Struggle

This pain in the chest, it is the combination of love and despise. A civil war inside of me. Ego vs heart. My heart wants to overthrow the autocrat in me as if it is competent enough to share the power with the reason. If the ego wins, execution of the heart will be a necessary evil, in which case, I will say adieu to unwanted and unwelcome tears...

Awakenings

My soul is floating on the surface,
Sleeping, seeing dreams.
But I've got your hands in mine,
Feeling safe, knowing
We won't be losing each other...

Başsız atlılar və Gilyotin

Gərək ki, çox hörmətli dövlət orqanları qış vaxtına keçməyərdilər. Nə qədər ki, istilik verilməyib, deməli qış da gəlməyib. Qatıq yaşıldır, yoldaşlar. Heç kim heç kimə borclu deyil, Ağqoyunluda hamı qazla təmin olunub. Gedin, şəkərbura yeyin!!! Bu qışdan da çıxarıq. Adımıza ləkə gətirməyin, dözümlülük milli-mənəvi dəyərlərimiz qədər qanımıza işləyib. Pəncərədən zibil tullayanlar, yolda xartıltı ilə tüpürənlər, vedrədəki xərçənglər, əlbəttə ki, təkamüldən qalib çıxarlar. Mariya Antuanetta demişkən, gedin Xəzərdə çimin!!!

Arrival

It will come,
What you are waiting for.
Look around, it may have even arrived.
If not, purge the despair to Siberia,
It will come, come, come!
Believe and expect.
Arrest your doubts.
Repress the fears.
Lasso your dreams,
Pull them closer,
Sing for it,
It will come, come, come!
What you are waiting for.

The perks of loving classic music (observations from the italo-azerino concert)

September is the time of pomegranates, apples, persimmons and classical music. Every september Baku hosts International Classical Music Festival dedicated to the founder of the Azeri classic music Uzeyir Hajibeyli - my favourite. There are usually about ten different thematic concerts in musical halls scattered across the capital. But somehow we end up buying tickets for the State Philarmonic Hall right in the heart of Baku placed beautifully near the Governor's Garden - my favourite. So we did this year.

Philarmonic classical concerts are not so popular among the majority, therefore, usually the ticket sale is very low - the prices range from 5 manats to 20. But hardly any people buy tickets. Thus, at the start of a concert our hospitable Philarmonic Hall opens the doors for all and for free. In this concert however, there were enough Azeri, Italian and expat guests who purchased the tickets and so the crowd of free music lovers had to wait for the others to take their seats.

The concert was intended to begin at 19:00. Intentions do not always match with punctuality in Azerbaijan and Italy, and with Italians and Azeris coming together I had no doubt it would start at least 30 minutes later. My doubts didn't fail me. As soon as we had our tickets solemnly ripped into halves we were allowed to enter into the main concert hall.

By the time we were in the concert hall, my seat was already occupied by a man, next to him a woman - probably his wife. I approached the man and asked him to move one seat to the right showing my ticket and found out that he was English speaking. He smiled and moved one chair to the right and we all sat. Well, the perks of not watching or reading news to save yourself some nerves are that you end up not recognising the ambassador of the US in your country. That's what my sister told me - "we are sitting next to the US ambassador". "Well, let me ask him for a green card" I replied. Well, of course, I was joking. I thought, it'd be nice to chat with Mr.Ambassador since he was so kind to give my seat back to me. The whole thing I described here took not even a minute when the controllers and staff approached us in an indignant manner requesting our tickets. When we finally showed our tickets, the staff tried to prove us wrong about the seating numbers. So we asked a direct question: "Is this whole thing about us asking the ambassador to move?!". Taken off guard, they claimed it was not the case. They left, only to come after five minutes to offer Mr.Ambassador and his wife some empty seats in the amphitheatre. He was surprised and said he did not mind sitting here, but his wife said it was ok. So they moved. Apparently, our azerino philarmonic staff do not realise that ambassadors are also humans and it is ok for them to be wrong. It is also ok for a citizen to sit next to a state official or a diplomat. It is ok to be right. Cheers to you, our darlingest ignorant staff of the beautiful State Philarmonic Hall!

