามว่า “ทนอะไรไม่ไหว” ผมรู้ว่าอะไรที่หายไป แต่ผมไม่อยากจะพูดซ้ำซากกับสิ่งที่เราต่างรู้อยู่แล้ว เธอจากผมไปและชีวิตผมก็เปลี่ยนไปในเวลาสัปดาห์เดียว เดี๋ยวนี้ผมไปทำงานสายและกลับบ้านหลังเที่ยงคืนนู่นเลย วันนี้ผมทำเป็นไม่แยแสต่อสายตาผู้จัดการซึ่งมีอยู่ตามปกติทุกหนแห่ง ผมไปถึงที่ทำงานตอนใกล้เที่ยง พอเลิกงานก็ไปดื่มกับเพื่อนๆ แล้วบ่นเรื่องเมียและความหนักใจอันเกินทนของชีวิตแต่งงานที่ไม่มีลูกให้พวกเขาฟัง

ผมกลับถึงบ้านเที่ยงคืนเล็กน้อยและสิ่งแรกที่กระแทกจมูกผมคือกลิ่นสกปรกของพื้นห้อง ใช้เวลากว่าห้านาทีความหาไม้ขีดในครัวแต่ก็หาไม่เจอ ไปเจอที่ห้องรับแขกที่ใต้โซฟา คิดว่าบุหรี่สักตัวก่อนนอนคงดีไม่น้อย แต่กว่าจะหามันเจอก็เล่นเอาโมโหจนหมดอารมณ์ จึงนั่งอยู่บนโซฟาและตั้งคำถามกับตัวเองว่าทำไม และทำไม บ้านเริ่มหมุนคว้าง ผมมั่นใจเลยว่ากล่องไม้ขีดไฟมันต้องมีที่เก็บพิเศษสักแห่งในครัวแน่ ที่ช่องเล็กๆใต้เตาอบนั่น ภรรยาผมเก็บไว้ตรงนั้นเพราะว่ามันเป็นที่เดียวในครัวที่ไร้ไอน้ำจากการทำครัวจึงมั่นใจได้ว่าไม้ขีดไฟจะแห้ง บางทีผมยังรู้สึกอิจฉาไอ้เจ้ากล่องไม้ขีดไฟนี่เลย ที่มันยังมีที่เฉพาะพิเศษต่างหากที่ซึ่งปลอดภัยจากภยันตรายจากไอน้ำ กล่องไม้ขีดมาทำอะไรที่นี่หละในห้องรับแขกนี่นะ ภรรยาผมไม่เคยยอมให้ผมสูบบุหรี่ในห้องนี้พอเธอหนีไปผมจึงสำราญฤทัยดังหนูที่ไม่มีแมวคอยกวนใจ ว่าแต่ว่าโต๊ะตัวนี้มาทำอะไรที่หน้าประตู ใครเอาตัวต่อโดมิโน่มาวางเกะกะพื้นนี่ ฉันเดินไม่ได้แล้วนี่ ทั้งหมดเป็นเพราะเธอไม่อยู่ที่นี่อย่างนั้นหรือ

ทำไมเธอจากไป มันแค่การทะเลาะมีปากเสียงธรรมดาเหมือนคู่สามีภรรยาอื่นๆ จากไปหมายถึงหนีปัญหา เธอคิดว่าผมเป็นคนที่เกินจะรับไหวแล้วหรือ อย่างไรก็ตามเธอไปแล้วและผมก็แน่ใจว่าเอจะกลับมาภายในหนึ่งเดือนนี่หละ ผมมั่นใจเลยว่าเธอกำลังรอผมอยู่ ผมจะไปขอโทษเธอและแม่ของเธอ ผมจะจุมพิตหลังมือของแม่เธอ จะอ้อนวอนเธอ “ได้โปรดกลับมากับผมเถิด ผมขาดคุณไม่ได้” ไม่ไม่ไม่ ผมจะไม่ขอโทษอะไรทั้งนั้น ต่อให้ผมรู้ว่าผมจะตายอยู่รอมร่อในกองกะหล่ำปลีเน่าในบ้านนี้ ผมจะไปทำไม ผมจ้างแม่บ้านมาเก็บทำความสะอาดบ้านก็ได้และถ้าผมคอยจัดให้เป็นระเบียบหน่อยก็ไม่น่ามีปัญหา ผมมั่นใจและจะไม่รู้สึกว่าเธอหายไปหรอก ผมทำผิดอะไรนักถึงต้องไปขอโทษ หากผมทำให้เธอโกรธเธอเองก็ทำให้ผมโกรธแทบบ้าเหมือนกัน ชอบทำตัวราวกับเพิ่งเป็นเจ้าสาวมาหมาดๆ โธ่ เราแต่งงานกันมาสามสิบปีแล้วนะ ผมจะไม่ไปง้อเธอ และจะนอนเสียที ในเมื่อผมนอนคนเดียวโดยไม่มีเธอมาเป็นอาทิตย์แล้ว ดังนั้นผมก็ทำได้ไปจนตาย

ทำไมที่นอนมันยับเละตุ้มเป๊ะอย่างนี้ เพราะผมปล่อยมันไว้อย่างนี้เอง ไม่ได้จัดที่นอนเพราะไม่เห็นเหตุผลว่าทำไมต้องทำ พอเราไปนอนมันก็เป็นเหมือนเดิม จัดที่นอนดึงผ้าปูเตียงเป็นสิ่งที่เสียเวลาอย่างที่สุด เหมือนอย่างกับการรีดชุดนอนก่อนเข้านอนนั่นเลย ถ้าผมไม่ห้ามเธอไว้เอคงจะรีดกางเกงในผมไปด้วย ผมเข้านอนแล้ว นอนตะแคงขวาเพราะว่าไม่อย่างนั้นผมจะฝันร้าย ถ้าผมฝันเห็นเธอก็แปลว่าผมคิดถึงเธอ ไม่ไม่สิ ต้องไม่ฝันถึงเธอ ผมจะแคร์เธอแล้ว เธอจะทำอะไรก็เรื่องของเธอ ในเมื่อเธอจากไปเองเธอก็ย่อมรู้ว่าจะกลับมาอย่างไร อย่างน้อยผมก็ไม่ต้องทนฟังเสียงเธอมาเป็นอาทิตย์แล้ว เสียงบ่นพึมพำงึมงำ เสียงคร่ำครวญติติงต่างๆนานา

เสียงอะไรหวื่อๆๆๆ แถวหัวผมนี่ ยุงแน่ๆเลย แวมไพร์ตัวนี้อยู่ที่นี่มาตั้งแต่เมื่อวาน “แก เจ้าสัตว์ประหลาดดูดเลือด ไปให้พ้นเลย ออกไปจากห้องฉันนะ ถ้าแกยังมากวนฉันอยู่ฉันจะฆ่าแกแน่” ตั้งแต่กลับจากอินเดียคราวนั้นผมตั้งปณิธานว่าจะไม่ฆ่าสัตว์ตัดชีวิตแม้แต่แมงตัวเล็กๆ แต่ถ้ามันมารบกวนผมหละก็เป็นอันโมฆะได้ และลืมที่ฮินดูบาบาสอนไว้ว่าไม่มีเทคโนโลยีใดในโลกที่จะสร้างเซลยุงตัวเล็กๆได้นั่นไปเลย บาบาโน้มน้าวใจผมมากแต่เจ้ายุงนี่กลับทิ้งโอกาสนั่น “ออกไปให้พ้น นี่ฉันเตือนแกครั้งสุดท้าย ฉันจะนอนแล้ว” ถ้าฉันไปทำงานสายอีกแค่ครั้งเดียว ผมว่าเจ้านายบ้าบอนั่นต้องมาถามไถ่ชีวิตส่วนตัวของผมแล้วจะพยายามสั่งสอนแนะนำผมว่าต้องปฏิบัติกับชีวิตครอบครัวอย่างไรแน่ เขาจะคิดว่าผมมีปัญหาเพราะไปมีความสัมพันธ์กับผู้หญิงอื่น ผู้ชายไม่ได้เหมือนแกไปซะทุกคนหรอกเจ้าคาสโนว่า นี่ไม่ใช่เรื่องของแก ถ้าฉันไปสายก็ไล่ฉันออกสิ มันจะเจ็บใจน้อยกว่าที่ต้องพูดคุยกับแกราวกับแกเป็นพ่อฉันเสียอีก

แกยังอยู่ไหมเจ้ายุง แกจะทำอะไรทำเงียบๆนะ เสียงหวื่อๆๆๆๆนี่มันฆ่ากันชัดๆ เสียงนี่ทำให้ฉันคิดถึงภรรยาที่พูดไม่รู้จักหยุด ถ้าเสียงเธอเงียบลงกะทันหันฉันจะกังวลทันทีว่ามีอะไรผิดปกติหรือไม่ ตอนทำอาหารก็พูด ล้างจานก็พูด รีดผ้าก็พูดดูทีวีกันอยู่ก็พูด และแกคงจะไม่เชื่อว่าแม้กระทั่งตอนเราร่วมรักกัน มันยากมากที่จะทำเป็นไม่สนใจการซุบซิบนินทาหรือบ่นนั่นบ่นนี่ขณะเราทำกิจกรรมกันอยู่ แกเข้าใจใช่ไหมเจ้ายุง

นี่หยุดเถอะ ฉันไม่อยากฆ่าแก แกจะเอาอะไรจากฉันนัก ฉันไม่ใช่คนอ้วนท้วนที่แกมองหาหรอกนะ ฉันมีเลือดหรือไขมันให้แกไม่พอหรอก ตอนฉันแต่งงานเธอสวยมาก สะสวยราวกับเหยือกน้ำบริสุทธิ์จากลำธาร ส่วนฉันก็เป็นหนุ่มเต็มตัวพอเหมาะพอดีและมั่นใจในตัวเอง แกดูฉันตอนนี้สิราวกับแท่งไม้แบนๆ นี่ถ้าฉันสูงกว่านี้เขาคงเอาฉันไปปักเป็นเสาธงแล้วหละ ส่วนเธอตอนนี้กลายเป็นกระสอบแป้งไปแล้ว ถ้าแกเจอเธอแกบอกเธอไปเลยว่า “ไม่ต้องเดิน คุณกลิ้งไปจะเร็วกว่า”

แกจะไปหาเธอก็ได้นะ แล้วบอกเธอว่าแกเจอฉัน ถ้าแกเล่าว่าฉันลำบากแค่ไหนที่อยู่คนเดียวค่ำคืนโดดเดี่ยวแค่ไหนเธอจะยิ่งมีความสุขที่ได้ฟังฉันรู้จักเธอดี แกไม่รู้หรอก เธอมีความสุขบนความระทมทุกข์ของฉัน แกออกไปทางหน้าต่างนี้นะ เลี้ยวขวาแล้วบินตรงไปเรื่อยๆ จนกระทั่งแกเห็นป้ายถนนบาบารอสให้บินเข้าไปเกาะแท็กซี่ที่เปิดหน้าต่างสักคัน พอเห็นรูปปั้นอาตาร์เติ์ร์กแกออกจากแท็กซี่แล้วเลี้ยวขวา เข้าซอยเล็กๆไปที่บ้านไม้เลขที่ สามทับสี่ นั่นคือบ้านของแม่เธอ ตอนนี้เอคงนอนหลับอยู่ ไปปลุกเธอซะแต่อย่าบอกว่าฉันส่งแกมา ไม่อย่างนั้นแกถูกทรมานแน่ ระวังตัวด้วยเพราะแกจะเป็นสายลับจากฝ่ายตรงข้ามของเธอ เธอจะบังคับให้แกพูด เธอจะกลายเป็นนางแม่มดใจร้ายเชียวหละเวลาที่เธอเจ็บปวด แกไม่รู้จักเธอแต่ฉันรู้ดี

แกอ่านตัวหนังสือออกไหมเจ้ายุง แกจะไปรู้จักชื่อถนนชื่อซอกซอยได้อย่างไร ได้เรียนหนังสือไหม มันไม่สำคัญหรอกเธออ่านออกเขียนได้เหมือนกันแต่แล้วไงหละ ฉันไม่เคยเห็นว่าเธออ่านหนังสือสักครั้ง เที่ยวบอกใครต่อใครว่าเธอเคยเป็นประธานชมรมวรรณกรรมสมัยอยู่มหาวิทยาลัย โกหกกันชัดๆ มีแต่ฉันเท่านั้นที่รู้ว่าเธอไม่มีเวลาจะอ่านอะไรทั้งนั้นเพราะมัวแต่พูด พูด พูดไม่หยุดไม่หย่อน ถ้าคุณไม่อ่านไม่เป็นไรแต่อย่ากวนคนที่เขาอยากอ่านหนังสือสิ ฉันต้องแอบเอาหนังสือเข้าไปในห้องราวกับมันเป็นแก้วเบียร์ แอบไว้ในเสื้อโค๊ทไม่ก็ห่อกระดาษหนังสือพิมพ์ซุกในกระเป๋ากางเกงเข้าไป เธอวิพากษ์วิจารณ์หนังสือที่ฉันอ่านด้วยนะเอ๋ย ว่าทำไมฉันถึงซื้อหนังสือเกี่ยวกับชีวิตเพศสัมพันธ์ของมดหรือประวัติศาสตร์การเมืองของฮิตติมาอ่าน จะให้ฉันตอบว่าอะไรหละ ฉันชอบอ่านหนังสือเป็นชีวิตจิตใจ ทีเธอใช้เงินและเวลากับการซื้อนั่นซื้อนี่และไปทำอะไรกินกับพวกเพื่อนๆของเธอฉันยังไม่ว่าเลย หนังสือของฉันมีคุณค่านะ แกคิดอะไรออกไหมเจ้ายุง เธอเป็นศัตรูของหนังสือไงหละ ผู้เล็ดรอดมาจากยุคเมลดิวานั่นเลย

แกมองดูฉันสิเจ้ายุง แกดูจะเป็นเด็กสาวที่ดีคนหนึ่ง ฉันมองไม่เห็นแต่อย่างน้อยเสียง หึ่งๆนั่นก็ไม่กวนใจฉันอีกแล้ว ฉันไม่หนีแกไปไหนแล้วแกจำไว้นะไม่ว่าแกจะทำอะไรแกต้องทำให้สามีแกอยู่กับบ้าน ฉันยังไม่เคยอ่านหนังสือเกี่ยวกับชีวิตครอบครัวของยุงมาก่อน แต่ฉันสัญญาว่าฉันจะหามาอ่านในเร็ววัน ขอฉันพูดซ้ำอีกทีว่าทำอะไรก็ได้ให้สามีแกอยู่ติดบ้าน ฉันเริ่มออกไปใช้เวลาเตร่นอกบ้านเพราะผู้หญิงคนนี้ เธอไม่เคยให้ฉันได้พักผ่อนหย่อนใจที่บ้านเลย ฉันควรทำอย่างไรหละก็ออกไปเจอเพื่อนฝูงของฉันไง เริ่มจากเล่นพนันเล็กๆน้อยๆ เธอทำให้ฉันเข้าไปพัวพันกับสิ่งนี้ แล้วฉันก็กลับบ้านดึกขึ้นทุกที มันเป็นวงจรอุบาท ยิ่งดึกเท่าไรฉันยิ่งอยากกลับดึกมากขึ้นกว่าเดิม

