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sakhisangni

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  1. Engin won a special award (Ayhan Isik awards) in Sardi Alisik Odulleri awards to be presented on 6th of May Some new pictures (04/14)
  2. I don’t think it has been subbed as yet Jonsen •·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·••·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·••·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·••·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·• Which other manager? There only one that I know
  3. Engin with his manager (a new one) on the streets of Istanbul #Biraskikihayat at #Cannes #MIPTV2019 by the name of #Destiny
  4. Merhabalar A new story has popped up again and what an apt one in today’s world English translation credit: EAUFC We Have A Problem By Engin Akyurek There was a word salad before me. People, without knowing what they were saying, had started dipping their sentences into a greasy meat plate. The one slowly talking and flaring up his problem was trying to tell us that he had more meaningful and deeper problems. What is a problem anyways? It is a delicately crafted human-made malady that comes and goes or stubbornly stays put when it gets bored. This malady that we call “problem” likes to build a nest where it settles, and then, to ramify. When it casts a shadow over one’s mind, slowly playing a tambourine with the winder of one’s heart and making one feel restless, it can turn one’s body into a piece of dried unleavened bread. Selim had begun to tell about his exes. If he started a sentence in a moody tone, he would take a hold of us like a domino and talk our head off with his past problems until the night ended. The conversation between six men sitting around a long table was always falling into this trap. I didn’t know if this was because of boredom or because of a manifestation of a need or because of a decrease in what we shared, and I tried not to worry about it so much. Even though I sit at the far end of the table, that conversation would eventually find me. They would want to hear my problems to be able to understand if I was paying attention. I would serve my fabricated problems like an appetizer not to appear conceit. Don’t get me wrong; it was not that I didn’t have any problems, who wouldn’t? It is just that our daily problems, becoming lifetime problems, would invade our precious time. We would treat each other like a psychologist and exhaust ourselves with a haughty cleaning, which didn’t go beyond sweeping our problems under the rug. The long dinner tables would turn into psychotherapy chairs. We used to act like aggrieved therapists of the modern era. Ilker, softening Selim’s little passes with the most shameless part of his tongue, dropped such a sentence in the middle of the table that, the long corners of the table tapered and lost its rectangle geometry. “I’m getting married.” “With whom?” “Mehtap.” “Mehtap who?” “Mehtap.” Our inquisition was beating up Hakan as well. “Is Mehtap our Mehtap?” As if I didn’t ask the same question, Mehmet, enunciating there was a problem with its content: “Is Mehtap our Mehtap?” “Yes, bro, our Mehtap.” Nobody, except for Ilker, didn’t know how to start the next sentence and therefore, took refuge in silence. We had another fresh problem in our lap, moreover a burning one… Mehtap was Hakan’s ex. Their love was big, and they were almost getting married. All of us was childhood friends, except for Ilker who had been a regular at our table for the last year. He was Selim’s colleague at work. At first, he was just a guest. But he had slowly succeeded in joining our conversations. Mehtap used to come when Hakan wasn’t around. Somewhere, somehow, they had started seeing each other. Selim, feeling responsible for introducing Ilker to us, asked the same question in his own way: “Is Mehtap our Mehtap?” “Yes. You’re right. None of you knew.” Ahmet was next to Hakan who didn’t want to show his feelings with his silent energy. He asked his question as if he wanted to make Hakan invisible. “When did this happen? I mean when did you meet?” “Three months ago.” “Three months…” “It was on impulse. I am not sure how. I found myself proposing her.” Hakan’s silence precluded us talking about wedding or related subjects. Hakan sipped his tea and tried to hide his heartbreak mixed with anger behind his serious countenance. Ilker must have felt that something was going on. If he could easily talk about getting married with Mehtap, he probably didn’t know what happened in the past. We tried to figure out how to react by exchanging glances with each other. We were so curious about each other’s thoughts that we had crazy questions in our minds. - Why did not Mehtap talk about Ilker? - Was Hakan still in love with Mehtap? (I thought he