I can not say whether it was a disappointment to lose our amiable American friend, because the seats were quickly occupied by an Italian couple in their fifties may be. After all, this was italo-azeri concert. The lovely Italian couple were also very chatty and at some point I thought I was back to La Spezia-Rome train where I had an honour of hearing Italian speech for three hours in a row. I even managed to understand the chat by the time the train made half way into the Southern Italy. Jumping back from the train into the concert hall, I realised the couple was also very cuddly. They touched, kissed and laughed together. Very cute.

At 19:30 the doors were opened for the ticketless audience. People flocked into the hall and started taking seats just like they would do in a subway in the morning rush hour when late to work. Quite chaotic and time-consuming... I was back from my thoughts to the hall with the curious question of "how could you dress up and put on so much effort to look classy with the aim of being stuck at the doors because there were no places left..."

The concert started with the Italian ambassador giving a speech on the friendship of two nations and cultural proximity of the two. I thought may be "one nation, two states" could not only be applicable to Azeri-Turkish society but Azeri-Italian as well. Oh, we are so very similar...

Finally, the concert had started and I stopped looking at the ceiling.

The pause for fifteen minutes was a vanity fair. Now that the seats were guaranteed people flocked outside to have fresh air in the outside gardens. We stayed in the hall, although our dear Mrs.Bennet was keen on us going out and "showing ourselves". Cute! When the pause was over, the Italian couple never came back, I guess they were distracted as "love was in the air". In general, many did not come back. End of vanity fair.

The concert finished with Funiculi, Funicula - the famous Neapolitan song which says:

Come on, come on! To the top we'll go!

Come on, come on! To the top we'll go!

Funiculi, funicula, funiculi, funicula!

To the top we'll go, funiculi, funicula!

Sand castles on the clouds

My world is upside down,
I'm building castles from sand,
On the fluffy pink clouds.
My glasses are blue,
My dress is red,
My dreams are colourful.
...

Tiptoeing on the rope,
Over the altered dreams,
I have no wings,
I will dive deep.
My skin is pale,
My hands are free,
I'm carving a sculpture
Of my own self.

A man of no prejudices

The "I wish I was music literate" thought flickers on my mind map every year on September 18th. It goes as fast as it comes. A man of sharp wits, humour and of incredible talent was born on this day 130 years ago. Uzeyir Hajibeyli - I consider him one of the top active members of enlightenment in early XX century Azerbaijan. I see him as one of the founders. His music is magnificent, his satire unfolds the realities of the period, his patriotism can not be confused with nationalism. He belongs to no age. Place him in XV century Medici palace, he would light up the renaissance with unique music, be he present in ancient world, he would be a brilliant politician, give him the chance and the war would turn into a peace. But his was the fate of disguise. He had to be a part of ideology of the most ironic times. I wonder how it is to witness the World War 1 and the World War 2 and the Cold War, to be forced to live in Communist prison whilst trying to master your passion. Meanwhile, having no prejudices, working for perfection, writing a piece of music that would go further into future, piercing like an arrow through a communist veil and ending up in the world where we live today. The world in which we won't be long, where we can leave nothing but our ideas, thoughts, some small legacy. So many of us come to this life unnoticed and leave unappreciated. But the good news is that some of us have astonishing positivity and passion for life. Some of us can shine in the darkness. Some of us can soothe with music. And my ideal man - Uzeyir is one of them. A man of no age, a man of no prejudices...

The other side of the moon

What if music would taste?

What if chocolate would sound?

What if eyes could touch?

What if we would fly in the sea?

What if we would swim in the skies?

What if the world would be upside-down?

What if the earth would be a Rubik's cube?

What if the sun would swing back and forth?

What if the moon would not be bound by the earth?

Would she come closer or walk away?

Brave or foolish?

Who would judge?

The stars?!

Bradbury's Child

For a little girl there is no best place but the father's arms...

When I first read Ray Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451", I fell in with the way he saw things. Writing fantasy but meaning reality. Then I read "Golden Apples of the Sun" and "Farewell Summer" - both collection of short stories by Bradbury. I felt comfort, soothing feeling, light breeze, fresh air, innocent sadness... And finally, there came "Dandelion Wine". There is never a wrong moment to read a particular book. Everything comes in right time, everything for the right purpose. 