แกคงจะพอรู้ว่าอาการเมาเป็นอย่างไร แกเคยเมาไหมเจ้ายุง ถ้าเกิดว่าแกไปกัดดูดเลือดคนเมาเข้าแกก็จะเมาตามใช่ไหม ไม่เหมือนคนฉันไม่เชื่อหรอกว่าเวลาดื่มเหล้าเบียร์แล้วคนจะลืมปัญหาต่างๆของตัวเอง ฉันดื่มเพื่อจะได้ลดความมีเหตุมีผลของตัวเองลงแต่ไม่ใช่ความทรงจำ มันดีที่ได้ทำตัวบ้าบอบ้างบางเวลาเพราะคนรอบข้างต่างก็จะทนกับพฤติกรรมของคุณได้ หากคุณปกติไม่เมาคุณจะทำอะไรแบบนั้นหรือพูดแบบนั้นไม่ได้หรอก มันจะดีกว่าหากคุณเมาซะแล้วทำตัวเหมือนไก่ไร้หัว ผมเองก็อยากทำตัวไม่ต้องแบกความมีเหตุมีผล ไม่ต้องรับผิดชอบใดใดไม่ต้องคำนึงถึงผลที่จะตามมา พอตื่นมาอีกวันหนึ่งไม่ต้องรู้สึกบาปกรรมที่มีต่อใคร การไม่ต้องรับผิดชอบอะไรคือการเป็นอิสระโดยแท้ การดื่มแอลกอฮอร์ทำให้เรารู้สึกนั้น ฉันจูบผู้หญิงคนหนึ่งที่บาร์ด้วยนะ ทั้งที่ไม่รู้จักกัน หล่อนถอดรองเท้าแล้วเต้นรำอย่างสนุกสนานอยู่กลางร้าน ฉันถือรองเท้าสีฟ้าของหล่อนแล้วรอให้หล่อนมาหาฉันเพื่อขอรองเท้าคืน ฉันจูบไปที่ริมฝีปากนั่นโดยไม่รอช้า หล่อนก็ไม่ขัดขืนแต่อย่างใด กลับชอบซะอย่างนั้น จนกระทั่งหล่อนนึกขึ้นได้ว่ามีบางอย่างไม่ถูกไม่ควร หญิงสาวอายุราวยี่สิบกว่าๆจูบกับชายวัยห้าสิบกว่าปี ฉันส่งรองเท้าคืนหล่อนแล้วเดินออกจากบาร์นั้น เช้าวันต่อมาฉันจำได้สองอย่างคือริมฝีปากรสชาติเปปเปอร์มินต์กับรอเท้าเบอร์สามสิบเจ็ด ต่อมาฉันหยิบหนังสือของเช็กโควมาอ่านเรื่อง “จุมพิต” แล้วก็ร้องไห้เมื่ออ่านจนจบอีกครั้ง ชายคนหนึ่งถูกหญิงสาวจุมพิตในความมืดเพียงครั้งเดียว แต่เขาใช้ชีวิตที่เหลือเพื่อใฝ่หาเจ้าของจูบนั้นจนชั่วชีวิต แกเข้าใจความรู้สึกนั้นไหมเจ้ายุงน้อย แกเข้าใจความรักไหม การอยากได้ความรัก ความปรารถนาที่จะมีใครสักคนมาใส่ใจเยียวยาเราจากความโดดเดี่ยวลำพังอันเป็นโรคติดต่ออย่างหนึ่ง

หรือว่าความรักเป็นสิ่งที่มนุษย์เราเอามาพูดให้เกินจริง บางทีมันอาจไม่เป็นความจริงเป็นแค่ส่วนหนึ่งในเพื่อวิวัฒนาการเท่านั้น

แกหยุดกัดฉันเสียทีเจ้ายุง ฉันกำลังพูดถึงความรักในใจฉันกำลังคร่ำครวญกับความทรงจำเก่าๆแต่แกกลับสำราญกับอาหารเช้ายามรุ่งสางนะ แกพอได้แล้วหละ เว้นวรรคจากการดูดเลือดฉันบ้าง แกถามฉันใช่ไหมว่าเกิดอะไรขึ้นอีกบ้าง เมียฉันเริ่มต่อว่าต่อขานฉันในทุกปัญหา ก็เหมือนกับผู้หญิงทุกคน เสียงดังขึ้นเรื่อยๆราวกับเสียงแตรรถบรรทุก ดังไปถึงห้องข้างบน วันอังคารที่แล้วเธอก็จากไปและไม่เคยโทรศัพท์มาถามฉันเลย แต่ฉันก็รู้นะว่าเธอเป็นห่วงฉันตลอดเวลา จะให้เธอห่วงใครหละ เราไม่มีลูกด้วยกันให้เธอต้องห่วงนอกจากฉันนี่หละ ฉันบอกกับเธอไปตั้งกี่ครั้งว่าไปหาหมอกันเถอะ มันอาจเป็นแค่ปัญหาทางกายภาพเล็กน้อย หมอเท่านั้นที่จะช่วยเราได้ เราไปด้วยด้วยกัน เธอตอบว่า ไม่ ไม่มีทาง หาว่าฉันกล้าดีอย่างไรที่บอกให้เธอจะไปถลกกระโปรงให้ชายอื่นดู ฉันบอกว่า “ไม่ใช่อย่างนั้นแม่ยอดชีวี หมอจะมาอยากเห็น...ของคุณไปทำไม นั่นเป็นสิ่งสุดท้ายที่เขาจะทำ และถ้าหมอเขาต้องดูตรงนั้นจริง สำหรับคนเป็นหมอตรงนั้นมันก็เพียงส่วนหนึ่งของร่างกายคุณ หมอจะมองร่างกายที่ประกอบด้วยเลือดเนื้อ” เธอเอาแต่บอกว่า ไม่เอา ไม่เอา เธอจะแก้ปัญหาด้วยวิธีของเธอเอง เริ่มจากไปหาหมอดูที่อยู่ในตึกเดียวกัน จนกระทั่งเธอตระหนักได้ว่าการหยดตะกั่วลงในน้ำเย็นแล้วแปลความหมายจากหลุมนูนๆบนก้อนตะกั่วนั้นเป็นการเปล่าประโยชน์ เธอก็หันไปหาอิหม่าม เริ่มอ่านและท่องคำต่างๆในศาสนา ดื่มน้ำศักดิ์สิทธิ์ ละหมาดวันละห้าครั้ง ไปสุเหร่าที่สหายของพระศาสดาอาจจะถูกฝังอยู่ เธอหยุดร่วมรักกับผมแต่มีเพศสัมพันธ์เพื่อวัตถุประสงค์แห่งการมีลูก ไม่มีอะไรเปลี่ยนแปลง ฉันพูดกับเธอว่า “เมียสุดที่รักของผม เราไปปรึกษาหมอกันเถิด คุณยังละหมาดกราบไหว้ขอพรพระเจ้าเหมือนเดิม แต่เราต้องทำตามเหตุตามผลที่สมควร” ไม่เลยเจ้ายุงเอ๋ย ฉันโน้มน้าวเธอไม่สำเร็จ เธอยืนกรานจะไม่ทำตามที่ฉันขอร้อง

ให้ฉันพูดให้จบนะเจ้ายุง ยังมีเรื่องที่ฉันจะเล่าอีกไม่มีวันจบ ถ้าจบชีวิตก็จบเช่นกัน ชีวิตจะมีความหมายอะไรถ้าปราศจากความทรงจำ ลืมเรื่องงานของฉันไปได้เลย ฉันจะไม่กลับไปทำงานห่านั่นอีกแล้ว ฉันทำอยู่ที่นั่นมาสามสิบห้าปีแล้วแต่ไม่เคยได้เลื่อนตำแหน่งสักครั้ง เจ้านายคนใหม่ของฉันอายุอ่อนกว่าฉันเป็นสิบปี ฉันก็หวังว่าตัวเองจะเกษียณเร็ววันนี้เสียที เลยไม่สนใจงานหรอก อีกไม่กี่เดือนฉันก็จะเป็นอิสระแล้ว ต่อจากนั้นปัญหาที่แท้จริงก็จะอุบัติขึ้น กลางคืนหรือกลางวันจะไม่ต่างกัน ในบ้านหลังเดิมกับห้องที่แออัดนี้ ฉันจะเล่นซ่อนหากับเธอ แกว่าจะมีทางอื่นไหมหละเจ้ายุง ชีวิตฉันมันโหดร้ายนักและฉันทนไม่ไหวอีกต่อไปแล้ว ไม่กี่วันก่อนหน้านี้ฉันร้องไห้ต่อหน้าเพื่อนๆของฉัน พวกมันไม่เข้าใจหรอก ฉันเล่าเรื่องปู่ของฉันให้พวกนั้นฟัง ฉันพูดว่าพอคนเราแก่ตัวไปความโดดเดี่ยวเดียวดายจะมาเกาะที่บ่าเรา เหมือนหมอกทึบก้อนใหญ่ๆ ยิ่งเราหนีมันจะยิ่งแผ่กระจายและปิดกั้นทางออกไม่ให้เราเห็น ฉันร้องไห้ออกมาแล้วค่อยรู้สึกดีขึ้น พวกนั้นคิดว่าฉันร้องไห้เพราะฉันอยู่คนเดียวหาใช่เพราะฉันโดดเดี่ยวอย่างที่เป็น

แกดูสิเจ้ายุง นี่มันตีสามแล้ว ถ้าฉันหลับไปตอนนี้ อย่างเช้าสุดที่ฉันจะตื่นได้ก็สิบเอ็ดโมง หรือว่าฉันจะโทร.ไปหาเธอแล้วบอกให้เธอโทรมาปลุกฉันตอนเจ็ดโมงดี ไม่มีทางหละ ถ้าฉันทำอย่างนั้นก็เท่ากับฉันยอมแพ้เธอ เธอจะคิดไปว่าฉันอยู่คนเดียวไม่ได้ ใช่แล้วหละหากจะดื้อดึงต่อฉันก็จะทำอย่างนั้น ฉันอยู่ได้โดยไม่มีเธอ โดยไม่คิดถึงเธอ เธอก็จะกลับมาเองโดยที่ฉันไม่ต้องขอร้อง ในเมื่อเธอจากไปเองเธอย่อมหาทางกลับมาเอง ฉันจะรออยู่ที่นี่แหละ ถ้าฉันไม่มีเมียฉันก็หาเพื่อนคุยได้มากมาย อย่างคืนนี้ฉันก็เจอแกถ้าแกไม่กัดฉันเราก็จะเป็นเพื่อนที่ดีต่อกันได้ ใช่ไหมเจ้ายุง เฮ้ย แกยังอยู่ไหม แกไปไหนแล้วสหายน้อยของฉัน แกทิ้งฉันแล้วหรือ แกก็ทิ้งฉันไปอีกคน ทิ้งไปโดยไม่มีเหตุผลเหมือนเมียฉัน

รุ่งเช้าผมทาครีมบางชนิดตามรอยที่ยุงกัดตามหน้า มือและเท้า จากนั้นก็เดินทางไปบ้านแม่ยายผม ขับรถไปพลางเช็ดหน้าเช็ดตาที่แก่ตัวไปครึ่งศตวรรษไปพลาง บอกกับตัวเองว่า “เราแต่งงานกันมาสามสิบปีแต่เธอไม่เคยกัดผมอย่างนี้เลย”

ผมไม่เคยเจอยุงตัวนั้นอีกเลย

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Colors of the Earth (Thai version)

โถงห้องรอของโรงพยาบาลเอกชนแห่งหนึ่ง เด็กหญิงนึกย้อนไปถึงวันที่บิดาพาไปรับแว่นตาจากโรงพยาบาลของรัฐ มันเป็นวันที่อึมครึมไร้สีสัน เธอจำได้ว่าภายในโรงพยาบาลนั้นหนาวเย็น คนแก่ไอโคกครากอย่างน่าสงสาร เด็กเล็กๆร้องไห้ระงมราวกับนี่เป็นวันสิ้นโลกก็ไม่ปาน กลิ่นของยาแรงพอที่จะทำให้เธอหวั่นกลัว หน้าตาเศร้าสร้อยละห้อยหาของผู้ป่วยที่มารอรักษาก็ยิ่งทำให้น่าตื่นตระหนก ท่าทางผู้ป่วยที่ขยับเขยื้อนเชื่องช้าและท่าทีว่องไวของหมอนั้นสร้างให้เกิดภาพที่ขัดแย้งกันนัก ที่ผนังห้องด้านหนึ่ง มีภาพพยาบาลที่เอานิ้วมือหนึ่งนิ้วมาแตะที่ริมฝีปาก มีข้อความว่า “กรุณาอย่าส่งเสียงดัง” ไม่มีพยาบาลที่ไหนจะสวยอย่างคนในรูปนั้นหรอก เด็กหญิงยังจำได้ถึงสมุดปกแดง ที่บันทึกการดูแลสุขภาพที่ผู้เป็นพ่อรับมาจากประกันสังคม เนื่องจากพวกเขาฐานะยากจน สิบปีมาแล้วสินะ ตอนนั้นเธออายุได้แค่เจ็ดขวบและเพิ่งเข้าโรงเรียนประถมศึกษาปีแรก

ครอบครัวของพวกเขาอาศัยอยู่ในชุมชนเล็กๆกลางเมืองใหญ่ ในบ้านหลังเล็กที่มีสองห้อง บ้านหลังนี้พวกเขาสร้างมันขึ้นด้วยตัวเองบนเนื้อที่ซึ่งไม่ใช่ของพวกเขา จนกระทั่งหลายปีผ่านไปที่ดินผืนนั้นก็ยังคงมิใช่ของพวกเขา อยู่อย่างหวาดกลัวว่าสักวันหนึ่งตำรวจหรือเจ้าหน้าที่บ้านเมืองจะมาตรวจพร้อมกับเอกสารราชการ ที่แสดงสิทธิ์ในการรื้อบ้านที่เป็นทั้งชีวิตและความหวังของพวกเขา พ่อเคยบอกเธอว่าหากวันใดที่บ้านถูกรื้อถอนออก พวกเขาต้องจ่ายค่าชดเชยให้ แม่ไม่ค่อยอยากจะเชื่อนักแต่ก็เก็บเอาไว้ในใจ แม่ไม่ได้เรียนมามากนักจึงไม่คิดว่าตนเองจะแสดงความคิดเห็นอะไรได้ แม้ว่าส่วนใหญ่แล้วเธอจะมีเหตุมีผลกว่าผู้เป็นสามีเสียอีก