was because it was obvious from the way he drank his tea. - If there was a wedding, would he go? - What would Ilker do when he found out Hakan and Mehtap almost got married. If these questions, like old wives’ gossips pondering in our minds, were left unanswered, we would keep talking about them. Our civilized side, unable to beat our primitiveness and nature that we couldn’t hide, tried to express itself with a plush smile on our face. Just I was wishing Ilker to go to restroom so that the rest of us could discuss the situation, Ilker got up and said: “I will use the restroom.” I guess I would wish the same thing if I wanted something from God. Ilker took his phone with him and went to restroom. We looked at Hakan. His reaction would determine our tone and color. If had grey tones in his voice, we wouldn’t go to the wedding and weather it with a quarter gold coin slipped into a dry congratulations card. If he talked in a not-caring and self-deceiving mood, we would go to the wedding and even dance. If he talked in dark sentences, that could end up, us upturning the long table and beating Ilker here. Hakan sipped his tea one more time: “I’ll go. I need to be alone.” What happened now? We all had gotten our share of the problem. Ahmet, looking after Hakan and, with a sad, deep voice, said: “Bro, I think Hakan is still in love with this girl.” Selim nodded; Ahmet had just told the title of a topic he loved the most: “When we see our former lover whom we don’t even remember his/her face with another man, we usually get confused. I can understand Hakan.” Mehmet leaned back against his chair, looking towards the restrooms and making us look at there as well, checked if Ilker was coming back. He underlined that we needed to talk quickly: “Well? What are we going to do?” I had my share of the conversation as well. Ilker was coming back. “Guys, I am going to talk to Ilker. He should know. Let’s tell him everything before things get serious.” However, neither I could tell him the truth nor Ilker made an effort to understand what the problem was. His rocking body had made us feel dizzy and we had forgotten what to say as if our words went after a wedding convoy. The man was born to marry; it was impossible to say anything over his excitement and happiness. While we were sipping our teas, our minds were busy with crazy questions. I had found myself as a “best man” during a talk jumping from the ceremony of asking for her hand in marriage to henna night. I think what I wished from God did not happen this time… The wedding day was in three months, but they called it off two weeks before the wedding. Nobody knew why. We heard it through the grapevine that Mehtap was the one who called it off. Some unofficial sources told that it was Ilker who went crazy and called it off after finding out that she was in a relationship with Hakan before him. We hadn’t seen Ilker much after the wedding was cancelled. Hakan’s face was glowing. He talked on and on: “Mehtap is still in love with me.” We were again five people around the table. We had our bags on Ilker’s chair. “Bro, this girl still loves me.” We had a big problem now, a very big problem…
  5. Thanks girls for all the pictures and videos from movie release. Here is the link for English translation to Engin and Berguzar’s interview. https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=2234815949872253&id=236720409681827&anchor_composer=false
  6. Engin Akyurek’s Life magazine interview translated in English by EAUFC credit: EAUFC Facebook page. Engin Akyurek's Interview in Istanbul Life Magazine-Full Interview(all four pages)/Engin Akyurek'in Istanbul Life Dergisine verdigi roportajin Ingilizce cevirisi(tam metin) Engin Akyurek "Love is like the point of reference in our lives" We met with famous actor Engin Akyürek in Moda. We talked about the film "Bir Aşk İki Hayat", which will be released in cinemas very soon, we talked about Istanbul and his new book. - “They say that life is directed by big events, whereas it is the sum of the small decisions we make ...” This phrase was heard in the trailer of a movie of yours,One Love Two Lives , that we will very soon see in cinemas. What kind of movie is awaiting for us? - These phrases actually describe the movie very well. Sometimes, when a film is being shot, or when we think about something related to a book, we feel as if we need to relate something very important about life. In fact, the films that we all love very much, which we admire, are very simple things about life, similar to our life. This film, as well, starts at such a point. It starts as the result of a very simple incident "what would have happened if he had taken his dog for a walk, what if he hadn’t?" we see two different states of the life of Umut, the character I play, as a result of a very simple choice. When I