So I dived into the yellow bottle of Dandelion Wine and came up refreshed, renewed, at times sad, sometimes excited, many times loved, always grateful... Grateful for my own childhood, grateful for a family no less exciting than Douglas Spaulding's, grateful for not minding we never made a Dandelion Wine in my world, we made mulberry syrup and rose water. Bradbury unwrapped my memories like you would open your birthday gifts, knowing what to expect and being thankful. I would write endless stories about my childhood, perhaps I will, someday. But what my message to you, my dear reader, is that if you want to dive into good memories without waking up the evil dragons, this book is just what you need. Get drunk by the words, feel good by the memories, relax by the aftertaste. I managed it, yes, I did by not evolving all the pain, to go back, to peek into my past, to try to feel the warmth of my father's arms. It felt peaceful! This book made me once more, want to cook an apple cinnamon pie and a lemon cake and dance in the rain, and be brave and smile a lot and just do simple things that would brighten up your loved ones, thus yourself. Like a caring father, Bradbury taught me that love is in the small things and it is everywhere. 

As awkward as it may seem to you, but when I write about Bradbury, I remember Rumi, when I think of Rumi, my thoughts fly to Bradbury. After writing all these words, a Rumi quote comes to my mind: "Close your eyes, fall in love, stay there!" And he promises, all the comfort and peace will come to you...

For a big girl there is no best place but the love's arms...

In the company of the Courtesan's Dwarf

Perhaps my review will get less interest since I chose to "be in the company of the dwarf - Bucino" rather than the courtesan - Fiammetta Bianchini. The title, "In the company of the courtesan" would get more attention, but that's the real name of the book I'm going to review here and it has already caught enough interest to be the bestselling historical fiction book and I bet the title played a sweeter role than the content. But the word "courtesan" is not the only siren enchanting you to dive deep into the book. It is the cover that attracted me, to be honest. That sweet, serene face. Her face on the cover - not the body, for I had to read the book and get to know Tiziano Vecellio and his famous painting to put the puzzles together.

Here comes my first positive opinion for Sarah Dunant for her research is quite informative. You learn, while you read about Italy, about Venice, about the children of renaissance. The author intends to show Venice - La Serenissima - in its dazzlingly innocent glory. Metaphorically speaking, Venice turns out to be the only attractive courtesan in the book. What did I learn from the book? Well, I "met" Petrarch and his sonnets, Pietro Aretino's stingy tongue, Tiziano Vecellio's brushes, and a lot more about Venice - La Serenissima!

The corruption veiled under the justice...

Seraglio - which means Harem and the ongoing "battles" of Eastern Harems vs Western Brothels...

The story is told by the dwarf named Bucino. When I read the book, I was forgetting he was a dwarf, so he had to constantly remind that he was the one. The more I thought high of Bucino's wit, the less excitement brought the main figure, the courtesan - Fiammetta Bianchini. Bucino unfolds the mysterious Venice and makes you taste the city from stinking waters to perfumed Sunday masses, from street fights to Turkish merchant's fountain court, from ostentatiously pious Venetian families to modestly camouflaged brothels with their charmingly witty mistresses. The book reminds of "Memoirs of Geisha", only the Venetian version. Does it make you want to visit Venice? Yes, it does. Does the book make Venice a romantic, all-in-honey-moon-mood-sort-of-a-place. No, it does not. Partly, because the book describes XV century Venice and it is much darker than the modern Venice with its well lit, all in flower haze narrow streets, canals with handsome Italian gondola men waiting for you to jump in and feel the mystery and magic of old days.

How did I pick this book when there were plenty of books queuing on the door to welcome them into my mind? How selfish of me? You see, it is the signs! I walked in to the staff room. There are always books there to share after reading. My eyes caught the cover and there was I, reading it. Sometimes, what you seek, finds you first. My dear Rumi, you were right. Venice was on my mind when I found this book. So, let the good signs alter your directions, let the good signs make you get lost in the unknown streets and let the bad signs be ignored once and forever!

What's your name?

Lately, I've been asking more questions that I know can not be answered. Over the years, we develop common sense, and where the common sense can not poke its nose, we switch off the lights. I work with children. They ask me: "Why do we exist?". Very thoughtful of a ten year old, isn't it? I go on and think of dozens of answers that flicker in my mind like the fireflies in the summer night, I know they will believe any version I suggest. But I decide to answer honestly: "I don't know". All right, so this has nothing to do with the question I will ask today. Here we go: "Do our names shape our characters?". Perhaps, we behave accordingly. I don't even bother to google it now. All I know, my sister's name means joy and she brings joy and my friend's name means to laugh and she has the most seducing and beautiful laugh I have ever heard. And I can go on and on with all the people in my life and their names and match and mismatch the characters to meanings and my mind is now getting blurry. What does my own name suggest about my character? I will leave the answer to my friends. And good morning!