พ่อของเด็กหญิงทำงานในโรงงานผลิตรถยนต์ เอาแต่ฟังเรื่องราวของคนรวยในเมืองและเชื่อตามที่ได้ยินมา การมองโลกในแบบของพ่อจึงแตกต่างไปจากแม่ แม่ไม่เคยสนใจฟังเรื่องแบบนั้น แม่ทำตัวเป็นดังก้อนหินที่ถูกทิ้งไว้ใต้สะพาน แม่เชื่อในสิ่งที่ได้เรียนรู้มาจากชนบท เมืองใหญ่นี้ไม่มีอะไรให้เธอเรียนรู้ แม่เกลียดมันและเกลียดสีทึมๆของมัน

วันแรกที่เธอไปโรงเรียนก็เหมือนกับเพื่อนคนอื่นๆ เธอจำได้ว่าดีใจ แต่หลังจากสองถึงสามสัปดาห์ความสุขก็ถูกแทนที่ด้วยความกังวลกับสิ่งที่อยู่บนกระดานดำ เธอมองไม่เห็นรายละเอียดในสิ่งที่อยู่บนนั้น ตัวอักษรทุกตัวมันเหมือนกันหมด เพื่อนในห้องอ่านออกเสียง ป.ปลา แต่เธอเห็นเป็นตัว บ.ใบไม้ บางทีก็เป็นตัว ข.ไข่ พ่อของเธอโมโหมากเวลาที่เธอตอบไม่ถูกต้อง เธอทำอะไรไม่ได้และรู้สึกว่าโลกนี้ช่างกว้างใหญ่แต่เธอตัวเล็กเหลือเกิน

วันหนึ่ง คุณครูเชิญแม่เธอไปพบที่โรงเรียน แม่เดินฝ่าความหนาวเย็นในยามเช้าที่มีหมอกและฝนตกปรอยๆไปพบครู แม้จะไม่เคยไปที่โรงเรียนเลยสักครั้งแต่แม่ของเธอก็เคารพคุณครูอย่างนอบน้อม อย่างที่คนต่างจังหวัดพึงมี พวกเขาอพยพมาจากด้าว เดินทางมาไกลเพื่อมาอยู่ที่นี่ จากชีวิตที่มีความรื่นรมย์สุขีมาสู่เมืองแห่งความโลภ

ชีวิตในวัยเยาว์ของเด็กหญิงจึงเป็นสีเทา บ้านเมืองเป็นสีเทา แทบทุกอย่างจะเป็นสีเทา

เธอได้แว่นตาอันแรกตอนเมื่อเธออายุได้เจ็ดขวบ มีกรอบสีดำหนาๆและเลนส์ที่หนาไม่แพ้กัน ครั้งแรกที่ใส่เธอรู้สึกว่ามันครอบไปทั้งหน้า แต่เธอก็ค่อยๆดูไปรอบๆ

“มันดูดีขึ้นค่ะ” เธอบอกกับจักษุแพทย์ที่สวนแว่นตากรอบสีดำหนาคล้ายๆกับที่เธอสวมอยู่ รู้สึกดีขึ้นเป็นคนสำคัญขึ้น สำคัญเทียบเท่ากับคุณหมอเพราะเธอสวมแว่นตาแบบเดียวกับที่หมอสวมเชียวนะ
หมอให้เธออ่านตัวอักษรบนแป้นที่อยู่ห่างออกไปสาม สี่เมตร เธออ่านได้เกือบทั้งหมดเลย
หมอบอกว่า “ถ้าอย่างนั้นก็โอเคนะครับ” แล้วตะโกน “คนต่อไป”
ปีแรกกับแว่นตาคู่นี้มันช่างสดใส เธอชอบสวมมันเพราะมันทำให้รู้สึกว่าเป็นคนสำคัญกว่าคนรอบข้าง นอกจากนั้นเธอยังรู้สึกว่าสีสันรอบตัวดูสว่างสไวชัดเจนกว่าที่เคยเห็นมา แต่เมืองใหญ่ที่เธออยู่ก็ยังคงเป็นสีเทา ชีวิตก็ยังคงลำบากเหมือนเดิม แม่บอกให้เธอตั้งใจเรียนเพื่อโตมาจะได้เป็นครู แต่เธอยังไม่รู้ว่าการเป็นครูมันหมายถึงอะไร เธอชอบที่จะตะโกนร้องส่งเสียงเฮฮา และวิ่งเล่นมากกว่า
พออายุได้สิบขวบ เธอต้องเปลี่ยนแว่นอันใหม่ พ่อลางานภาคเช้าพาเธอไปโรงพยาบาล คราวนี้ไม่ใช่หมอคนเดิมแต่ที่เหมือนคนเดิมคือแว่นตาที่หมอสวมอยู่ แค่บางกว่าและกว้างกว่าเล็กน้อย เธออยากได้กรอบแว่นตาสีฟ้าแต่ก็กลัวว่ากรอบสีฟ้าจะแพงกว่าสีดำที่เธอเคยใช้ พ่อคงจะอารมณ์เสียได้ด้วย เด็กหญิงจึงไม่ได้พูดอะไรออกมา และเดินกลับบ้านพร้อมกับแว่นตากรอบสีดำหนาๆเหมือนเดิม ไม่มีใครสังเกตได้ว่าเธอเปลี่ยนแว่นอันใหม่ ไม่มีใครเห็นว่าเธอโตขึ้น

วันปีผ่านไปอย่างรวดเร็ว เธอสำเร็จการศึกษามัธยมปลาย ได้รับใบประกาศและนำไปให้พ่อเธอดู แว่นตาเปรียบดังสัญลักษณ์แห่งความสำเร็จนี้ เธอไม่เคยรักใครแบบหนุ่มสาว และไม่เคยถูกรักจากเด็กผู้ชายคนใด กรอบแว่นหนาๆป้องกันเธอไว้เฉกเช่นเดียวกับกำแพงสูงของปราสาทที่ป้องกันพลเมืองจากอริราชศัตรูภายนอก ไม่มีกุหลาบดอกใดสามารถผ่านกำแพงสีดำของเธอเข้ามาได้ ไม่มีตาคู่งามใดจะมองทะลุมาสู่ตาของเธอ ดวงตาที่อยู่เบื้อหลังเลนส์คู่หนานั้น ประกันสังคมประสบความสำเร็จอย่างสูงในการป้องกันดวงตาคู่สวยของเธอให้พ้นจากการจ้องมองของเด็กหนุ่มทั้งหลายแหล่

ช่วงปิดภาคฤดูร้อน สาวน้อยขออนุญาตผู้เป็นพ่อเพื่อไปทำงานเป็นลูกจ้างในร้านขายยาที่อยู่ติดกับโรงเรียน สิ่งที่เธอปรารถนาคือแว่นตาอันใหม่ ที่ไม่ใช่มาจากประกันสังคม แต่มาจากน้ำพักน้ำแรงตนเอง ตอนแรกพ่อเธอปฏิเสธแต่สักพักก็เลิกคิดกังวล และอนุญาตให้เธอไปทำงานในที่สุด ทำงานในร้านขายยาไปได้สามเดือนก็มีเงินพอสำหรับแว่นตาอันใหม่

ในห้องรอที่เย็นฉ่ำ เก้าอี้ถูกคลุมด้วยปลอกผ้าสวยงาม เธอนั่งรอจนกว่าผู้ป่วยในห้องตรวจจะออกมา ผนังห้องทาด้วยสีฟ้า โต๊ะของพนักงานต้อนรับคลุมด้วยผ้าสีเขียวอ่อนสบายตา แล้วยังมีกลิ่นหอมของดอกไม้คละคลุ้งไปทั่วห้อง แม้จะหาต้นตอของความหอมไม่พบ เท่าที่เห็นก็มีเพียงกระถางดอกไม้ทำจากพลาสติกขนาดย่อม บนโต๊ะเล็กๆข้างตัวเธอ ลองก้มลงดมดูเล็กน้อยแต่ก็เลิกทำ เพราะไม่อยากขายหน้าต่อหน้าเจ้าหน้าที่ที่อยู่ตรงนั้น และเนื่องจากแว่นตาหนาเตอะที่ล้าสมัยนี้ เธอเกรงว่าเจ้าหน้าที่จะคิดว่าเธอตาบอดหรือเกือบจะบอด จึงหยิบนิตยสารจากตะกร้าที่อยู่ข้างๆมาเปิดอ่าน อ่านไปได้ไม่เท่าไรก็เบื่อขึ้นมา ในตอนนั้นเธอหารู้ไม่ว่า มิใช่เนื้อเรื่องหรอกที่ทำให้เธอเบื่อ นั่งรอต่ออีกสักพักหมอก็ปรากฎกายออกมาจากห้องด้วยรอยยิ้ม หมอใส่แว่นตาเช่นกันแต่เป็นแว่นตาที่ไม่มีกรอบ

“หมอมองดูโลกอย่างไม่ต้องมีกรอบ” เธอบอกกับตัวเอง อย่างตะลึงพึงเพริศ
ใช้เวลาห้านาทีในการตวจวัดสายตา จักษุแพทย์เสนอให้เธอลองใช้เลนส์ขนาดต่างๆที่เหมาะกับสายตาเธอ เธอเพิ่งค้นพบว่าตาสองข้างของเธอมีขนาดสั้นยาวไม่เท่ากัน เป็นเวลากว่าสิบปีที่เธอใช้แว่นตาที่สองข้างมีขนาดเท่ากัน หมอท่านนี้บอกว่านั่นทำให้สายตาของเธอแย่ลง อย่างไรก็ตามสายตาเธอทั้งสองข้างก็แตกต่างกันมากอยู่ดี

คุณหมอหยิบเลนส์ขนาดต่างกันสองชิ้นมาให้เธอลองใช้ “อันนี้สำหรับตาซ้าย และนี่สำหรับตาขวานะ” หมอบอก และเธอทำตามแต่โดยดี

สิ่งแรกที่เธอมองเห็นคือ ดวงตาสีเขียวเข้มของคุณหมอ เธอตกใจกับสิ่งที่เห็น ก่อนหน้านั้นเธอไม่รู้เลยว่ามีสีเขียวแบบนั้นอยู่ในโลกนี้ด้วย เธอถือเลนส์ด้วยสองมือเดินไปที่หน้าต่างช้าๆแล้วทาบเลนส์ลงที่ตาสองข้าง มองออกไปยังนอกหน้าต่าง เห็นคลื่นแตกกระเซ็นในทะเลที่อยู่ไกลออกไป แต่มันชัดเจนเหลือเกิน มองดูเหมือนสิ่งมีชีวิตเคลื่อนไหว บางครั้งก็เคลื่อนตัวเข้าหาเธอ ขนาดใหญ่ขึ้นและยังเป็นประกายระยิบระยับ

“ทะเลมีชีวิต” เธอคิดในใจ

มองออกไปเห้นต้นไม้ นกท้องฟ้า และผู้คนที่เดินขวักไขว่บนท้องถนน สิ่งต่างๆดูแปลกใหม่สำหรับเธอ ราวกับว่าเธอหายจากการตาบอด ได้มองดูสิ่งต่างๆอย่างพินิจพิเคราะห์เป็นครั้งหนึ่งในชีวิต ที่ได้เห็นสีสันที่แท้จริงรอบตัวเธอ คิดไม่ออกว่าจะบอกกับหมออย่างไรดี เลยรอจนกว่าหมอจะเริ่มพูดอะไรก่อน เธอยิ้มร่าด้วยรู้สึกที่จะได้เห็นสิ่งสวยงามอีกมากมาย ซึ่งสวยกว่าที่เคยเห็นมาก่อน ด้วยเลนส์สองอันนี้ในมือเธอ

คุณหมอกลับมาที่เธอแล้วถามว่า “มองเห็นชัดขึ้นไหมจ๊ะ”

ไม่อาจสรรหาคำใดมาตอบ คำว่า “ชัดเจนขึ้น” ยังอธิบายไม่ครอบคลุม หากที่เห็นนี้คือสีที่แท้จริง แล้วสิบปีที่ผ่านมาหละ
“ค่ะ” เธอตอบอย่างรีบเร่ง

หมอพูดว่า “อย่างนั้นก็โอเค” ลังเลกลัวว่าจะทำให้เธอผิดหวัง

“หนูวางเลนส์ทั้งคู่ไว้ที่นี่ แล้วไปเลือกกรอบนะ”

“พอจะเป็นไปได้ไหมคะ ที่จะได้แว่นตาวันนี้” เธอถามอย่างช้าๆ และไม่มั่นใจในน้ำเสียง

คุณหมอหยิบเลนส์ไปจากมือเธอแล้วตอบว่า “ได้สิจ๊ะ ถ้าเธอรอสักสองชั่วโมง หมอจะให้ช่างเขาทำให้ทันเวลา”

เธอยิ้มออกมาและตอบว่า “หนูจะรอค่ะ”

หลังจากเลือกกรอบแว่นตาขนาดเล็กและเป็นแบบโปร่งแล้ว สาวน้อยก็ออกมานั่งรอที่เก้าอี้ตัวเดิมแล้วหลับตาไว้ตลอดสองชั่วโมงนั้น คิดฝันไปว่าวันเก่าๆในชีวิตของเธอจะเป็นเช่นไร หากมีสีแบบที่เธอเพิ่งเห็นมากับตา เธอเก็บภาพทะเลสีฟ้าครามสดใสไว้ในใจ ต้นไม้ข้างนอกกำลังรอเธออยู่ เธอได้กลิ่นในห้องนั้นแรงขึ้น และเสียงที่ดังชัดขึ้น รู้สึกว่ามีตัวตนมากขึ้น ทั้งที่ยังไม่เข้าใจว่ามันหมายถึงอะไร เธอไม่ยอมลืมตาขึ้นจนกว่าจะได้แว่นตาอันใหม่

Written by A.A.
Translated by J.A.

Hocamız Değil Onlar!

Ömer Muhtar’i izleyenler anımsar, filmin en önemli sahnelerinden birisini. Çölde pusuya yakalanan İtalyan askerleri, Ömer Muhtar’ın adamlarıyla çatışmaya girince, birer birer öldürülürler. Geriye genç bir subay kalır ve o da teslim olur. Ömer Muhtar’ın yanıbaşındaki mücahitlerden birisi bu genç subayı da öldürmek ister ama Ömer Muhtar ona engel olur. Mücahit “Ama onlar öldürüyor bizi!” deyince Ömer Muhtar “Hocamız değil onlar!” der ve konuyu kapatır.