read the script, I said I wish I could see the possibilities of my choices. We live every single thing we have chosen, but the things we haven’t chosen always remain a dream or something unknown. This is where the beauty and trick of the film lie. It’s about how a simple thing actually changes our lives. - Would you tell us the story of the character you give life to, in the film? - Well, we did some shooting in Moda. Ninety percent of the film took place there. This is a Kadikoy film. Umut is a director living in Moda. He has some problems concerning his job. He is a person who cannot shoot the films he wants, he has to shoot commercials. In fact, he is a character who experiences things that each of us may face and experience at some period of our lives . - In the film there is love, life and decisions that are made. How does the film reflect the decisions made by Umut among his countless choices in love and life? - Actually, the film does not underline these decisions. It’s a simple decision like how to take his dog for a walk or which way to go. In fact, it is decisions that we haven’t really taken into account. And he finds his love based on his decision and moves forward to a process that tells the story. You must have understood the dual narration already, if you have watched the trailer of the film. There are not two different men in the film, there are two different stories of the same man. - What kind of journey is promised to the audience of the film "One Love, Two Lives"(Bir Aşk İki Hayat)? - I believe that they will review their own lives. For example, if one came with their loved one, they will review the history of their meeting. Choosing a profession, choosing a path ...Generally, people want to think about the positive sides of these situations, but they will see the negative ones, too, in this film. I think that when you watch the film, your point of view about love and life will be affected and you will make some deductions. -In order to shoot for our cover, we turned our route towards Moda and Kadıköy streets. And in the film there is a story passing through this route. In your opinion, how did this area, its structure, influenced the film? When did you do the shooting, what was the shooting process like? - This is a film of Kadikoy and Moda. The shooting took place in July. The film is directed by Ali Bilgin. In the part of the film that has been watched, it is as if it’s a film of me and Bergüzar Korel. I said the same thing about the movie “A small September affair”. It’s a movie of two people. This film is of the same flavor,too. We had not acted together before with Bergüzar Korel ,we did we know each other. I am very happy to have met her. The film is a very short period of interaction among the actors, and you have to harmonize immediately. It is very valuable that there are no problems regarding Bergüzar’s acting ability, motivation and good performance at work. This is a movie of two people. And it was very important that we managed to capture this, in this movie, as well. We didn’t have a particularly long preparation period. We had to start the movie immediately. From the very beginning, we were able to capture very good energy. And what the film needed was energy. I hope this was transferred into the movie. I live in Kadiköy. Due to the fact that we shot in my favorite places, on the streets I walk through, I did not feel much alienated. I sat a lot In places where Umut sat. The places where the film was filmed are like the film’s identity. We feel Kadiköy and Moda in the film very much. Umut’s house, his world and the places that brought him into existence are here. -Would you tell us how the film portrays its evaluations about love? -In our lives, our profession, the things we will do, our achievements, are very much in the foreground. In fact, love is hid in a place in our lives that we hadn’t figured out… Love, is like the point of reference in our lives. A point where we actually find ourselves. While life was going towards a very safe point, when we fall in love and everything is razed to the ground. Or, when love comes, everything that was unpleasant, becomes beautiful all of a sudden. The movie relates to us what things in life may change through finding love and through our way of life. When you meet someone, you face this person carrying with you all your life experiences. We come along with the traumas we’ve been through, the problems we have experienced. And these rise to the surface after some time. In my opinion, this is a part that is very well related in the film. Our roots, our being a family, being parents… We all bring with us problems from the past, but how we even them up is important. The character I play thinks that he will solve this by shooting a film but he understands that things aren’t like that. - In the