Mistaken

Kindness comes disguised in different forms, but most of the time, it goes labelled as weakness. People may and will think kindness comes with planning and intention. The-what-a-foul thoughts will cross our minds, we will doubt the sincerity, we will assume, we will judge. Bravery will be mistaken for foolishness. Everyone will make mistakes, everyone will be mistaken. There will always be doubts and suspicions. But in the depths of my thoughts I still keep on hoping, keep on believing, keep on giving reasons and justifying. Each doubt is erased by the drop of faith. For each "what if I'm wrong?" thought, I would want to get "What if you're right?", not "Yes, you are" or "No, you are not". Because, no one soul is utterly right or wrong. No one soul believes or denies everything completely. No one soul is completely ignorant or a perfection itself. Like the scales, we are balancing the trays and we all are trying. What a big joke this life seems! Falling victim to guessing games. Would life be less intriguing if minds were as transparent as the blue skies? Less fascinating without black holes? More amusing without humour?
I don't care if I am mistaken, but I do want to be understood. 

Greatful

It's been a week,

Since I thought of myself,

as Kafka in a skirt.

But then I woke and read his life.

Then I stopped. 

The twinge of guilt, 

Swept through my skin,

I started counting,

The blessings I've got.

The energies and spirits,

My folks and friends,

Unspoken love and care,

Neglect and despair,

My sweet memories,

My life, my books, my thoughts,

Nothings and every tiny things,

Rare laughters and constant smiles,

What do they hide behind?

Some agony and pain,

The fear in the air,

The thunderstorms I met with bliss,

The walks I took under the pouring rain.

Some sun, some moon, some dreams,

Some plans, small hopes, great shots,

And who knows what!?

Of Butterflies

Those butterflies, mean so much,

Butterflies in the stomach, 

Fluttering your soul.

Or on the mind of the collector?
Pinning you dead to the board.

Perhaps, in the sky, beautifully free.
Life,
Innocently high and sadly short. 

Hungry Soul

Surprise me,
Sing me a song.
Work some magic,
Show me the moon.
Earn me,
Learn me more.
Prove yourself right,
Without proving me wrong.
Persuade me,
Whisper the truth.
Win me,
By actions.

The Dream Cat

There we are. I want to write every day. But "every day" does not want me to write. I don't feel like writing every day and "every day" doesn't feel like waiting for me. So, I'm going to trick him in a way. Going through my old posts I picked one, relatively positive text and decided to translate it into English. Perhaps, my non-azeri friends would like to hear a story about a "dream cat". There was a story I read in Asiadeh's blog, an extract from "The Book Thief"( http://thoughts-in-rainbow.blogspot.com/2013/02/soz-silklyn-qz.html ). The author's aim was to deliver truth through a tale. Inspiring. 

What if I tell you a tale through truth? What if I show you little wonders that you have never paid attention to? What if? I will name the story "A boy who shook a cat tree". Once upon a time, in one of the small city parks I saw a little boy who just started to walk. He was holding to his grandma's hands. But eyes fixed ahead of him, to walk, to explore. And then there was a cat, lazily strolling towards the sunshine, uninterested in the boy although not unaware of his presence. The boy dropped his grandma's hand and clumsily rushed to the cat. May be, he wanted to stroke the kitty. It is a difficult thing to read the thoughts of a two year old toddler. May be, he wanted to discover the cat, by touching. Whatever the boy wanted, the cat quickly became tired of him and jumped on to the tree behind him climbing up and up to the top. That is when I saw the things unseen. The boy approached the tree and started shaking it with all the zest that he had in his fragile hands, believing he will shake the cat off the tree. Everyone looked but nobody saw except me. I saw, how the boy's hands were weak enough even to cause a leaf to fall, I saw the fact the tree will not sway like our destinies and I saw that despite the firmness with which the tree stood upright, the cat watched the boy and feared it could fall, his claws tight in the tree trunk. It was two of us, the cat and I who saw now. The message was delivered - the tree represented our life. The cat was our dreams. And who were we? Perhaps, that little toddler who was trying to shake off his dreams!