Şırnak Uludere’de geçen gün meydana gelen olay bir kaza olabilir, daha önce yapılan hataları tekrarlamamak için alınan aşırı sert bir önlem olabilir, PKK’nın ya da Türk ordusuna istihbarat sağlayan güçlerin bir oyunu da olabilir. Fakat tüm bu gerekçeler ya da bahaneler, olaya insancıl yönden bakmamızı engellememeli, yangına körükle gitmemize yol açmamalıdır. Ölenler Türkiye’nin en yoksul, en bakımsız, en ücra topraklarında yaşayan –yaşamaya çalışan- Türkiye Cumhuriyeti vatandaşlarıdır, ölenler askere gitme yaşında olan gençlerdir, ölenler başka seçenekleri olmadıkları için geçimlerini kaçakçılıkla sağlayan silahsız masumlardır. Kimse tutup da kaçakçıları vurduk falan demesin! O topraklarda iş var mı ki insanlar çalışsın, o topraklarda sürdürülebilir bir ekonomi var mı ki insanlar kaçakçılıktan vazgeçsin! Kentlerde yaşayıp, evlerinin en yakınındaki direkten çatılarına kaçak kablo çeken insanların başına bomba yağdığını hiç duydunuz mu ki böylesine bir olayı “TSK kaçakçıları bombaladı” diye veren haber kanallarını normal karşılayalım? Hadi bu politize edilmiş haber başlığını geçelim. Peki ya sosyal medyada tartışılanlara ne demeli! Peki CNN Türk’ün sahibinin, bombalama haberini verecek olan sunucusunu herkesin gözü önünde, neredeyse zorlayarak susturmasına…



Kimileri olayın sorumlusu olarak Kürt halkını göstermiş, kimileri olayı “Onlar şehitlere üzülmüyorlardı ama…” noktasına getirip, işi intikamla sonlandırma gayretine girişmiş, kimileri de “Ne işleri dağda gecenin bir yarısı” deyip işin içinden çıkmaya yeltenmiş. Oysa başta da yazdığım gibi Türkiye Cumhuriyeti bir devlettir ve vatandaşlarının hayatlarını, sağlıklarını, haklarını korumakla yükümlüdür. Terörist bir kuruma karşı teröristçe karşılık veremez, vermemeli. Olay bir kazaysa, devlet zaman kaybetmeden özür dilemeli, bombalanan yere gidip, ölenlerin yakınlarının gönüllerini almalıdır, ailelere tazminat vermelidir. Ölenler başkaları olsaydı rical-i devleti hemen olay yerinde görürdük. Ortada bir hata, yanlış bir istihbarat varsa, çıksın birisi özür dilesin, oradaki halkın yüreğine su serpsin, yaralarını sarsın. Aksi takdirde ne tek yürek tek ülkeden sözetmeye hakları vardır bu sükunet aşıklarının ne de dün gece ölenlerin çocuklarının, kardeşlerinin dağa çıkması karşısında edecekleri bir laf. PKK baskınında şehit olan askerlerimizi ve masum sivilleri ne kadar anıyor, onlara ne kadar üzülüyorsak; aynı duyguları bu köylüler için hissedemiyorsak PKK'yı kendimize hoca olarak kabul etmişiz demektir.

“Siz öldürmeyi çok iyi bilirsiniz” diyerek şova çevirdiğimiz uluslararası toplantıları anımsayalım bir de! Gazze’ye yardım götüren gemiye yapılan baskını, deniz sınırından içeriye girmek isteyen aktivistlerin kurşun yağmuruna tutuluşunu ve öldürüşünü. Ardından bizim hükümetimizin özür talebini ve karşı tarafın sınır ihlalini, teröristlere yardım etme bahanesini öne sürüşlerini ve bir türlü özür dilememelerini... Bize bir şeyler anlatmalı bu iki durumun benzerliği. Başsağlığı dileyip, bir özrü, birkaç istifayı çok gören hükümetlerin değerini düşündürmeli belki de. Ölen 35 can, Şırnak’ta değil de İzmir’de ya da Bursa’da olsaydı Türkiye halkının ve hükümetinin tepkisi aynı olur muydu sorusu da gelmeli akıllarımıza, her ne kadar yanıt bulamayacağımızı bilesek de...



Görünen o ki “operasyon hatası”, “istihbarat yanlışlığı”, “heronların hinliği” gibi katliamı alet edevata atfederek işin içinden sıyrılmak isteyen, korkak bir güruh var başımızda. Ha bir de çıkıp konuşmaya devam ederler, Ermeni soykırımı olmadı, yolda öldüler (operasyon hatası). Dersim’de katliam olmadı, onlar orduyla savaşan eşkiyalarla karıştırıldı (yanlış istihbarat). Maraş’ta aleviler öldürülmedi, tahrik sonucu gelişti çatışmalar (bilinmeyen dış güçler)... Liste uzayıp gider ama sorunlar çözülmez. Çünkü halkıyla dost olmaya çalışan bir devlet yoktur ortada. Yazanı, çizeni, en ufak laf edeni hapse yollayan bir sistemden söz ediyoruz. Kendi halkına işkence yapan, sorumluları yakalamaktan kaçınan, sorunları çözmek yerine lafazanlıkla vakit kaybeden insanlardan. Bu vakit kaybetme huyu, bu işleri ağırdan alma nemelazımcılığı, bu bana dokunmayan yılan bin yıl yaşasın adamsendeciliği sürdüğü sürece Türkiye’deki Kürt sorunu çözülmez, çözülemez. Çünkü kendimize rehber edindiğimiz ilkeler yanlış, insan tabanında değil de güç tabanında birleşiyoruz. Akıl rehberlerimizi yanlış adreslerde arıyoruz...

Ve bana öyle görünüyor ki İsrail sadece dostumuz değil, hocamız da aynı zamanda...

Running Through the Past

“Pain is inevitable, suffering is option” says Haruki Murakami, a well-known novelist and a long-distance runner. Running, like all other sports, requires mental discipline and physical endurance. One cannot even run 10 km without the proper training, as otherwise things might go very wrong and long-lasting injuries might occur.

We went to Cambodia to complete a half-marathon. The goal of the run is both to arrange a big sports movement and to help the long-time suffering people of Cambodia. The location is perfect as the route is passing through the ruins of the Angkor temples, going along a small lake, reaches at some dirt roads and ends at a point where we can see the entrance of the ancient temple city. The contrast between the excitement of the event and the tranquillity of the path was perhaps what made it a unique experience for majority of the runners. Running beside a lake whose surface seems as smooth as newly-ironed bed sheet, running through the centuries-old ruins whose spirits are awake as if they have never been asleep, running with thousands of young souls whose only aim to finish the race before the frying heat of the sun hits our bare heads...



For many of us, this is the first half-marathon and being an underdog it is impossible not to be intimidated by the size of the experience while at the same time not to be overwhelmed with the possible achievement at the end. It is not the distance to be beaten, it is not the time to be challenged! It is our own lazy souls, our own laid-back personalities, our own lives to be disciplined and to be taught. The difficulty is an undeniable reality of the show. However, the naïve belief one might have about the power of collectivism can work here as a catalytic essence. “If everybody runs, I can run too.” is probably the biggest source of energy for many runners here.



The race started at 6:30 am for which we need to wake up at 4 am. With the start sign, people began moving and mumbling like a locomotive starts its long journey at a station together with the whistles and notchings. The metaphor of train station and the departing locomotive can work as far as waving hands beside the railway and the distant eyes staring at the disappearing individuals. Slowly, the cacophony in the air is replaced by the pure sound of the footsteps and the heavy breathings. The lake, as tranquil as an invitation letter for the ants to lean over and drink water, the air as cool and pure as the freshness after the rain, the ruins as vivid as the paintings of Van Gough...

Then things get harder and harder as one can imagine after a few kilometers. Some stopped and rested for a while to stabilize their breathing, some stopped to take the photos of magnificent views in the temple ruins, some stopped to help those who didn’t want to stop, some slowed down to touch the hands of the kids cheering beside the running path, some left the route to the woods for a quick pee… The race continued with the pain going along with us. Some had knee pain from beginning to the end; some ran with twisted ankles, some had trouble with toe nails or squeezing shoes.

However, the spirit was high as I have seen a guy running with a heavy bag on his back and a mother running with the teddy bear –most probably she was helping her daughter’s teddy bear to finish a half-marathon- . The most motivating factor after the never-ending flow of runners in front of me was seeing someone with a message at his back “Run faster, you are still behind me!”. It was slightly obnoxious but otherwise no one would care of it.



Once you reach the 15 km sign, you realize that stopping and resting are no more options. No matter how much pain you have built inside the walls of your body or how little stamina left in your stubborn soul, you have to keep going. As people passing by or cheering beside the path, the finish line becomes an inevitable destiny for the runner, a gift that the runner deserves, a divine trophy that one can only dream about.

I reach the finish line and see some of my colleagues waiting there. The others came one by one and the final scene was an unforgettable moment for everyone. Limping, complaining, and whining about the various injuries while at the same time feeling satisfied deep inside with the achievement came along after 21 km of sweat, inner-talk and pain. Exhausted with the run and with the heat from the rising sun, we decided to get back our hotel rooms for some rest. Before getting on the bus we took several photos and for the last photo we handed the camera to a local young boy. At that moment, I thought “If he runs away with the camera now, none of us could go after him and catch him, considering our exhausted muscles :)” Fortunately, he was a good boy, not as naughty-minded as I was.

Despite the fatigue, we managed to have fun all afternoon, eating and drinking till late hours of Sunday evening. Someone asked while eating the quasi-happy pizzas and drinking the Angkor beers; “Shall we come here next year again?” The answer was a “BIG YESSSSSSS”...



*** Photos on this page are taken by Steve P, Hugh M, Fiona D, Curtis G and Andrew A. Thanks to all for giving me the photos and asking me to write this short article. This will be published in school's newsletter.

YARIM HAYATLAR (3)

Kilometre 2 (Strangers in the Night)

İkidir ilk asal sayı, tüm çift sayıların varlığından sorumlu olan. Hoş, Sagan ve benzeri inatçı matematikçilere göre, asal sayıları ikiden başlatmak bire yapılan büyük bir haksızlıktır. Bu yüzden Sagan, kitabı “Cosmos”da, asal sayıları 1’den başlatır. Aklı sıra devrim yapacak, matematiğe yeni bir soluk getirecek. Gereksiz bir tartışma, bana göre. Sever bilim adamları böyle ucu bir yere gitmeyen tartışmaları. Bazen de böyle gereksiz tartışmalardan doğar en yararlı ürünler. Bilemez insan yolun başındayken, yolun sonunda onu neyin beklediğini, hele bir de yol kıvrımlı, yol çatallı, yol labirent gibiyse.

Aşk da öyle değil midir çoğu zaman? Kıvrımlı bir labirent ya da kedinin oynamaktan zevk aldığı bir ip yumağı? Yumak, kanepenin ayağının dibinde durur devinimsiz, zararsız. Ama kedi bu, durmaz rahat, oynamak ister, dürter hafifçe. Patilerinin dokunduğu yumak kımıldar, isteksizce, homurdanarak yuvarlanır hafiften. Kedinin hoşuna gider bu, tahrik olur hayvan içgüdülerinin de etkisiyle, hayata kattığı devinimi ve anlamı bulmuştur artık. Bir daha dokunur, bir daha, bir daha, zehir bulaşmıştır artık kanına. Patileri, ağzı, kafası hep birlikte boğuşmaya başlar yumakla; yorulana, usanana kadar oynar onunla. Sonra bırakır gider, ardına bakmadan bir kere; tarumar olmuş bir bahçe geride... Ardına bakmamakla yumağa en büyük iyiliği yaptığını belki kendisi de bilmemektedir, ya da biliyordur da belli etmiyordur. Bilinegelenin aksine ardına bakmak bencilliktir, kendini üstün görmektir, geride kalanın kendi ayakları üzerinde duramayacağına inanmış olmaktır. Aşk acısı –ki bencilliklerin en büyüğüdür- işte böyle kandırır insanı, ağına sarar, boğar onu.

Müzikçaları tekrar açıyorum. “Strangers in the Night” kaldığı yerden devam ediyor.

Varsın çalsın, o çalsın ama ben takmayayım kafamı müziğin sözlerine. Önümde, aralarındaki konuşmalardan Fransız olduklarını anladığım bir çift beliriyor. Sırtlarındaki yazıya bakılırsa Çin Seddi’ndeki yarı maratona katılmışlar. Böyle ülke ülke gezip, gittiği her ülkede maraton koşanlar da var. Zevk meselesi tabii, sonuçta koşmak bağımlılık yapan bir şey, tıpkı bilgisayar ve kahve gibi. Çin Seddi’nde koşmak cesaret isteyen bir iş olsa gerek. Bir yukarı, bir aşağı, zemin de asfalt olmayınca! Nasıl dayanır ona insanın dizi ve ayak bilekleri, anlaması zor.

Strangers in the night, two lonely people
We were strangers in the night
Up to the moment
When we said our first hello.
Little did we know
Love was just a glance away,
A warm embracing dance away and

Emine’yle de böyle bir gece vakti tanışmıştık. Okul bitmiş, Taksim’de bir bilgisayar firmasında çalışmaya başlamıştım. O Cuma akşamı da arkadaşlarla takılmış, alt kattaki penceresini açınca, uzaktan Galata kulesini tüm hüzünbazlığıyla gören salaş bir meyhanede rakı içmiş, kafam demlenene kadar abuksubuk konularda –yapay zekadan camın tarihine kadar uzanan geniş bir yelpazede- bir yığın muhabbet etmiştim. Sonrasında nasıl olduysa, meyhane çıkışında herkes kendi yoluna gitmiş, beni sabahın birinde, hiç bilmediğim ıssız sokaklarda yalnız bırakmışlardı. Takmamıştım kafaya; yanıma aldığım litrelik su şişesinden içe içe, ara ara durup bulduğum pis duvar kenarlarına işeye işeye, yolumu bulurum demiştim. Yürüdüm karanlıkta, sağa döndüm, sola döndüm, sonuçta çok güvendiğim mühendis beynimle biliyordum ki en çetrefilli labirentin içine sıkışmış olsam bile, labirentin en az bir çıkışı var olduğu sürece, sonlu bir sürede dışarı çıkabilirdim. Döndüm dolaştım ve yarım saat kadar sonra artık kepenkleri indirmiş olan aynı meyhanenin önüne geldim. Güldüm kendime, “Demek dünya yuvarlakmış, seni minik Macellan” diyerek. Tekrar başladım aynı yoldan ama, sağa döndüm, sola döndüm, yokuş çıktım, yokuş indim ama yarım saat kadar sonra kendimi yine başladığım sokağın başında buldum. Sıkılmaya başlamıştım, karnım da acıkmıştı. Bu saatte, kanımda bu kadar alkolle uyumam gerekiyordu. Yollarda ayyaşlardan ve zararsız tinercilerden başka kimse de yoktu ki onlara sorayım, Taksim’e nasıl varacağımı. Hem Beyoğlu bu kadar karışık bir yer değildir ki kaybolayım, ya bende bir şey vardı ya da sinsi bir oyunun içine düşmüştüm.

Üçüncü sefer için yola koyuldum ama bu defa kararlıydım, bulacaktım yolumu. Az gittim, uz gittim, bayır tepe düz gittim. Bir ara daha önce görmediğim daracık bir sokağa daldım, sokağın üzerindeki dükkanlardan birinden gelen ışığa kanarak. Kıtıpiyoz bir kapısı bile vardı sokağın, eskilerden kalma bir gururu okşayan. Işığa doğru yürüdüm, sağımda solumda miyavlayan kedilere aldırmadan. Karanlıkta pek bir şey seçilemiyordu ama olsa olsa müşterilerini tanıyan ve seven bir meyhanecinin işlettiği, kuytu bir mekandır dedim içimden. Dükkanın önüne vardığımda yanıldığımı anlamıştım. Önce yanlış gördüm sandım, elimdeki su şişesinden bir yudum aldım, seslice yutkundum. Dükkanın camında yazan yazıyı heceleyerek, umulmadık bir yanlış yapmaktan kaçarcasına seslice okudum.

