english
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Writing The Silence of Scheherazade
I must have been 30 years old when I first (I say “first” because I read it countless times after that first round) read Jeffrey Eugenides’ Middlesex. I was traveling the world with a backpack, and I found the book (or did it find me?) in a guesthouse in Vientiane, the melancholic capital of Laos.… Continue reading
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Remains of the Funeral
So we buried my father. In the past I always thought that when people go through such emotional traumas, their minds would be so clouded that they couldn’t be aware of anything that was happening around them. A haze, I thought, would have surrounded them and they wouldn’t remember a thing once it is all Continue reading
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Farewell to my Baba
My father is dead. I am staring at this sentence that I have just typed. My father is dead. This is my own father whom I am taking about. Not the father of a character from my novel. My father. “Come on,” says a voice in me. “There is NO way!” The voice in me Continue reading
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Bicycle Pump Part 3
(this way to the previous chapters…) They did not have swimming suits, so we brought an extra pair with us. They always wore our clothes anyway. They were so small compared to me and Esin, so when our clothes did not fit us anymore our moms gave them to Ruya and Mina. Every time they Continue reading
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