In Time and Across the America

So it goes. Life, death, feelings, events, people and time. I will tell you about the travel through time and distance and how to experience it at home. You will need two books. "Slaughterhouse-Five or The Children's Crusade" by Kurt Vonnegut and "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac. Sit back and relax. Here we go.

When I picked Slaughterhouse-Five, I did it solely because it was a small book that could fit into my bag. The intention was to read it in metro. But after reading the first ten pages, the book was brought back and placed near the couch to be read only in the evenings. With this book, the size did not matter, what mattered was the contents. I read the azeri translation, it was not so bad. "So it goes", I learned. The story is told by an unknown person who through the main character Billy Pilgrim travels in time. Back and forth, back and forth. As if you are looking into kaleidoscope and you see the patterns, only not colours. Billy knows how he will die and does not care a bit because he can go back. Back to life, to his family and memories, but also, he goes back reluctantly to Dresden, to memories that are carved on his brain, irreversible. Dresden of the Second World War, Dresden after bombing, Dresden of sorrow. He has given up on life, but life hasn't given up on him. And so it goes... Lost soldier, lost soul, so lost that he sees the Tralfamadorians (aliens). I liked that word, it sticks. I liked the irony, I liked the satire. It was sad. Travelling back to the first the sentence of the book - "All this happened, more or less".

Stop travelling in time and indulge travelling across the America. From New York to West Coast and back and when you still are not satisfied travel from the North to Mexico City and back. The "beat generation" authors will want you to explore everything. From road maps to jalopies, from women to jails, from cars to friendship, from drugs to sex, from jazz to insanity. And this book leaves you with the "before and after" feelings. Kerouac as Sal Paradise is "on the road" for everything to see, eat, feel, live, risk. If I would choose a background music for "before" impressions, then it would be "Lady" by Modjo. But in the beginning of the book, I assumed it would be the "triangle affair". It turned out to be the "spotlight" thing. And the spotlights were all on Dean Moriarty, the hero of the book. All the way across the America, back and forth, Sal talks of Dean. Meanwhile, Dean is insanity itself! I could underline with a pencil (KKO) endless phrases and sentences that made sense, that inspired or even amazed me. However, I could not "underline" any of the characters in the book. You, yes you, might not agree with me. But I believe, Sal idolized Dean for no reason, unworthy. If you read this book, be prepared that the characters are high and get high from everything. There is plenty of drugs, alcohol, women and sex and a lot of JAZZ. The background music for the "after" impressions would be "Habits, stay high" by Tove Lo. The saddest part of the book was when the old man cried at the top of the stairs for his grandson was leaving him alone without bits of remorse. I felt sorry for him. The rest of the book - "feeling too high to feel sad".

To conclude with, I love travelling. But...not in time. Past and future have been hurting me anyways. I would travel across America, and down to Mexico City and Italy, and to everywhere. But...not for the search of insanity. I would, for the search of understanding and peace, the inner peace. 

Lyrics of an imaginary song

Breathe deep,

Hold on, I will come.

Someday, through time,

I'm on my way.

Hold on! Don't give up!

Sooner or later,

Sooner rather later,

Hold on! I will hold you soon,

In my heart and in my arms,

To never let you go again.

We will collide one day,
To be locked into each other,

Sooner or later,

Sooner rather later,

Hold on! 

I will make you smile,

Again. 

I will erase your tears,

So you never cry,

Again.

Hold on!

Mr.Murphy has taken care of everything, except the OCD

No need to get a degree in law or physics, right? Everyone knows good old uncle Murphy's law - anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Murhpy's law, otherwise known as the fourth law of thermodynamics or the law of meanness (from Russian - закон подлости) actually works. If you are late and urgently looking for parking lot, then you won't find any, you will circle around and around and around until at last moment when someone pulls out and you get that smug smile, someone else will beat you in a matter of a second. If you bought that pretty, expensive bag that you were yearning since the start of a new season, the next day, it will be on 50% sale. If you are on a duty at lunch time, you will get cover before and after lunch (teachers would understand me). If you plan a house renovation instead of a trip during your holidays and the workers just don't turn in. If you just challenged yourself that you will never ever buy any candy and chocolates and sweets, someone will knock on your door with these sweets and say hi. And when you decided to sleep at 11 each evening, forget, it will never happen. And sometimes, when you want to say something witty that turns into something foolishly Bridgetish. And your phone will be dead just before you realized that you didn't text home, and the family already decided you've been kidnapped by a maniac. And the weather will go wrong just when the heating system is turned off. And it will always rain if you don't take an umbrella. Sunny, when you forgot your sunglasses, overcast when you didn't. You will get those extra kilograms just before the graduation when you've planned to fit into that nice little green dress. 