“Düşperest Haritacısı” yazıyordu gotik harflerle. İçeride kimse görünmüyordu ama ışık açık olduğuna göre birileri mutlaka vardır diye kapıya yöneldim. Kapının ardında beyaz tonton bir kedi vardı, paspas gibi yayılmıştı yere, kuyruğunu altına alıp. Kapıyı hafifçe iteledim, açıldı zorlanmadan kapı, kolundaki zil çıngırdadı gelişimi müjdeler gibi. Kedi huysuzlandı tabii, rahatını kaçırdığım için bana kızmış olacak ki sert sert baktı yüzüme. Sırtını kabarttı, kuyruğunu havaya dikti, ince uzun mırladı ve sonrasında bana arkasını dönüp kitapların arkasındaki küçük kapıya doğru koşmaya başladı. Ben afallamış kediye bakıyordum alık alık. Şimdi cebinden saatini çıkaracak “Geç kaldım, yine geç kaldım” diyecekti sanki. Olur mu olur! Ben daha fazla başıma dert almayayım diye dükkandan çıkmak için arkamı dönmüştüm ki köşedeki masanın altından çıkan bir kız “Bir şey mi aramıştınız? Buyurun yardımcı olayım.” dedi. Bu Emine’ydi. Benim şaşkınlığımın farkına varmış olacak ki suskunluğumdan yararlanıp sözü benden aldı “Kusura bakmayın, masanın altındaki eski dosyaları düzenliyordum. Buyurun oturun, sıcak çayım var, yeni demledim.”

Ayakkabım büyükçe bir taşa basıyor, hafiften burkuluyor bileğim ama acı hissetmiyorum. Soluk alıp verişim dengelendiği için artık zorlanmıyorum adımlarda. Gaz pedalına basılmış yeni bir araba gibi hızlanmak istiyorum. Birkaç koşucuyu geride bıraktıktan sonra tekrar yavaşlıyorum, gerek yok diyorum kendi kendime. Enerjimi sona saklamalıyım. Önümdeki koşuculardan birkaçı bağırıyor yine “İki, ikiyi bitirdik.” Ondokuz kilometrenin kalmış olması çok da bir sevindirmiyor beni. İleride bir U dönüşünün bizi beklediğini fark ediyorum, karşı taraftan gelen koşucuları görünce.

Kilometre Üç

YARIM HAYATLAR (2)

Bu arada "Sıfırıncı Kilometre"yi gözden geçirdim, biraz değiştirdim. Her yeni bölümde bunu yapacağım, aksi takdirde öykünün tutarlılığı tehlikeye girecek.

Kilometre 1 (Strangers in the Night)

Her şey birle başlar. Doğum birdir, yaşam bir, ölen birdir, öldüren de. Birleri yanyana koyarak elde ederiz diğer sayıları. Birleri üstüste dizerek fark ederiz başarının bir anlamının olduğunu. Beyaz kumsala dizdiğimiz kavkıları bir kol darbesi sakarlığıyla yerle bir ettiğimizde karşılaşırız başarısızlığa. Aşk da birdir pek çoğu için, biri arar insan yaşamı boyunca, yerine başkasının konulamayacağına inandığı birini sorar boyuna, günbatımı alacakaranlıklarında, evlerin önlerindeki çardaklarda çenebazlık yapan yaşlı amcalara ve teyzelere, gecenin karasında parıldayan yeni yıldızlara bakıp, belbağlar o beklenen birin geleceği günün yaklaştığı ümidine...

Ağır ağır harekete geçen bir tren gibi başlıyor kollarımız, ayaklarımız çalışmaya. Dalgaların sahile yaklaştıkça daha bir görünür, daha bir köpüklü olması gibi bizler de önümüzdeki başlangıç çizgisine yaklaştıkça hızlanıyoruz, hevesimizi arttırarak. Hoş, insan ancak o zaman anlayabiliyor yarışa ne kadar geriden başladığını, neler kaçırdığını. Aynı şekilde, geriye dönüp bakmadıkça, ne kadar ilerde başladığını ölçecek bir yöntemimiz de yok! Hayat da böyle değil mi? Başlangıç çizgisinin üzerine basınca ayakkabımın üzerindeki çipi algılayan makine biiiip ediyor, aynı anda birçok koşucu çizgiye ulaştığı için onlarca biiiip birbine ekleniyor, upuzun bir biiiiiiiiiiip dakikalarca durmaksızın yayılıyor çizginin öbeğinden dünyaya doğru, ilan ediyor başlangıcı. Müziği açıyorum sağ elimi kulağımın arkasına götürüp. Elim yanlışlıkla “harmanla” düğmesine gidiyor önce. Kayıtlı yüzlerce şarkıdan rastgele birisi gelecek demektir bu, tıpkı radyoda bir sonra seslendirilecek parçanın rastgele bir değişken olması gibi. Ses akıyor kulaklarıma, bostanların arasından sabırla ve inatla ilerleyen ince bir dere gibi, akıyor ve dolduruyor uzun süredir boş kalmış öbekleri, doldurmamak için bir hayli çabaladığım o ıssız dehlizleri.

Strangers in the night exchanging glances
Wond'ring in the night
What were the chances we'd be sharing love
Before the night was through.

“Bak bunu da silmeliymişim” diyorum içimden. Kapatıyorum müziği. Gittikçe hızlanan adımlarımız, yeri daha bir hiddetle dövmeye başlıyor. Az önce ayyuka çıkan curcuna ve tantana bir anda yerini asfalta vuran ayakkabıların kaotik –dinledikçe, aykırı bir güzellik de süzülebiliyor bu kokofoniden, nasıl dinlediğine bağlı sanırım- sesine bırakıyor, bir de sıklaşan nefes alıp vermeler, yere düşen şapkalar, anahtarlar, müzikçalarlar. Önümdeki boşluklardan faydalanıp birkaç kişiyi geçiyorum. Kendime yolun sağ tarafından bir yer edinip, hep aynı yerde koşmaya karar veriyorum, karanlık bir mağarada tutunduğum bir ipi takip ediyormuşum gibi. Ne de olsa kimseyle yarışmıyorum ben, ne de olsa kendimden, yani dizimden ve ayaklarımın arkasındaki yaralardan başka rakibim yok, ne de olsa Emine bekliyor olmayacak bitiş noktasında. Bir sonbahar sabahı çiseleyen sıkıcı yağmur damlaları gibi, fabrikaların griye çevirdiği bir kasabanın bitmeyen öğleden sonraları gibi, aheste aheste koşacağım hedefime doğru. Ne beni geçenlere gocunacağım ne de geçtiklerimden dolayı en ufak bir sevinç duyacağım, sanki kocaman parkta tek başıma koşyormuşum gibi, tüm evren benim yarışı bitirmemi bekliyormuş, unutmak istediğim tüm geçmişim yarışın bitiş çizgisinde katlanmış siyah bir çarşaf gibi kucağıma verilecekmiş gibi, sanki Emine beni bitiş çizgisinde... Düşünme şimdi onu, düşünmeeeee...

Yanımdan uzunboylu bir adam geçiyor. Sırtına oyuncak ayı bağlamış, çanta gibi asmış omuzlarından aşağıya ayıyı. Ayıya sorsan adamın omuzuna tırmanmakla meşgul. Küçük kızına “Senin oyuncak ayına –adı da vadır bu ayının kesin- yarı maraton koşturayım mı?” demiştir babası kesin. Kız da “evet babacığım” demiştir ayıcığın başına ne geleceğini bilmeden. İşte sonucu, adamın sırtında gezmeye çıkmış bir tersileceği!.

Ayaklarım açılmış olacak ki hızlanıyorum. Arasıra en sağdaki kulvardan çıkıp, seke seke yolunu bulan bir çekirge gibi önlere geçiyorum. Ne kadar hızlı gidersem gideyim önümdeki insan selinin biteceği yok. “Ne de olsa yarı maraton” diyorum kendi kendime. “Hayatta neyim tam oldu ki bu tam olsun?” diye de ekliyorum haksız olduğumu bilerek. Üniversite sınavında 54 matematik sorusundan 53’ünü doğru yapmıştım ben, katıldığım satranç turnuvasında Çinli bir liseliye yenilip ikinci olmuştum, aşık olduğum ilk kızın karşısına geçip kalbimi açamadığım için onu en yakın arkadaşıma kaptırmıştım, üniversite yıllarında zaman zaman yanlarına katıldığım sosyalistlere de arasıra göz kırptığım tutuculara da hiçbir zaman tam olarak inanamadım, tam olarak başımı koyamadım onların baş koydukları yollara. Ne zaman onlar gibi olacak olsam karşı tarafın da haklı olabileceği düşüncesi kemirmeye başladı içimde yeşermeye başlayan idealizmi. Sonra üniversitenin ilk yılında deliler gibi sevdiğim, sevdiğimi ve sevildiğimi sandığım, o yeşil gözlü kız, onunla yaşadıklarım da yarım kalmıştı. Bırakıp gitmişti beni çok sevdiği tiyatro uğruna, bir kere “dur gitme” diyememiştim arkasından. Gittiği için onu haklı bulmuştum, terk edilmeyi hak ettiğime kendime inandırmıştım. İçkiyi de ölçülü içerim ben, asla sarhoş olmam, olamam, olmadım şimdiye kadar. Kafam bulanmaya başlar başlamaz suya yöneldim hep, kanımda dolaşan deliliği seyreltmek için, akıllılıktan delirdiğimi fark etmeksizin.

Hep yolun kenarında durdum, akıntının gözümün önünden geçip gitmesini izlemek, yaygara dindikten sonra ortaya çıkmak, suya sabuna dokunmaksızın ortaya çıkacaklardan nemalanmak istedim. Hem vardım hem yoktum girdiğim her toplulukta. İşte şimdi de yarı maraton koşuyorum. Emine’nin harita çizen sol eli sanki hep omuzumda, gözleri beni dikizliyor biliyorum. Devrim, devrim deyip duruyor ağaçların arasından, haritaya yeni eklediği bir bahçeden. Bizim gruptan bir arkadaş yanımdan geçiyor ağır ağır, “Dayan dayan, az kaldı bitişe.” diyor parmağıyla o anda tam seçemediğim bir beyazlığı göstererek. O yanımdan geçip, önümde hop hop zıplayan kalabalığa karışınca fark edebiliyorum, parmağının imleyerek müjdelediğini. “1 km” yazan beyaz çizgiyi geçiyorum ve derin bir nefesi salıyorum havaya, sanki uzun süre bu çok özel an için içeride tutmuşum gibi. Yanımdakilerden bazıları sevinç çığlıkları atıyor, sanki yarışı bitirmişler. Kimileri alkışlıyor, kimileri ıslık çalıyor. Birin bitişini kutluyoruz anlık bile olsa koşuya ara vermeden. Birin bitişini, ikinin başlangıcını.

Kilometre 2 (Yalan da olsa mutluyum ya bu bana yetiyor.)

YARIM HAYATLAR

To Brian Reid, who made me addicted to the long-distance running...

Beni uzun mesafe koşu tiryakisi yapan Brian Reid'e...

Sıfırıncı kilometre:

Sabahın dördünde uyandım, kol saatinin alarmının çalmasından otuz saniye önce. Sanki içimde başka bir saat var, daha doğru, daha çalışkan, daha cazgır, kolumdakiyle yarışan. Yatakta otuz saniye bekledim alarmın çalmasını, sırf saatime saygıdan dolayı, ayıp olmasın diye. Nazar değer; kırılır, küser bana, nemelazım! Sonra yarışın ortasında cozutur, bırakır beni yarı yolda, “Sen misin beni beklemeyen sabahleyin, aha ben de senin yarışı bitirmeni beklemiyorum der, kapatır gözlerini.” Saçmalıyorum, farkındayım. Böyle boşinanışlarım yok mu, kendi aklımdan, aldığım mühendislik eğitiminden, en çok da çalıştığım “Russell Mühendislik Yazılımları” firmasının adından utanıyorum ama bir yandan da bırakamıyorum beni anlık da olsa eğlendiren, hatta bazen rahatlatan bu boşinanışları. Yok yarış günü kırmızı giymeyeceksin, yok yogayla kendine gelip, reiki ile kan akışını hızlandıracaksın, yok yarıştan hemen önce idrarını yapmayacaksın... Olmadı ama, bu sonuncusu doktor tavsiyesiydi. Öyle demişti doktor, neredeyse azarlayayazan, kütük gibi kalın Rus aksanıyla.

Işığı yaktım, doğruldum. Uzun ve sıradışı olacağını tahmin ettiğim bir günün başlangıcı bu kadar sıradan mı olmak zorundaydı? Ufacık otel odasında yataktan iki adım uzağa gidince mini-mutfağa varıyor insan. Su ısıtıcısını çalıştırdım ve ardından yatağın köşesine oturup suyun kaynama sesini dinledim. Aklıma, eski zamanlarda, su sesiyle akıl hastalarını tedavi ettiklerine dair bir bilgi kırıntısı düştü. Fokur fokur, fıkır fıkır, deli de eder bu ses adamı, veli de! Neyse ki su kaynar kaynamaz ısıtıcının düğmesi attı, durdu alet, beni deli etmeden. Dünden kalma bir lipton poşetine sıcak suyu boşalttım. Suyun renginin değişmesi uzunca vakit aldı. Bu kadar tasarruflu olmak zorunda mıyım? Otelde bile çay poşetini iki, hatta bazen üç defa kullanıyorum. Oysa tepside bir tane daha çay poşeti var, hiç kullanılmamış, tertemiz. İkisini de kullansam, otel, kullanılanların yerine yenilerini koyacak ne de olsa. Ama ben alışmışım tüketmemeye, ihtiyacından fazlasını talep etmemeye, öyle köşede oturup verilenle yetinmeye. Yokluklar içinde yetişen Anadolu çocuğunun varlığa alışamaması budur işte! Eee, ne demişler, alışmamış götte don durmaz. Biz koyun boklarını zeytin sanıp, ağzımıza yüzümüze bulaştırarak büyüdük yaylalarda, kolay mı bize piyangodan çıkan bal-peyniri ekmeksiz yedirmek?

