A Glimpse in the Mist
There are those who may wonder if everything I write is real and true.
There are those who have told me that I seem to have a good life, beautiful,
wonderful. We don't show everything, am I wrong? No, of course I'm not wrong,
even the most honest of them all has something to hide, something they don't
want others to see because it's a part of themselves that shows vulnerability.
After all, pride is part of what makes us call ourselves human.
A few days ago someone launched kites into the sky with questions waiting for an answer, but I didn't know how to answer. I believe that they must be answered from the soul, without pretensions of any kind, but with caution for those who may find a similarity with me.
I can't understand how I manage to connect with some of you, if anyone actually reads what I write. However, they tell me that I manage to connect the words with the feeling, with the emotions I evoke and with the melodies that run from my head to the tips of my fingers on the keys.
"Are there parts of you that we can’t yet see in this internal journey?"
This first question makes me smile because it is easy to answer, but it also encourages me to ask: How much have you really seen of me? A minstrel who wanders cannot always show everything about herself because she never has enough time to stay in the same place. And yes, there are parts of me that you can't see yet, but it's because I can't make everything transparent on paper. However, I give a glimpse of everything I can, you begin to get to know me, give me time to write more for you and you will be able to understand the complexity that I have, so similar to many of you.
"Where does your inspiration come from the most? Is it the calm, peaceful air of rainy days that drives you to write, or are there storms within your soul?"
Always, or at least every time I read a book that catches me, I ask myself the same question and the answer I conceive is perhaps the same one I feel for myself. My inspiration comes from the soul, we leave a piece of the soul every time we write. We leave something of our essence in what we write. There will be those who write for the sake of doing it ― simple curiosity, perhaps the attempt to see if there is skill to do it or who knows what other reasons, each mind is a huge lagoon with deep waters. But there are writers who write because the heart, intuition, destiny, life, soul, mind (whatever the engine) tells them to do so, experiences can dictate the feeling that runs wild over a few lines. I am not one to judge the motive of others to write. But my inspiration comes from melancholy and everything that surrounds me, it comes from the chest that squeezes when it sees a rainy afternoon; it comes from complex or simple melodies that rattle in my mind until I get them out on the keys; it comes from some occurrence that wants to be taken out and read by someone who appreciates it; it comes from wanting to be heard through metaphors and anecdotes that can hide something. I admit that I like the idea of challenging the minds of others by hiding motives behind writings that may have no relation to what they capture on the surface. And there are too, there are storms in the soul. We all have them, but I use them to say to others: "You're not the only one, I hear you. I'm writing to you"
But, above all what I have been saying in this answer, the main inspiration that led me to write is tattooed on my soul. He was one person, one person, who managed to make me find what made me jump for joy when I wrote and languish before the melancholy of a distant afternoon. I hope that person is proud because he became an invisible and unspoken inspiration that will always bear his stamp on everything I writes.
"Is there a melody, a memory, or a landscape that makes you want to set out on the road, perhaps a place you long to return to or a trace left from the past?"
Yes, there are always melodies, memories, landscapes that make me want to leave. Seeing mountains cut by cement roads, with ravines on the sides and the sky framing the scene. There are places I want to go back to, places that trace memories upon memories that bring me longing. I am a person who likes to get lost in the past, but who also values the present and turns it into an amalgam of past experiences with the aroma of the present. We are a composition of everything: things that happened, things that happen, things that will happen.
"How does it feel for you to know that your writing brings a smile to someone's face? Do you discover yourself while writing, or do the marks you leave on the thoughts of those who read you reshape your own story as well?"
I'm surprised. Finding people saying that I can get a smile out of them is pleasant and surprising. It has become a gift that I treasure and that tells me that I can be capable of that and more. It makes me realize that my life has left a trace on others. I have left a mark without realizing it, without realizing it, I have stolen seconds of joy from someone and that encourages me to continue doing what I do, without expecting anything in return. I have never thought that others can influence my story, but over time I have learned to know people and they manage to mold me to grow.
"And one last question: even though you say you won’t reply to anyone, do the silent echoes from others guide you toward a new piece of writing? Perhaps one day, those echoes might bring you new inspiration—what do you think?"
I am a person who allows herself to be seduced by the past. The echo of others will always be present in me, that will not change. And yes, everything that has been written to me, people who have stayed, who have left, will have their place on the shelf of memory and I will be able to remember them in the future. They are like books, they will have life as long as someone remembers them. Like you, Mehmet, who have asked me questions that have been pleasant to answer.
For Mehmet:
Today's melody:
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