But I tell you this, with so many obsessions and compulsions, Murphy won't trip me up. I make sure to check the door is locked thrice, and I carry umbrellas just to force the sun out behind the clouds and so it goes. :)

My Frenzy Gurus

I start writing this post in a terrible noise that  is shattering my brain cells into pieces.  It is possible for me to stop it but I do not. Do you have a Guru?  Ostensibly, they teach you how to live. They don't tell you vaguely to "try harder". They teach you, they give samples.  But then, it depends on what you are in love with in this life. Books? Then your  Guru is a combination of your favourite authors. Films? Music? Sports? Philosophers? Scientists? Scriptwriters?  There are no particular rules or timings to choose one.  Today, people who come to my mind as possible Gurus would be Rumi and Bradbury.  Rumi - because I desperately need  soothing words when anxiety attacks unexpectedly and Bradbury - because after reading one of his short stories I feel reinvigorated and inspired. Rumi's words embrace your soul like no human hands would do. And Bradbury - well, he tells you to jump off the cliff and grow wings! 

These two, are the enthusiasts of poetry and prose. Below are the words that embraced my melancholic heart today. 

Good Friday, everyone! Welcome to my heart! Oh, that little sweet joy! What a surprise! Look at who decided to pay a visit - my dear old peace! You grew older. You can't walk, let me walk you to a couch. You can relax there. My darling, melancholy, you help yourself, you feel like at home like you always do. Sorrow would like to kiss me on the cheeks? Well, cutie, I have a flu. It's catching. Come, have a seat. Oh, you brought your friends. Well, my heart is big enough to fit all friends of my friends. Here are the shames and regrets! My favourites. They always bring a bar of bitter chocolate.  Welcome, welcome. My dearest friends, I will entertain you today. Does everyone know how to play chess?

Come, come, come...

"With hindsight", we, historians say. Go away, remorse. I don't want to look back. But I still wish.

He who is not used to it, is already resting in peace. We have incredible bodies and souls, we suffer, we survive, we live, despite.

Questions of Science

Is time more torturous than distance?

Is dried lavender more healing than a single petal of a daisy?

Is silence deadlier than the words?

Why does a single name arise millions of emotions?

Does waiting equal masochism?

Do you feel or think the words on the tips of your fingers?

Pets or cats?

Trees or architecture?

Colours or scents?

Touches or whispers?

Why do we shrug? Why don't we, any more?

Egos or egos?

Pride or prejudice?

Science or fiction?

Oh, the Irony

Every saturday afternoon, after work I end up sitting at Second Cup Cafe all by myself. Unintentionally, I do not plan it. It just happens that way. I drink either black tea medium size or americano small. I have my own place in the corner to sit and relax. Sometimes the music is horrible, sometimes pleasing. I wait, sometimes for my sister, sometimes for my friend. Sometimes they come, sometimes not. This place will turn into some kind of shrine for me. I can sit in one of yoga positions and pretend I`m a statue. May be I will do the things I never dared, may be I will walk up to that lonely man whose head is periodically popping out from behind his laptop and say hi. May be I will walk up to the two women talking louder than I can stand and tell them to mind manners. They are eager to look well-mannered! Speaking Russian is one if the rules. Oh, and ordering too much stuff. May be I will order something different. May be I will sit and describe what I am doing, sitting, watching, drinking coffee and typing. Oh! The irony!

Many years ago, I was a part of "young political leaders" conference or symposium or whatever. It was an international event and along with Azeri yes-doubt-future-to-be-leaders there were foreigners, but mostly from post-soviet countries. But there was one girl from Swedish green party. We took her sightseeing around Baku to show what proud-to-be-azeri-youth we were. She said she was adopted from Sri Lanka. We still envied her being from Sweden, secretly. Every post-soviet citizen thinks Scandinavia is heaven, you know. Or thought so. Right when we showed her the building of State Oil Company, she said she envied us. Seeing a confusion in our eyes, she said: "you know, you can meet an oil-prince, get married and become rich any time. I wish I could meet him now and stay here". And what do they teach at schools in there, Scandinavia? I don`t remember her name, just words. We were all 18. We laughed about it. Oh! The Irony!