Çayı çabucak içip banyoya dalıyorum. Su ısınmıyor bir türlü. Beklemekten usanıyorum, giriyorum soğuk suyun altına. Fena da olmuyor, çayın beceremediğini soğuk su beceriyor, bedenimin, kolllarımın bacaklarımın farkına varıyorum birer birer. Değdikçe soğuk su tirtir titreyen tenime, kanım akmaya başlıyor daralan damarlarımda; uyuşan, mayışan kaslarım geriliyor düşmanı vurmaya hazır bir yay gibi. Banyodan çıkınca bir bisküvi atıyorum ağzıma; bir de muz, dünden kalma. Sonra dişlerimi fırçalayıp, giyinmeye başlıyorum. Koşuya daha iki saat var ama saat 5’de buluşacağım şirketten gelen arkadaşlarla. Bizi Vietnam’dan getiren otobüsle gideceğiz koşunun yapılacağı Angkor parkına. Sağolsun, şoförümüzün ağzı var dili yok. Biz koşacağız diye o da kalkacak bu sabah saat dörtte. Ama en azından, biz koşarken o uyuyabilir otobüste, şöyle sallar bacaklarını pencereden diğer meslektaşları gibi, sarkıtır çıplak ayaklarını dikiz aynasından aşağıya, yatırır ön koltuğunu, kapar gözlerini Angkor tapınağının tam karşısındaki parkta. Ohh, değmeyin keyfine!

Numaramı ilikliyorum tegömleğimin arkasına. Numaram 1729, sevdiğim bir sayı, fakir Hindistanlı muhasebecinin, ünlü İngiliz matematikçiye öğrettiği sayılardan birisi. Emine’nin telefon numarasının son dört basmağı da 1728’di. Hayat işte, kimilerine piyango vurdurur sayılarla, kimilerine unutulası acıları anımsatır kafaya inen ani bir darbe gibi. Neyse, kapattım o konuyu artık, kapatayım artık, üzerinden aylar geçti ama dün olmuş gibi acıtıyor usuma düşen kırıntılar, tırnağıma batan kıymık gibi. Bazen öyle bir yanılgıya kapılıyorum. “Neden koşuyorum ben bu yarı-maratonu?” diye soruyorum kendime. Kendim için mi Emine için mi? Emine’yi unutmak için vurmulştum bedenimi bedensel acının yalçın kayalıklarına ilk zamanlarda. Yemeden içmeden kesilmeler, işkence haline gelen uzun suskunluklar, evde tek başına içip sarhoş olmalar... En azından başlangıçta öyleydi. İşin tuhafı terkeden benim, terk edilen o, ağlatan benim, ağlayan o. Göreceli düşününce fark yok ikisi arasında ne de olsa. Oysa bu bile, yani bir işi başka bir acıyı unutmak için yapıyor olma güdüsü, yetiyor aslında amacıma ulaşamadığımı kanıtlamaya. Kayıtsız olmalıydım Emine’ye, onun azarlayan gözlerine. Kendim için koşmalı, kendim için çekmeliydim onca sıkıntıyı. Neyse, çabuk davranmalıyım. Yoksa yetişemeyeceğim diğerlerine.

Ayaklarımın arkasına bant yapıştırıyorum ki daha önce ayakkabının yara ettiği yerler bir daha aşınıp, kanamasın. Testereyle kesilmiş gibi acıtıyor ayağımı, su toplayan deri kabarıkları. Eskimiş ayakkabımı giyiyorum, yeni çorapların üzerine. Yeni aldığım ayakkabıyı ayağımı sıktığı için evde bıraktım. Ne işe yarar ki yeni olmaları, tırnaklarımı yerlerinden sökecek derecede ayak parmaklarımı hırpaladıktan sonra? Çantadan iki ağrı kesici alıp, suyla birlikte indiriyorum mideye. Ne olur ne olmaz, diz kapağındaki ağrı geri gelecekse en azından ilk on kilometrede gelmesin. Sonlara doğru başlarsa ağrı, dayanabilirim; ama daha onuncu kilometreye varmadan diz vazgeçerse gövdeyi taşımaktan, durmak ve yürümek zorunda kalırım. Oysa benim bu yarışta amacım belli. Tek rakibim kendim ve kolumdaki saatim, fethedilmesi geken tek kale kendi bedenim. Bir adım bile yürümeden, bir saniye bile durmadan, iki saat içinde bitireceğim yarı maratonu. Oldu oldu, olmadı ver elini yeni bir başarısızlık. Tanımadığım, tanışmadığım bir şey değil ne de olsa...

Odanın ışığını kapatıp kapıyı kilitliyorum. Sabahın serinliği bıçak ağzı gibi vuruyor tenime. Kulağımdaki müzikçaları açmıyorum, nemelazım pili biter, melodisiz bırakır beni yolda diye. İyi yaptım diyorum içimden, asansörün düğmesine basarken, Kasım ayıyla beraber o melankolik şarkıları da geride bıraktığım çok iyi oldu. Sildim hepsini müzikçaların hafızasından. Artık ne Sezen Aksu’ya yer var kulaklarımda ne de Zeki Müren’e. Dinlemeyeceğim artık o “gözü körolasıca şarkıları”. Hüzünlenmeyeceğim durduk yere “gidiyorum, bütün aşklar yüreğimde” diyen sesi her duyduğumda. Çünkü ben ne “gökyüzünde yalnız gezen bulutlar kadar yalnızım” ne de “seni kimler aldı, kimler öpüyor” diyecek kadar müzmin umarsızım. İşim var, yeni tanıştığım arkadaşlarım var, şirkette işe başlayan Norveç’li kız var. Doldurdum müzikçaları Ahmet Kaya’yla, Cem Karaca’yla, Grup Yorum’la, üç-beş yabancı rakçıyla. Bundan sonra varsa yoksa isyan, varsa yoksa başkaldırı. Ancak o tutabilir fersiz bedenimi ayakta, ancak düşmana bilenerek soluk alabilirim bundan sonra... “Yalan da olsa mutlu olacağım” ve gidemeyeceğimi bile bile “kapıyı söker giderim” diyeceğim, bitmeyen ıssız yollarda. İçki ve sigarayla birlikte mahzunluğu ve mustaripliği de geride bırakıyorum bu sabah. İşte ben bu yüzden koşuyorum, yeni bir başlangıç için, eskinin üzerini kalın bir toprak tabakası ile kapatabilmek için, kendim için, artık var olmayan birisi için değil, hayır kesinlikle Emine için değil, kesinlikle ondan intikam almak için değil...

Resepsiyona inince benden başka kimsenin henüz gelmemiş olduğunu fark ediyorum. Oturuyorum bir koltuğa, masanın üzerine elimle hafiften dokununca, masanın ayaklarının dengesiz olduğunu hissediyor parmak uçlarım. Her yerde vardır böyle masalardan, bir ayağı havada kalan, beşik gibi sallanan. Kimi zaman kendimi onlara benzetirim, dengesini bir türlü bulamayan, ya zemindeki pürtüklerden dolayı ya da masanın bir bacağının diğerlerinden kısa yapılmış olmasından dolayı, hareket etmese bile yakınındaki insanı varlığıyla rahatsız eden, çevresine güvensizlik yayan, üzerine bir şey koymaya yeltenemeyeceğiniz masalar. Tıpkı en çok muhtaç olduğunuz zamanlarda yanımızdan tüyen, sırra kadem basan dostlar gibi... Koltuğun yanındaki sehpanın üzerinden bir gazete alıp, reklamların olduğu bir sayfayı yırtıyorum. Sayfayı katlayıp, masanın havada olan ayağının altına sıkıştırıyorum. “Bu bir süre idare eder.” diyorum kendimin bile duyacağım bir sesle. O sırada fark ediyorum grup liderimiz Chris’in masanın öteki ucundan bana baktığını. “Ne o, oteldeki masaları mı tamir ediyorsun şimdi de? Ofistekilere elini sürmezsin ama.” diyor gülerek. Keyfi yerinde herhalde. Akşam içtiler tabii, karbon yükleme bahanesiyle en az dört bira götürmüşlerdir. Ben ikiden sonra durdum, korktum açıkçası, mide fesatına uğrarım da sabahleyin karın ağrısıyla uyanırım diye.

Birlikte otelin önüne geçip şoförle konuşuyoruz. Bu arada diğerleri geliyor, herkes neşeli, umutlu. Otobüse atlayıp maratonun başlayacağı noktaya gidiyoruz. Otobüste takılıyorlar numaramı arkama iliştirmiş olmama. Herkes önüne koymuş numarayı, benim aksime. “Ben geri geri koşacağım diyorum.” Gülüyoruz, şoför de dahil. Onlara Nasreddin Hoca’nın eşeğine ters binme fıkrasını anlatasım geliyor bir ara ama sonra zahmet çekmeye değmez diyorum, hevesim kaçıyor numaraların önde olması gerçeğinin bana yaşattığı hayalkırıklığıyla. Oysa ne güzel tasarlamıştım ben koşarken neye yoğunlaşacağımı. Önümde koşan koşucuların numaralarına bakıp, onları asal çarpanlarına ayıracak, bu şekilde zamanı ve bedensel acıyı unutacaktım. Şimdi tüm tasarım tozla buz oldu. Şarkılara kaldık gene. Keşke silmeseydim Zeki Müren’i diyorum içimden ama sonra kızıyorum kendime. Sonra kızgınlığıma kızıyorum. Tanju Okan’ı da silmiş miydim acaba? “Öyle sarhoş olsam ki” yi birkaç kere dinlesem, ilk beş kilometreyi göz açıp kapayıncaya kadar biyonik Hüsnü gibi koşardım.

Yarışın başlayacağı yer ana-baba günü gibi. Kimileri ufak tefek bir şeyler atıştırıyor, kimileri upuzun bir tuvalet sırasının sonunda kendilerine sıra gelmeyeceğini bildikleri halde bekleşiyor, kimileri de ısınıyor kalabalıktan kalan boşluklarda. Hopörlörlerden yükselen ses pek anlaşılmasa da eğlenceli bir şeylerden sözettiği açık, gülüyor, güldürüyor sunucu genç başına üşüşenleri. Ben tuvalete gitmeyeceğimi bildiğim için ısınmaya başlıyorum, biraz su içiyorum, gruptakilerin şikayetlerini dinliyorum. Herkesin en az bir arızası var. Kimimiz dizden mustarip, kimimiz bacak kaslarından, belden, ayak bileğinden, tırnaklardan... Bir yerde bir arıza çıkmadan koşabilenler sadece profesyonel olanlardır herhalde. Yoksa bizim gibi akşama kadar bilgisayar başında program yazan, gün boyunca fiziksel hareketleri otur ve kalkla sınırlı, çoktan göbek bağlama yaşını geçmiş orta yaşlıların becereceği iş değil yarışı şikayetsiz bitirmek.

Aslında bir işesem, bir rahatlasam iyi olur diyor içimden bir ses ama tırsıyorum, ya o koşmaya ilk başladığım zamanlardaki acı deneyim tekrar ederse? Ya daha onuncu kilometreye varmadan böbrekteki aşırı sürtünmeden dolayı ortaya çıkan kanama başlarsa? Dolu torbayla koşmak çok mantıklı değil ama torbayı boşaltıp da ardından kan işemekten iyidir. Ağır adımlarla yarışın başlangıç noktasına varıyorum. İçimde bir korku, büyüyor her nefes alış verişimde. Ya bitiremezsem! Bizimkilere bol şans dilyorum teker teker, koşarken birbirimizi zor görürüz ne de olsa. Saatin kronometresini sıfırlıyorum. Kulaklıklarımı takıyorum ama açmıyorum müziği. Sunucu genç basbas bağırıyor birkaç metre ileride: Ar yu rediiiiii? Ar yu rediiiii for Angkor helf-maraton? Ten, nayn, eyt, sevın, siks, fayf, foor, tırii, tuu, van, sıtaaaaartt...

Koşmak ve Yazmak Üzerine

Haruki Murakami’nin “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running” adlı kitabını az önce bitirdim. Üretken bir romancı olan Murakami, aynı zamanda sıkı bir koşucu. Kitabı yazmayı bitirdiği 2008 yılına kadar, 26 maraton koşmuş, hayatını koşmak ve yazmak diye iki ana uğraşıya adamış, alabildiğine disiplinli ve varmak istediği hedefe rahatça kilitlenebilen birisi. Romanlarında genelde Japon halkının bireyci, yalnızlaştırılmış, kimi zaman trajik kimi zaman gülünç hayatlarını konu alan; absürd üzerinden ciddi edebiyat yapmaya çalışan, “The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle” dışındaki yapıtlarında, dünyadaki ya da ülkesindeki toplumsal sorunlara hemen hemen hiç değinmeyen bir yazar olarak tanımlanabilir kendisi. Genel olarak yalnızlığı, terkedilmişliği, arayışı, monotonlukta görülen kaosu işleyen, insanların iç dünyalarıyla ilgilenen bir romancı. Romanlarında tekrar eden sahneler şöyle sıralanabilir: asansörde ya da kuyu dibinde yalnız geçirilen gece ve ardından gelen büyük fiziksel/zihinsel değişiklik, kaybolan kedi ya da köpek, Yunan adalarında nedensiz yere yok olmak, pop kültüre yapılan göndermeler, jazz seven orta yaşlı ana karakterler, sıradışı huyları ya da alışkanlıkları olan kişilikler, aklın almayacağı tuhaf olaylar (gökten balık yağması, bir gecede ana karakterin tüm saçlarının beyazlaması gibi)... Sanırım şimdiye kadar beş romanını okudum Murakami’nin. En son Bangkok’dan öykü derlemesini almıştım ama öyküleri fazlasıyla post-modern, fazlasıya klişe bulduğum için üç-dört öyküden sonra bırakmıştım kitabı.

Kurgu yapıtlarını okumaya alıştığınız bir yazarın kurgu olmayan bir yapıtını okumak aslında kolay bir şey değil. Bir kere, ister istemez, ciddi bir önyargı oluşuyor kafamızın derinliklerinde. “Bu adam yine zırvalayacak, abuk subuk konulara girip, kendisinin ne kadar zeki, okuyucuların ne kadar aptal olduklarından dem vuracak.” gibisinden en büyük titanikleri bile batıracak azamette bir buzdağı var içimde, itiraf etmeliyim. Dolayısıyla, kitabı elime almadan önce ciddi ciddi mücadele verdim kendimle. Kitabın kısalığı ve bugünlerde bir yarı-maratona hazırlanıyor olmam, yardımcı oldu karar vermeme ve nihayetinde okudum. İki hafta sonra bir yarı-maraton koşmayacak olsaydım okurmuydum, bilemiyorum! Büyük bir olasılıkla okumazdım.