city, which are the districts whose soul and pattern is your favorite? Which side of the city is closer to you? - I love the Anatolian side… Kalamis, Fenerbahce… Apart from being quiet and peaceful, it is also related with the feeling of life. It gives the people living here a feeling, a sense of belonging. I am from Ankara and I compare it with the place I have come to…Apart from the sea… -Are there places, districts or streets that inspire you? -I won’t talk about the place I live in, but there are in Kalamis and Fenerbahce.I love their streets, their feeling, their marinas. Bagdad Avenue is one of the places that make me feel good. Maybe there a lot more beautiful places in Istanbul, but I love to be in the streets. I love a crowd that is not tiring. Being inside a crowd does me good. I have also lived on the European side, I spent a lot of time. Bebek and Arnavutkoy are very beautiful. In fact, they own the most beautiful scenery in the world. I also love Uskudar. It has an extraordinary scenery. It has to get rid of the building sites and make itself felt. Honestly, I got to know Istanbul during the shootings. Because of them I went to totally different parts of the city. - The previous months, your first short story book “Silence” met with the readers. It is a book that takes its readers on a trip to the years they have missed. In your opinion, what was about the book that had the readers hooked? - I didn’t intend to create such a sense, in fact I didn’t write with the feeling of longing for the past or as a beautification of the past. You are only inside today, the only thing you have in order to compare the feelings and emotions of today is your past. When my childhood and my school adventures came together, I felt that I came to a beautiful story point. In the past five years, life has progressed at a speed beyond our notice. Even faster. We turned towards a life in which we feel even less, we listen and communicate with each other even less. And this is valid for all of us. The moment I realized this, is the moment when these stories started to appear. - How long has writing been a part of your life? -To be honest, it was always there. During my university years I was writing stories. I wasn’t writing in a systematic way but there were stories that I was writing in between. Then, when I started writing in the magazine called Kafasina Gore, they started to accumulate. And as they were accumulating I thought why don’t we make a book out of them. Although I was writing about different topics, it was like the total view on those issues, of a man living in the world. It became something like looking at the issues from the same perspective. - You were born and grew up in Ankara. What if we asked you today to make a comparison between the place Istanbul and Ankara has in your life? If we asked what is it that you wouldn’t give up in Istanbul, and what are the things you miss from Ankara? - I came to Istanbul in 2003. At the moment there is no Ankara like the one I left in 2003. Neither is there the Istanbul of those years. Wherever from you may come to Istanbul, you will find this city fast and exhausting. People are as if they are always running to a place. Yes, I have experienced this as well, but I can say one thing, today this speed is everywhere. We are in a process of all becoming similar, I believe that such problems will lose their influence over time. - You will describe Istanbul to a person who has never seen it. Which would be the words you would use most often? - I will say: "Come, come…" - Is there a place in Istanbul that you have explored? - There is no place that hasn’t been explored. If someone finds one, let us know. - A place in Istanbul that you like most? - Kadikoy. - Is there a place in Istanbul that you have never been to? - I would dare say no. - Who do you think best enjoys this city? - Seagulls. - If Istanbul was a loved one, what would you do to conquer her? - Istanbul is like a cheated and hurt lover. The sparkle in the eyes is still there. In order to open her heart, I would first need to hug her and ask for her forgiveness. She may forgive me, us... - In your opinion, what is the best meeting place in the city? - I think that there is such a feeling in Besiktas. - Which artist would you like to see coming to this city? - Olafur Arnalds ve Hammock,it’s my favorite band. - Which is your favorite historical symbol in this city? - I love the historical peninsula as a whole. - A favorite walking route? - Caddebostan beach. - If it wasn’t Istanbul, where would you like to live? - In Ankara or Kas. - A book you have read? - Sezgin Kaymaz, Nefha , David Grossman "A horse enters the bar" - A movie you have watched? - Ida and Roma. (Translated by Engin Akyurek Universal Fans Club)
  7. +1, indeed Lavender. @Def Leppard hope you are reading this.