By the way, among the-future-to-be`s there was an azeri guy who tried his luck with me. "You have beautiful eyes" he said, but "you drank wine with Georgian team!". His luck was gone. Oh! The Irony!

Sevimli yazıçım Rey Bredberinin sitatlarından

İstanbul, Port Said, Nayrobi, Budapeşti görmək. Kitab yazmaq. Çoxlu siqaret çəkmək. Yarğandan yuvarlanmaq, amma yarı yolda ağaca ilişərək sağ qalmaq. Gecə yarısı Mərakeş küçələrindən birində bir neçə dəfə güllələnmək. Gözəl qadını sevmək.

...

Əvvəlcə dağdan özünü at, qanadların yerə düşən arada böyüyəcək.

...

Bəzi insanlar çox gənc ikən qəmi dadırlar. Bunun heç bir xüsusi səbəbi yoxdur, mənə elə gəlir ki, onlar belə doğulublar. Onlar daha asanlıqla yaralanır, daha tez yorulur, daha çox ağlayır, daha uzun xatırlayır və dediyim kimi, dünyada hamıdan daha çox qəmginləşir. Mən bilirəm, çünki, onlardan biriyəm.

...

Hər zaman nədənsə qorxan azlıq olub və hər zaman qaranlıqdan, gələcəkdən, keçmişdən, indidən qorxan, özlərindən və öz kölgələrindən qorxan çoxluq olub. 

...

Bu da sənə həyat, MakDann dilləndi. Biri evə heç vaxt gəlməyən birisini hər zaman gözləyir. Həmişə kimsə sevildiyindən daha çox sevir və bir müddət sonra sən əzab çəkməmək üçün sevdiyinin yox olmasını istəyirsən. 

...

Ah, incəsənət! Ah, həyat! Kəfkir gah ora, gah bura gedir, çətindən asana, asandan çətinə. Duyğulardan həyata, və yenə geri, duyğulara.

...

Biz səyahət edirik, romantika axtarışında, səyahət edirik, memarlıq axtarışında, səyahət edirik ki, yolumuzu azıb, itək. 

...

"Stay alive!" , "Eat Gelato!" and "Read books!"

That's the advice given in the Hunger Games, to stay alive. I like reading two, three books simultaneously. It can give you a headache though if not carefully picked up but usually all I need to care is to pick one book that is deep in nature, that forces you into questioning, reasoning which you can only read after dinner or during the weekends wrapped in a blanket with a cup of hot tea and another that is shallow but enough to keep you interested, the one you can read in metro, while waiting for your doctor's appointment or just to distract your tired mind.  Absolutely accidentally you can choose these books but yet you will still draw parallels, be amused by coincidences. 

This summer by chance I had two books to read simultaneously - "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elisabeth Gilbert and "How I became stupid" by Martin Page. It was not a planned choice - but surprisingly, the former came to be about "finding yourself" and the latter about "losing yourself". Interesting twist. It is as if you've just put two ingredients together and discovered completely a new taste which would not have happened otherwise. Cooking and reading can also have parallels, you know, if you see them. So, here is an advice. "Eat Gelato!" Gilbert was teaching me how to put your pieces back together after falling apart and get yourself into Italy not for seeking love but finding peace in enjoying food while Page would want me to consider the possibilities of being a sheep in the herd to see why "all sheep are happily ever herded". Elisabeth found peace in meditation and Page lost the peace he believed to be a turmoil deliberately only to be replaced by another one. 

So, "stay alive" Suzanne Collins advises everyone. "Stay alive and strong" I advice you. I have picked the Hunger Games trilogy in a combination with "Hopscotch" by Julio Cortazar. Cortazar makes me jump from chapter 8 to 29 and from 114 to 9. A game of words and battle of thoughts sprinkled with love and carelessness. I try to contemplate over each sentence as it is said to be a very intellectual piece of work but in the end I find myself rushing through lines impatiently seeking an advice to apply in my life. After all, don't we - fiction lovers - lose ourselves in the books to find our selves a newborn, changed, grown up book-loving-creatures? In between the "hopscotch games" I have been reading the "Hunger Games" trilogy everywhere, at work, in metro, at home to distract myself. Expectations. They can be so wrong, so different. I should never expect. Here is another advice - "Never expect". Thus I expected one thing from the Hunger Games but quite a different thing came out. But after all, seeing the colours or smelling the distant scents from Orwell's "1984" and Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451" - that is what tunes me into the Hunger Games. "Stay alive!" - the tune is playing constantly in my mind. "You love me, real or not real?"-"Real" - That is how the trilogy ends. From hunger to revolution, from revolution to love. From love to peace?