Kaygılarımın aksine mütevazi bir Murakami vardı bu kitapta. Ben benim, etten-kemikten bir insan yavrusu, ne fazla ne eksik! Ne yapmak istediğini bilen ve amacına ulaşmak için gereken her türlü fedakarlığı yapmaya hazır bir koşucu, yazar, vatandaş, koca, gezgin, müzik kolleksiyoncusu. “Acı kaçınılmazdır ama ıstırap çekmek bir seçenektir.” cümlesiyle hem koşmayı hem de yazarlığı özetlemiş, “Ne koşmak için ne de yazmak için ciddi bir nedenim yok” diyerek de yaşam felsefesini ortaya koymuş Murakami bu kitabında. Genel olarak kitapta anlatılanlar, bir maratona nasıl hazırlandığı, koşarken neler hissettiği, acıya karşı (özellikle kas ve diz ağrıları, çeşitli sakatlıklar, ara sıra nükseden arızalar) nasıl mücadele ettiği, koşu bittikten sonra duyduğu tatmin olmuşluk hissi, koşmadığı zamanlarda yazmaya ve diğer işlere nasıl yöneldiği gibisinden yazarın gündelik hayatının ayrıntılarından ibaret. Bunun dışında da pek bir şey yok. Yer yer yazarlık ve koşma üzerine paralellikler kuruyor olsa da bu sayfalar ya çok kısa ya da ciddi bir derinlikten yoksun. Yalnız ben yazarın bunu kasıtlı olarak yaptığını düşünüyorum çünkü yazarlar yazmak üzerine yazmayı sevmezler. Çünkü her yazarın yazma biçimi farklıdır ve bu bir çeşit meslek sırrıdır. Meslek sırlarını beraberlerinde mezara götürmek isterler. Çünkü bu sır onları ve yazdıklarını farklı kılar.

Yazarlığın ve koşmanın disiplin gerektiren uğraşılar oluşu, enerjinin yanında inadın ve dayanıklılığın önemli bir rolünün olduğu, zihinsel yoğunluğun sınırlarında gezmeden her iki uğraşıda da sona ulaşılamayacağı gibi koşutluklardan bahsediyor Murakami. Sonuç olarak umduğumu bulamadığım ama koşmaya hazırlanan entellektüel zihinlere tavsiye edebileceğim bir kitap bu. Koşmuyorsanız okumayın çünkü kitapta anlatılanların büyük bir çoğunluğu ancak uzun mesafe koşucularının anlayacağı türden iç konuşmalar ve tespitler. Yazarlık gibi bir amacınız olmasa bile eğer koşuyorsanız bu kitaptan alabileceğiniz ilhamlar olabileceğini söyleyebilirim. Sonuçta kitap koşmak üzerine bir iç hesaplaşma, koşmayı bir yaşam felsefesi haline getirmiş, takıntılı denilebilecek açık bir zihnin denize attığı bir şişe...

Yaklaşık son altı yıldır ben de koşuyorum. Her gün koşan birisi değilim ama fırsat buldukça koşmaya, kendimi o sessizlik denizine salmaya, ne aradığımı bilemeden yola çıkmaya çalışıyorum. Çünkü ancak koşarken, kafam, dalgalı bir denizde batmaktan kurtulmuş bir tahta parçası gibi kendi başına seyrediyor, sağa sola savruluyor, gözlerimin gördüğü şeylerden farklı anlamlar çıkarıyor. Benim için koşmak yazmanın ilk basamağı diyebilirim. Tabii ki yazdığım her öykünün ilk fikri koşarken gelmiyor aklıma ama pek çoğu koşarken gelişiyor ya da değişiyor. Koşarken nefes alıp vermeyi ritmik hale getirdikten ve hızı sabitledikten sonra (Bu genelde 2 km sürüyor benim için) insan bedeni açısından geriye ciddi bir sorun kalmıyor. Ondan sonrası dizler ve ayak bilekleri müsaade ettiği sürece devam etmek ve aklını yolun karanlığına bırakıp, hayalgücünü gökyüzüne salıvermek. Murakami’nin bu kitabını okumadan önce, onun yazdığı romanlardaki tuhaf konuları nereden bulduğu üzerine düşünmüştüm bir ara ve nasıl olduysa bu sorunun yanıtı bana yine koşarken gelmişti.

Bulduğum yanıt şuydu: Ancak koşarken gelir o karamsar ya da gülünç düşünceler insanın aklına. Ya uyurken ya da bedensel ağır bir yükün altındayken, rastlantısal diyebileceğimiz düşünce okları birbirlerini bulabilirler zihnin o engin uzayında. Uyurken de bedensel olarak kendimizi zorlarken de akıl bir süreliğine bizi terkeder. Geriye saçma sapan düşüncelerin işgaline açık, savunması delik deşik olmuş bir zihin kalır. İşte bu zayıf anda doğar o yaratıcı fikirler, en akla gelmez kavramlar birbirlerini rastlantısal olarak bulurlar, bir çeşit “random walk”, tıpkı atom hızlandırıcılarının tünellerinin içinde birbirleriyle çarpışan milyarlarca parçacık gibi çarpışır sıfatlar isimlerle, zarflar yüklemlerle. Gölde yüzen mavi bir kedi gülünç gelmez o anda, kente bir yılan gibi sokulan kızıl sel suları da...

Fakat iyi fikirler yetmez bir öyküyü, bir romanı başarılı yapmaya. O fikri geliştirmek, süsleyip püslemek, işe yarar hale getirmek gerekir. Bana göre Murakami bu noktada başarısız bir yazar. İyi fikirlerle kurguya başlayan ama bu fikirleri iyi işleyemeyen birisi. Yani bitirmek kadar nasıl bitirdiğine önem vermeyen bir yazar. Belki de bunda maraton koşucusu olmasının büyük bir etkisi vardır. Sonuçta koşarken nasıl koştuğunun, kimin için koştuğunun, kime ne mesaj verdiğinin bir önemi yoktur. Önemli olan 42.2 kilometrelik mesafeyi koşmak ve bitirmektir. Bunu kendisi de defalarca belirtiyor kitabında. Oysa benim için ne için yazdığım, kime ne mesaj vermek istediğim, en az hikayenin sanatsal güzelliği kadar önemli. Ne biçimi içeriğe kurban etmeyi ne de içeriği biçime kurban etmeyi kabul ediyorum. Okuyucu güzel bir yapıtı okumalı ve okurken zevk almalıdır. Aynı zamanda kitabı bitirip, raftaki yerine koyarken kafasında soru işaretleri olmalı; insanlığı, acıyı, aşkı, yaşamı, sanatı sorgulayan sorular zıplamalıdır zihninde. Aksi takdirde yazar ile hokkabaz arasında pek fark kalmaz. Birisi sahnedeki araç-gereciyle eğlendirir, diğeri kelimeleriyle. Eğlendirmek tabii ki güzeldir ama düşündürerek eğlendirmek daha güzeldir.

Kitabı okurken aklıma gelmedi değil, “Acaba ben yazsaydım böyle bir kitap, nasıl bir dil, nasıl bir yöntem seçerdim?”. Sanırım ben koşudan çok yazarlığa önem verir, aralarındaki koşutlukların daha bir altını çizer; yaşamı, yazıyı ve genel anlamda zorlukları sorgulayan bir deneme kitabı çıkarırdım ortaya. Tek sorun henüz ciddi bir koşu tecrübemin olmaması. O da zamanla olacak, yavaş yavaş birikecek bir şey. İğneyle kuyu kazmak nasıl roman yazmak için kıyas olabiliyorsa, maraton koşarken atılan her adım da maratonun tamamına kıyas olabilir. Ne romancı yazdığı romanın sonunu bilir başlarken ne de maratoncu 200 metre ileride kendisini nasıl bir yokuşun beklediğinin farkındadır. Bilmemek mutluluktur her ikisi için de! Bilmedikleri için hızlarını ve hırslarını koruyabilirler, bilmedikleri için devam etmeye hakları vardır, bilmedikleri için koşmak da yazmak da değerli uğraşılardır.

Bizler de bilmediğimiz için yarını bekleriz umutla, bilmediğimiz için bir sonrak sayfayı çeviririz heyecanla. Bilmediğimiz için yazarız kimi zaman. Tatmin olmak yazının son noktasını koymak, maratonun bitiş noktasına varmaktır. İyi bir yarış çıkarabildiysek, iyi bir yazıyı ortaya koyabildiysek ne mutlu bize.

The Universality of Pain and The Broken Dreams

Self is the only dress we cannot remove from our body. It grows both inside and outside us, encapsulates us and in fact takes both the guilt and the pride from us. It sticks to our being like a slimy leech and stays with us as long as our consciousness continues living.

The biggest illusion, perhaps, comes from the idea of the permanent self which is believed to be built inside the isolated box of our inner shell. Consequently, our self-image stands before our eyes like an invincible, indestructible amorphous mass shaped by the millions years of earth movements. We can neither get rid of it nor can we do without it. The very name of ego, like a second person living under our skin, breathes with us, lives with us and most importantly feeds from us.

Like self, pain is another universal truth about the human beings. We come to this earth as a result of a painful process and soon after we arrive we cry. Except for the physical pain which is caused by cruelties around us, the psychological aspect of pain should be considered as a trick of the ego, a prank played on us many times just to make us believe that we inherit our mental traumas from others. However it might sound true for those who need condolences, there is still sufficient amount of evidence to believe that our self-indulgence in moral values is very much responsible from most of the pain we suffer during our short life.

Ngo Thi Thuy Duyen’s stage performance starts with the dreams at the midst of global eyes like Coca Cola, KFC, Channel, L&V etc. In a world where image of luxury surpasses the reality of needs and makes the most useless things look like the most prominent things, the dreamer has no chance but just dream about the future. It is all that can keep the modern person alive among the giant waves of fear and desperation created by the mega cities, mega buildings and mega dream breakers.

In Turkish, the word for frustration can literally be translated as “broken dream” and a common saying of soused nights is “Life is an accumulation of broken dreams.” Whether these broken dreams come from our own faults or from others’ selfishness is an ambiguity which remains unresolved in Duyen’s performance. Perhaps this unresolved question is the beauty of her art, giving a space of thought to the audience and letting them to think of their own interpretation. In fact, this piece of writing is too, a result of the very same space which differentiates the art from the science.

The dancer in the performance imitates her idols, tries her best to be like one of them and perhaps enjoys the way the hard-work brings her a certain level of physical and mental satisfaction. But then suddenly, the rashes appear on her body. They pop up on the skin like wild mushrooms after the rain, they force her scratch her body crazily like a constantly self-grooming cat. It spreads like the ink in the warm water, spreads and infects wherever it touches… Then she scratches more intensely as if scratching will ease the pain if it is done continuously. But it doesn’t help at all. The more she scratches, the more blasters appear on her skin like the sand dunes in the limitless womb of a desert. Perhaps, what she scratches is the residuals of her own self or the self which is imposed on her by others - then we must admit that she (or all of us) somehow welcomed to this self either intentionally or unintentionally at some point in her (our) life- .

At a later time, she seems struggling to dig under her skin in order to get the other self which is hidden there for long time, waiting to be discovered like a King Kong in a forgotten jungle. Her endless effort does not give any expected result other than the fatigue and perhaps an insulting level of self-hatred. The shell created on her –again by whom is an unanswered question- remains the same no matter how much she tries to crack it, no matter how much she thinks she does not belong to it.

Being a slave of the box we are born in is one thing, being a stubborn resistant to it another. Duyen’s bold performance at Zero Station on 5th November night, shows us that it is not important whether you can crack the shell and jump out of your labyrinth in which you are born but it is important to resist, to rebel and to go against it no matter how long it could take, how much it will cost. No one can guarantee a new world to you, no one can promise a painless world.

Pain is universal and we are here to fight against it…

Ali Riza Arican - Nov, 5th, 2011

More information about her performance can be found here

Vietnamese Translation of this Review (by Nguyen Nhu Huy)

Tính phổ quát của đớn đau và sự vỡ mộng (về màn trình diễn “Dị Ứng” của Ngô Thị Thuỳ Duyên tại Ga 0)

Tự ngã là bộ trang phục duy nhất mà chúng ta không cởi bỏ được. Nó lớn dần lên cả từ bên trong lẫn bên ngoài chúng ta, bao bọc lấy chúng ta và thật ra, chiết cất từ chúng ta cả niềm tự hào lẫn mặc cảm tội lỗi. Nó bám chặt lấy tồn tại của chúng ta như thể lớp hồ dính và sẽ còn thế mãi cho tới khi ý thức của chúng ta tàn lụi. Ảo giác lớn lao nhất có lẽ là ý tưởng về một tự ngã bền vững, độc lập với cơ thể, và được chứa trong lớp vỏ là cơ thể chúng ta. Kết quả là, hình ảnh về tự ngã hiện ra trước mắt chúng ta sẽ như thể một đám thể lỏng vô hình và không thể phá huỷ, mà hình dạng của nó biến thiên theo sự biến thiên qua hàng triệu năm của trái đất. Chúng ta (dù muốn) không thể bỏ qua nó, song cũng không thể sống thiếu nó. Chính danh xưng ego (cái tôi) , như thể một nhân vật khác nằm dưới lớp da chúng ta, đang thở cùng chúng ta, đang sống cùng chúng ta và quan trọng hơn cả, đang ăn mòn chúng ta.

Cũng giống như tự ngã, đớn đau là một sự thật phổ quát khác về con người. Chúng ta đến trái đất này như kết quả của một tiến trình đớn đau, và tiếng khóc chính là lời chào thế giới của chúng ta. Không kể tới các cơn đau vật lý, là kết quả từ sự tàn bạo xung quanh chúng ta, khía cạnh tâm lý của cơn đau nên được nhìn nhận như thể một thủ đoạn của tự ngã, tức một trò lừa đảo mà nó gây ra vô số lần với chúng ta qua việc làm cho chúng ta tưởng rằng sự tổn thương về tâm lý của chúng ta là do kẻ khác gây ra. Dẫu sự nhầm lẫn này có vẻ sẽ làm cho nỗi đau đớn được nhẹ bớt, khi có thể đổ lỗi cho kẻ khác, có thể tin rằng sự đam mê vào các giá trị đạo đức của chúng ta xuất phát hầu hết từ các nỗi đớn đau của chúng ta.

Màn trình diễn của Ngô Thị Thuỳ Duyên bắt đầu với các mơ ước được hình tượng hoá qua đôi mắt toàn cầu trong những nhãn hiệu Coca Cola, Channel, KFC, v.v. Nơi một thế giới mà hình ảnh về sự xa xỉ vượt quá nhu cầu thực sự và nơi một thế giới mà ở đó các sự vật vô dụng được tôn vinh và đánh bóng như thể các sự vật đáng ao ước nhất, kẻ mơ ước không thể làm gì khác ngoài việc mơ ước về tương lai. Tất cả những mơ ước ấy giam cầm con người hiện đại trong các ngọn sóng khổng lồ của nỗi sợ hãi và tuyệt vọng nơi các siêu đô thị, siêu cao ốc và các siêu giấc mơ tan vỡ

Từ “giận dữ”, theo ngôn ngữ Thổ Nhĩ Kì, có thể dịch nghĩa đen sang Tiếng Anh Là “ vỡ mộng”, và cũng có một cách ngôn phổ biến ở Thổ Nhĩ Kì là “ đời sống chỉ là một chuỗi dài các giấc mộng tan vỡ”. Các giấc mộng này tan vỡ do nguyên nhân từ chính chúng ta, hay do nguyên nhân từ sự ích kỉ của kẻ khác là một câu hỏi được đặt ra trong màn trình diễn của Duyên.