  8. Another story translated by EAUFC. Haven’t read this one, therefore posting it here. Translation of Engin Akyurek's short story from the last issue of Kafasina Gore magazine. Irfan By Engin Akyurek Lying was like breathing for him. He was the main character of the analogy that everybody in the school agreed, a man of contradictions, a humanist defender of mistakes, an expert of rascality who was ignorant and incurious of science. He is a holdback high school student who could turn lying into his profession and make his studentship a nest for his boredom with his intelligence. The age difference between Irfan and I was not directly proportional to my being a 9th grader. He had started the elementary school late and repeated a couple of grades in middle and high schools. You could guess his age from his shaving every day, his hair balding on sides, and his deep voice. We had met at the school cafeteria. He had objected that the price equilibrium between hot dog and soda was causing financial difficulty and made too much fuss about it. He had told what I couldn’t tell. We had greeted each other that day and had become friends, in his words, “buddies”. As if he had stove pipe inside his mouth, when he shouted, the words coming out of his mouth created a smoky melody in his voice, which supported his rightfulness. He had the self-confidence of a person who could do or say the things that others couldn’t dare. But, he had a bad reputation. He used to get mad when people said “He’s lying again,” when he talked. He used to curse, punching the walls or the doors of the school with his ugly very large hands. He used to say “You all are liars!”, then ditch the class and try to calm himself by smoking. The teachers wouldn’t say anything his smoking and would think that this was his most harmless one among his other bad habits. You would think that he was a state employee for 35 years who was about to retire. Whatever he did in the class would become the talk of the next break. Whether you like it or not, a simple gossip is how the magazine-shows feed themselves. “Have you heard what Irfan said in the class or what Irfan did to the teacher?” These sentences were whispered in the halls of the school. If he heard your whispers, you could have easily become his target like a paparazzi being assaulted. Since you did not have the freedom of the press, you would be scared shitless. “Let’s ditch the school, buddy.” When I spent time with him, I would feel like I was in a fair; both having fun and learning actual things regarding life. It was as if the “buddy” word covered more than what three-in-one coffees offered. When I began to be very close with Irfan, the assistant school manager had called my mother to the office and told my mom to keep her child away from this devil disguised as child. He had called me to the office, too, and, raising his voice, told me the same verbiage. When I went back home, my mom had repeated the same things told by the assistant school manager. “Why are you hanging out with rascals?” And I would probably hear the same thing from my father in the evening. Forgetting the things memorized was a part of our educational system. I had already forgotten what I heard in the halls in the morning and showed Irfan that I was open to new knowledge. It was true that Irfan used to talk a lot but his sentences were always mysterious. You couldn’t find out about his family. His father’s profession would change according to situation. He would tell his father’s new profession in one of his new long sentences each time. I knew that he didn’t lie to me. Even if he did, he would gift me with a little ephemeral lie. Sometimes, I used to see in his eyes that he didn’t want to talk about his family. He would look at me as if he said “Buddy, don’t open this subject.” If his eyes weren’t enough, he would try to tell me with his silence. Although he was very mischievous, his parents never came to school. The rational little devils inside me were telling me to follow him to find out where he lived and who his parents were but the little conscientious child inside me was silencing those voices by objecting and stoning the devils. There is an ethic line between wondering about someone who knows you as a friend, as a buddy and invading that person’s privacy. I don’t know and don’t want to know who drew these lines or when they were drawn. I didn’t call him as “a man of contradictions” for nothing. He would write something onto a paper that looked like a notebook, fold it with his large hands, and place it into his inside pocket. Although we wondered, we knew what would happen if we attempted to read what he wrote. He would look around, try to make his body smaller, and begin to write. Our literature teacher tried to find out what he wrote, but to no avail. We all thought there wasn’t any literary deepness in his writing but couldn’t help wondering. If nothing went wrong, Irfan would graduate, retire, in a month. The fake May sun had softened our winter faces. Students were in the school yard, which was lively and joyous place like the Spice Bazaar. They were smiling under the afternoon sun. Ankara’s sinister frost which you never knew when it would happen was waiting for the sunset, like a