Any fiction is a reflection of reality no matter how distorted that reality might seem. Our fantasies feed on life. And then we read books and feed ourselves with the fantasies of the people who came before us. Endless cycle. Chicken and egg. Here is an advice. "Stay alive and read books". 

Frankly Speaking

To be honest, try to, if you can, never be honest. Lie, cheat and be bad. Be rude and irresponsible. Disguise, act and play. If you believe yourself to be stupid then act as if you are Avicenna. If you think you are kind, be cruel. Hurt below belt. Try it! Noone gives a damn, seriously. All people need is a tragedy and food. Bread and circus, bread and fists, bread and olympics. Kill souls, but the best, remember is - kill joys, honestly. Be negative, go break windows, and mirrors and hearts, truly. Pretend that you are a King. Bribe the souls, show them no mercy. Target the precious, be a Crusader who killed for Jerusalem. Do not worry, the ends always justify the means. Winners never get judged.

There you are! Did I make you think horrible? Did you believe me? You did! Just because I said, frankly speaking? If I would write about being good and virtuous, you would think I lied. 

Frankly speaking, do not believe me!

Polar Humans

We split, we break down, we grow. From cells to humans, from humans to cells. Meanwhile, we are polarised, we polarise. It is in our nature. It is us who made up North and South. We keep on segregating - "you and me, mountains and plains, patricians and plebeians, natives and aliens, you and us". We draw borders, we cut in halves, like the 38th parallel. We discriminate, deliberately. We even divide the bears. Are polars more beautiful?

Under Pouring Thoughts

Why have we ever invented an umbrella? What for? Rain won't hurt, sun won't kill if you just go under the cover. Humans long ago should think about making another type of umbrella. The one that protects you from pouring thoughts. You will say, what are then drugs and alcohol for if not to prevent you from over thinking. Will they really do the job? How long can you stay high? What happens when you get down? To get out of an oblivion and be a victim to razor sharp thoughts that are in ambush. The umbrellas would do if only they would have been invented. Meanwhile, there is no hiding place from your thoughts. Ceaselessly dropping down on you one by one. "Where are we? What are we? Who are we?" Have you heard that Muse song? It plays in my mind, no umbrella to block it. Today I am angry. I will blame everything on governments, not humans. Today I have a mercy, I will assume this crisis is not originating from our actions but our instincts. Today I will cling on to the bits of hope that things will be put back together naturally. I put the earth next to me on a dirty floor and sit beside. I need a rest, five minutes, ten minutes, an hour. Then I will take you back on my shoulders again and carry you around the sun.  

Borders

Stand up and step out of your comfort zone,
Sit down and think you can not,
Up and running,
Down and drowning,
Break the chains,
Fasten the belt,
Scream yourself to unknown,
Brace yourself to shush,
Countdown and jump,
Lean back and sulk,
Play with yourself,
Those invisible borders,
Erase and draw, draw and erase,
Wage a war, make peace,
Like an ant inside of an ink circle,
You think you are trapped,
Well, you only think!

Extemporaneously

Anything more thrilling than a blank paper? Take one and look at it. You are what you think when you stare at the blank space! I have been lost and recovered recently from excitements of different kinds. Yet when pulling myself out of the sea of torments I decided to face the blank space. To my excitement, I started typing the very sentences that you are reading at the moment. Through those lines you are looking right into my eyes and beyond. "What a sunny day!" I will lie to you in the midst of a foggy morning. My heart will pump out while I will open the imaginary letter from a secret friend and read how I can fascinate someone in this world. Can I? The bell! Please, let me be positive. Let me pull a kitty out of a hat and sing for a rainbow. Let me touch the wave of a sun and feel the beam of a sea. Let me be me. I am so tired. Are you not? Take my hand. Let's entwine our fingers in an endless lock. How to get out of a maze without facing a Minotaur? To be an absurdity, not in it. To fall into lines. Silence the whispers. Secretly giggling. Away, away, away into centuries. Future, not past. Break the ice, break uncertainties. Understand. Read. Minds. Twirl and be gone.