Nữ vũ công trong màn trình diễn nhưthể đang mô phỏng các thần tượng của cô, gắng sức hết mức để được như họ và có lẽ vui thú trong nỗ lực khó khăn nhằm tìm lấy một sự thoả mãn nào đó. Bất thình lình, cơn dị ứng xuất hiện và làm da cô mẩn đỏ. Chúng đồng loạt nở bừng ra trên làn da cô như thể nấm sau mưa, chúng cưỡng ép cô phải gãi điên cuồng và làm cô xù ra như thể một con mèo đang quằn quại. Cơn ngứa loang rộng như mực tàu loang trong nước ấm, loang rộng và đầu độc bất cứ nơi nào nó chạm tới. Thế rồi, càng ngày càng cuống cuồng hơn, cô gãi, như thể việc gãi ấy sẽ làm ngưng cơn đau đớn đang lan dần nhanh trên khắp cơ thể. Song tất cả đều vô hiệu. Càng gãi, các điểm ngứa mới càng xuất lộ và ăn sâu trên da thịt cô như thể các trũng cát vô tận trong sa mạc. Có lẽ sự cào cấu của cô đang làm lộ ra chính tự ngã của cô, hoặc làm lộ ra cái tự ngã do kẻ khác áp đặt vào cô – tuy nhiên ở đây có lẽ chúng ta phải công nhận ra rằng theo cách nào đó, và tại một vài khoảnh khắc nào đó, qua sự gãi của mình, cô cũng đang đón mời – hoặc là ý thức hoặc là vô thức, chính cái tự ngã được áp đặt từ bên ngoài đó, vào cô,

Càng về sau, hình như cô càng tìm cách đào bới sâu hơn dưới lớp da thịt mình để tìm tới cái tự-ngã-khác đó, tức điều ẩn trú lâu nay như thể một con đười ươi đã bị quên lãng trong đại ngàn, và đang chờ đợi được khám phá. Nỗ lực không ngơi nghỉ của cô hoàn toàn không đem lại kết quả đáng mong đợi nào ngoài sự mệt mỏi và có lẽ là sự tổn thương do long căm ghét chính mình tạo ra. Cái vỏ bọc của cô – một lần nữa, với ai đó, chỉ là một câu hỏi không lời đáp- vẫn không hề suy suyển, bất kể việc cô đã cố gắng bao nhiêu đi nữa để phá vỡ nó, bất kể việc cô đã tự nhủ bao nhiêu đi nữa rằng nó không phải là cô

Sinh ra đã là một nô lệ trong lồng kín là một chuyện, không ngơi nghỉ chống lại chiếc lồng ấy lại là một chuyện khác. Màn trình diễn mạnh bạo của Duyên tại Ga 0 vào đêm mùng 5 tháng 11đã cho chúng ta thấy rằng việc có thể hay không thể phá vỡ được lớp vỏ và thoát ra khỏi mê cung giam cầm chúng ta không hẳn là việc quan trọng. Việc quan trọng chính là sự kháng cự lại lớp vỏ đó, việc dấy loạn và chống lại nó không ngơi nghỉ, và với bất kì giá nào. Không ai có thể hứa hẹn về một thế giới mới, không ai có thể đảm bảo về một thế giới không có đớn đau.

Đớn đau là chuyện chẳng có gì mới cả, song chẳng phải chúng ta có mặt ở đây là để chiến đấu chống lại nó hay sao?

* Ali Riza Arican sinh tại Istanbul năm 1977. Anh học toán học tại đại học Bosporus. Sau khi tốt nghiệp vào năm 2000, anh đã làm việc tại Thái Lan 6 năm trong vai trò thầy giáo day toán học và vật lý học. Từ năm 2006, anh dạy thống kê học và kinh tế học tại Việt Nam. Ali bắt đầu viết truyện ngắn từ năm 2001 và đã đoat giải thưởng truyện ngắn Gençlik Kitabevi cùng năm đó cho ba truyện ngắn đầu tay. Bắt đầu từ đó, anh đã viết truyện ngắn, truyện dài, tiểu luận, thơ và các bài điểm sách. Tuyển tập truyện ngắn đầu tiên của anh xuất bản năm 2007 có nhan đề Pasifik Öyküleri (câu chuyện Thái Bình Dương). Tuyển tập truyện ngắn thứ hai của anh có nhan đề Motorsiklet Üzerinde Aşk (tình yêu trên xe máy), in năm 2009. “Xe đạp” là nhan đề tập truyện thứ ba của anh, và cũng là tập truyện đầu tiên của anh được xuất bản bằng tiếng Anh. Ali sắp xuất bản một tuyển tập truyện ngắn khác tại Thổ Nhĩ Kì vào năm 2012.

Blog của anh : http://rizaarican.blogspot.com

THERE IS NO HAPPY LOVE

Man never truly possesses anything
Not his strength, not his weakness, not his heart
When he opens his arms
His shadow forms a cross
When he tries to embrace happiness
He crushes it
His life is a strange and painful separation

There is no happy love

His life resembles those soulless soldiers
Who have been groomed for a different fate
Why should they rise in the morning
When nighttime finds them disarmed, uncertain
Say these words and hold back your tears

There is no happy love

My beautiful love, my dear love, my torn heart
I carry you in me like a wounded bird
Those who unknowingly watch us walk by
Repeat after me my words and sigh
They have already died in your bright eyes

There is no happy love

By the time we learn to live
It´s already too late
Our hearts cry in unison at night
It takes many regrets to pay for a thrill
Many a misfortune for the simplest song
Many a tear for a guitar´s melody

There is no happy love

There is no love which is not pain
There is no love which does not die
There is no love which does not fade
And none that is greater than your love for your country
There is no love which does not live from tears

There is no happy love
But it is our own love

LOUIS ARAGON

Mutlu Aşk Yoktur Ki Dünyada

Aslında hiçbir şey kâr değil insana
Ne gücü ne zayıf yanları ne de yüreği
Gölgesi bir haç gölgesidir kollarını açsa
Ve kırar göğsüne bastırırken sevdiği şeyi
Tuhaf bir ayrılıktır hayatı kapkara
Mutlu aşk yok ki dünyada

Hani giydirilmiş erler bir başka yazgıya
İşte o silahsız erlere benzer hayatı
Sabahları o yazgı için uyanmış olsalar da
Tükenmiştirler ve kararsızdırlar akşamları
Söyle yavrum şu sözleri sakın ağlama
Mutlu aşk yok ki dünyada

Güzel aşkım tatlı aşkım çıbanım derdim
Yaralı bir kuş gibi taşırım seni şuramda
Ve görmeden bakanlar şu halimize bizim
Süzdüğüm sözleri söylerler benden sonra
Ve her şey der demez ölür iri gözlerin uğruna
Mutlu aşk yok ki dünyada

Yaşamayı öğrenmek bizimçin geçti çoktan
Ağlasın gece içinde kalplerimiz yan yana
En küçük şarkıyı mutsuzluktur kurtaran
Her ürperiş borçlu baştan bir hayıflanmaya
Ve her kitar havası beslenir bir hıçkırıkla
Mutlu aşk yok ki dünyada

Acılara batmamış bir aşk söyle bana
Yıkmamış kıymamış olsun bir aşk söyle
Bir aşk söyle sarartıp soldurmamış ama
İnan ki senden artık değil yurt sevgisi de
Bir aşk yok ki paydos demiş göz yaşlarına
Mutlu aşk yok ki dünyada
Ama şu aşk ikimizin öyle de olsa.

LOUIS ARAGON

Çeviren: Cemal Süreya

Wall Street İşgali ve Üç Maymunu Oynayan Medya

Tunus’da, Mısır’da, Yemen’de ya da Suriye’de protestolar başlayıp, halk sokaklara döküldüğünde bunu bir özgürlük ve demokrasi arayışı olarak lanse eden ve saatlerce aralıksız yayın yapan batı medyasının, kendi arka bahçesindeki olayları görmezlikten gelmesi ne kadar anlamlı değil mi? Üç haftadır ABD’nin finans merkezi olan Wall Street’deki gösterilere CNN, BBC, ABC gibi kanalların neredeyse tamamıyla sırtlarını dönmelerinde şaşılacak bir durum yok aslında. Sabah akşam Amanda Knox’un mahkeme haberleri ve sakatlanan bir futbolcunun görüntüleriyle uğraşmaları da görmezlikten gelme çabalarını ne kadar beceriksizce ortaya koyduklarının bir göstergesidir.

Batı, yüzyıllardır sömürdüğü, kaynaklarını çalıp, kendi çıkarlarına hizmet eden yerel yöneticileri başlarına getirdiği ülkelere hep aynı aşağılayıcı gözlerle bakmıştır. İkiyüzlülüğün sınırı yoktur kazanan taraf için. Mısır’da olaylar yeni yeni filizlenmeye başladığında Mübarek’i destekleyen batı, olaylar çığırından çıkıp Mübarek’in kaybedeceği kesinleşince çabucak taraf değiştirip, halkın yanında boy göstermekten hiç utanmamıştır. Libya’yı işgalle sonuçlanan ve jet hızında gerçekleşen siyasi görüşmeler de Suriye’ye yarım ağızla yapılan uyarılar da aynı düşünce yapısının sonucudur. Batı, her zamanki gibi kendisine kaynakların sorunsuzca akacağı kanallar açma çabasındadır. Bunun adı tabii ki demokrasi, özgürlük, insan hakları gibi ağızlara sakız olmuş ifadelerle süslenecek, her zamanki gibi insanların emekleri, özgürlük ve barış adına sömürülecektir.

Mısır’da ya da Suriye’de olan olayları lanetlemek kolaydır ve oradaki halkın yanında olmak batılı politikacıya bir zarar vermemektedir. Tam tersine halkın sempatisini kazanmak ve ileride ekonomik yararlar kazanma adına önemli bir stratejidir. Bunun en iyi örneğini Sarkozy’nin bombaladığı topraklara ziyarete gitmesinde ve Hillary Clinton’ın Tahrir Meydanında halka karışmasında gördük.

Çıban ayakta ya da elde çıkınca insanı utandıracak bir rahatsızlık vermez. Peki ya dudakta ya da alnın ortasında çıkarsa? İşte o zaman saklamak ister insan, sokağa çıkmak istemez, görülmekten, konuşulmaktan hicap eder. ABD’deki insanların diğer ülkelerdeki insanlardan farklı olduklarını düşünemeyiz. Dünyanın en pahalı sağlık hizmetinin olduğu bir ülkeden bahsediyoruz. Trilyonlarca dolar vergi parası harcanıp, iflasın eşiğinden kurtulan bankalar ve sigorta şirketleri, kendi ayakları üzerinde yalpalamaya başlar başlamaz, başlarındaki yöneticilere milyonlarca dolarlık bonuslar vermeye başlarlarsa, halkın vereceği tepki bundan başka olamaz, olmamalı.

Hatta tepki konusunda Amerika halkının yavaş ve pasif kaldığını bile söyleyebiliriz. Sonuçta Amerika pek çok sivil devrime tanık olmuş, birçok savaş karşıtı gösteriye kucak açmış bir millettir. Bankalar ve finans şirketleri halkın parasıyla kurtarılıp, insanların emeklilik fonları boşaltılarak, paralar bataklıktaki birkaç sivrisineği öldürmek için harcandığında insanların uzun süre sessiz kalmış olmalarıdır asıl şaşılması gereken.

Sorun, bu paralarla kumar oynayan şirket yöneticilerinin, başkalarının parasıyla risk almayı kahramanlık sayan insanların ortadan kalkmamış olmasıdır. Sistem, Wall Street’deki o kumarbaz brokerlar ve yöneticiler var olduğu sürece bozuk atmaya devam edecektir. Çünkü sistemin temel amacı insanlara mutluluk vermek değil, insanlara mutluluk için yarışma şansı veriyor olmasıdır. Bu demektir ki insanları bazısı çok mutlu olmayı hak edecek, bazısı da çok mutsuz olarak kalacaktır. Bu normal karşılanacak, hayat devam edecek, ara sıra seslerini duyurmak isteyen bu mutsuzlar takımı polis tarafından bastırılıp, medya tarafından ihmal edilecektir.

Wall Street’deki protestolar halkın demokrasiye inancının henüz tükenmediğinin göstergesidir. Politikacılar tarafından değil de dev şirketler tarafından yönetilen ABD vatandaşının her şeye rağmen, özgürlüklerinden ve alınteriyle kazandıkları değerlerden vazgeçmek istemediklerinin bir kanıtıdır. Bu gösteri büyüyüp, gerçek anlamda Arap baharını gölgede bırakacak bir devrime yol açabilir. Ya da sanki hiç olmamış gibi tamamıyla susturulup, o dev şirketler kendi kurdukları düzende yuvarlanmaya devam ederler.

Dünyadaki pek çok ürünün değerini belirleyen, en uzak ülkelerde satılan pamuğun, pirincin, buğdayın, tütünün fiyatlarının speküle edildiği bu piyasalarda oynanan oyunlardan Vietnam’daki çiftçinin,Tayland’daki işçinin bir haberi yoktur. Çünkü onun sabit gelir elde edip, ne kadar çalışırsa çalışsın ailesinin karnını zar zor doyurabilmesinin sonucunda, kazancından arta kalan para, dünyanın bir başka köşesinde, kumarı doğru oynadığı için miyonlarca dolarlık bonusları cebine dolduran yöneticilere gitmektedir. Aynı yöneticiler yanlış kararlar verip, içinde bulundukları gemileri batırdıklarındaysa, halkın parasını kullanan hükümet gemiyi kurtarmak zorunda bırakılmaktadır. Çünkü sistem öylesine birbirine bağımlı, öylesine zincirleme reaksiyonlara açıktır ki bir gemi batarsa, ardından yüzlerce gemi gidecek, tüm bir ülke ekonomisi karanlık diplere sürüklenecektir.

Globalizm diyerek bize yutturmaya çalıştıkları vahşi kapitalizmin son çırpınışı olmayacaktır Wall Street’in işgali. Emeğin sömürüsüne, özgürlüklerin engellenmesine, yoksul ülkelerdeki kaynakların hortumlanıp zengin ülkelerdeki insanlara peşkeş çekilmesine izin verildiği sürece protestolar sürecek, insanlar ellerinden alınan ekmeklerinin hesabını soracaktır. Bugün sıra ABD’dedir, yarın Fransa’da, öbürsü gün Yunanistan’da. Tüm protestalarda olduğu gibi amaç değiştirmek ve değişmektir. İnsanların sesi yükseldikçe, abuk subuk olaylara saatlerce zaman ayırıp, asıl konulardan uzaklaşan medya eninde sonunda akıllanacaktır. Kimbilir belki de, protestacıların sesleri kendi binalarının koridorlarında, kendi stüdyolarının sahne arkalarında duyulmaya başladığında el atacaklardır duruma. Geç olacaktır ama mutlaka olacaktır...

Meraklısına: Wall Street’i işgal eden grubun hazırladığı ilk sayfa: http://occupywallst.org/

6 Ekim’de Özgürlük Plaza’sını işgal etmeyi planlayan kardeş grubun sayfası: http://october2011.org/