wolf waiting for its prey and sensed what would happen. Irfan was playing forward like the worst scorer of the world and cheating to score because he was banning the goalies,who didn’t concede any goals, from all sport competitions, threatening them in the restrooms later on. Irfan had scored his second goal between the legs. The entire school was chanting his name: “Irfan! Irfan!” High school girls with their plaid skirts, had lined against the wall, were gossiping through soccer. When three beefy young boys from another neighborhood, shouted out the girls, Irfan took the issue in hand. He grabbed the ball without waiting finishing whistle and walked towards them for confrontation. “Is there a problem?” These big young boys couldn’t answer that unexpected question. There was a sweet silence in the schoolyard. This silence was a sign of things to come; like lynching and fist fighting. The entire school could turn these shabby boys into cheerleaders with the help of Irfan. He asked the same question again: “Is there a problem?” He started hitting the face of the biggest one with the ball slowly. The boy’s dark face was turnning red, bringing color to his ugliness. “I won’t ask again. Is there a problem?” The boys of the school narrowed their distance to their prey in a half-moon shape. We were waiting for Irfan’s signal. Irfan didn’t need to say anything; a small tilt of his thick eyebrows that covered almost half of his forehead could give us orders. Irfan began to hit the boy’s face wiith the ball faster this time. He could grab the ball that got lost in his large hands anyway he wanted and showed us that he had been beating people with a ball for years. The feeble one among those beefy boys started breathing deeply. That drew Irfan’s attention. “Do you want to asnwer that?” It was obvious that Irfan was doing this a lot and had a talent for that. His timing and calmness resembled Don Carleone’s charisma. The feeblest one took one step towards Irfan; his breathing had turned to normal. Sounding as ugly as his face, he said: “Let’s talk outside of the school.” He was marking his own grave with his spitting mouth. We had gotten closer with the excitement of sharing the prey. Irfan threw the ball to the ground and approached the boy. He looked at his dirty face full of scars without flinching. The others stopped breathing and were getting high with carbonmonoxide building up in their lungs. Irfan showed his fist, indicating that he wouldn’t ask any more questions. There was a heavy silence in the schooldyard, even birds had stopped chirping. The frost was watching us behind the sun. Irfan took another step, showing his sharp fist. The ugly beefy boy, beaten by his fear, stabbed Irfan with a knife which we were unaware of and then ran away. The crowd had scattered with a panic and the screams of the girls made the other boys run away as well. Iffan was lying on the ground, holding his belly. When we saw the blood coming out of his belly, the schoolyard would fall silent one more time. “Shut up, shut up, don’t scream right beside my ear, ... you, shut up!” Everybody was already silent. The birds had flown away, the frost had escaped from the sun’s shadow. “Shut up! Shut up!” Irfan was shouting so loud that his own voice was hurting him more than his wound. His painful screams were giving a voice to our silence as well. We weren’t even breathing, his profuse bleeding had stopped our breathing. “Shut up! ... you!” The school board got together urgently after this event and expelled him from the school. As the stiches on his belly not enough, he had stripped of his education. As soon as he was discharged from the hospital, he came to the school and sweared at all the teachers, the school manager, and the assistant school manager by shouting their names. That was the last time I saw him. There are places and times that connect all stories to each other. We never know when we will enter a time tunnel. I was on a desolate road in Sile. I drove into a gas station which looked like temporarily there with all the dust and dirt around it. And after 20 years, I saw Irfan behind the cash register in that gas station. He went bald and lost his all glamor. We came eye to eye. The redness on his pupils began to get bigger. He recognized me as well. I expected him to say hello first. I don’t know why. I thought he wouldn’t want to meet me like that. While entering password for my credit card, I could see that he was looking at me with his rotten eyes as if he would say “buddy” in a minute. He gave back my credit card with his ugly large hands which were the only thing that did not change. I got in to my car and drove away. I wouldn’t enter that road or that gas station ever again. I was alone with my shame which I had already forgotten. I had secretly read the notes that Irfan wrote in the schoolyard. I had a lump in my throat because of this shame that I avoided to tell even myself. I was murmuring his sentences while I was driving. “I am Irfan Yilmaz. I am orphan an who doesn’t know where he was born. I don’t know my birthpace or my parents. The only thing that I know is where I am going to die; in an unknown place, by myself, as Irfan.” Irfan is the most honest man that I’ve known in my life.
  9. A better translation of Engin’s latest story by EAUFC English translation of "Ayni Yuz" From Kafasina Gore magazine. The Same Face By Engin Akyurek. It wasn’t important where I was. Her looks went through my heart like an arrow, brushing my eyes. It was a look, silently flowing into my heart, that made me get butterflies in my stomach, put my stomach next to my heart and gave a lot of joy in my heart. Holding my thin-waist tea cup tightly, I was trying to warm up the cold weather. Actually, I needed neither tea nor the taste of the steamy steeped tea on my lips. The arrow which went through my heart when she looked at me from the table across was enough to warm my heart. Cupping her coffee in her hands and unaware of how she got my heart pounding in excitement, she had looked at me like bullets coming out of her killer eyes. I looked at her too. I was sure that my stare reached its target on this greyish weather. My clumsy stares from 3-table distance were easily reaching her table. I couldn’t understand what she felt or whether something was changing in her inner emotional map. Would she be able to make her heart accept the new refugees on the border between her eyes and her heart and would she be able to give them a warm house? When one fell in love, one could easily find oneself on the border of another country, rowing in an inflatable boat to the blue waters of a country that he or she didn’t know. Holding my thin-waist tea cup more tightly, I was holding onto life more and therefore, holding onto her. It was possible to squeeze in the ellipsoid world into a table and then into a thin-waste tea cup as long as those butterflies in our stomach knew where to touch or when to perturb us. Putting her knees against the table and her coffee away, she started giving me quick glances. Maybe, she saw the change of seasons inside me and realized that spring would lead to disturbance in winter. The freezing cold hiding behind the fake spring was the murderer of the newly bloomed flowers. The moment that I had from 3-table distance was like the joy of a flower trying to bloom out from its bud. In spite of the winter, it was raining on my branches, my arms. She was chatting with her friends and she was having a glance at me instead of using comma between her sentences. Her mouth was on her table but her eyes were just next to me. I had my silences. I kept looking at her silently without any pause and without using any punctuation marks. It seemed like I was the one who talked the most within the silence. As the time went by, the commas started to scatter and the mole near her lips turned into a question mark squeezed in between her eyes and chin. The question mark kept growing more and more and I wasn’t able to see her friends or the table she was at any more. I didn’t understand what they talked about or what they laughed at. I didn’t wonder who she was, her name, the movies she watched, the books she read, whether she had a boyfriend or who the foxy faced man with goat beard sitting next to her was. At least I wanted to remain like that during the time elapsed for drinking one tea-cup of tea. If I found about these, it felt like the butterflies in my stomach would turn into moths. By pushing his coffee cup a little bit further with her skinny fingers and correcting her posture with her elbows, she asked for a cup of tea. Drinking the same thing was an imaginary indication of which we could do the same things and share the same worries. Well done to her for ordering a cup of tea! People should know each other gracefully, taking small bites, slowly, in a way that wouldn’t cause any indigestion in the future and should fell in love like eating a dessert after a meal. The tea-cup put before her would paint that moment into dreams. 3-table distance or her chatting with her friends wasn’t important. I had already built my own world and invented the heroes in it. And being able to do this with just one tea-cup of steamy tea was a joy. As I connected the pictures in my head, the story that I wrote was getting better, becoming more human with hands, arms, and most importantly with a huge heart. How would our first meeting be? Who would say the first hello and put a smile on her dimple? If I imagined our first kiss, what kind of storm would the silence fell on our breath cause when we closed our eyes? Which islands or coasts could we leave the refugees inside us? Could we give them a warm house? As our lips touched each other and our breath coalesced, would the air that we breathed in transform us to each other? The harmony of her hair and eyes, her lips and nose which looked like drawn with a pencil, and self-expression of her neck without leaning against her shoulders was revealing the power recorded in my genetic code. If we had children, who would they resemble? What would their gender be? How would our first fight be? How would we avoid our first separation? These questions brought more questions and the more I drank tea the more I dreamed. While doing all these, I was as if I closed my eyes and wasn’t there anymore. I put my tea-cup on the table and I exhaled the cold air after warming it in my lungs. When I raised my head, she was just sitting right across my table. When had she passed those 3-table distance and come next to me, leaving all the question marks behind? Her eyes and lips were reflecting the obscurity and calmness of a white page. All the punctuation marks disappeared in her skin which looked like a calmness of a white paper. “Hello.” Hearing her voice and a word that I knew affected me like a simoom in the cold weather. “Hello.” “Haven’t you recognized me?” Her looks and soul didn’t match any picture in my memory and my surprise ruined the first effect of her hello. “Sorry, I couldn’t.” Even though, I examined every detail carefully, I felt a deep emptiness inside me and my earlier dreams dispersed along with scattering butterflies. “I’m Sinem.” “Hmm… Sinem…” “Haven’t you recognized me?” “Errr…” “When you started looking at me, I thought you did.” The shame of being caught rather than not recognizing her unleashed a big tick inside me. “From the college, Ankara, don’t you remember me?” I had nothing regarding her in my memory. I was annoyed with myself. And the pictures belonged to those years were becoming blurry. I guess, because of the excitement, all faces were being erased and all the details were falling into an abyss. How could I not remember someone that I dreamed about or not keep her details in my memory? “Sorry, I couldn’t remember.” “Really?" She took her phone out of her pocket and quickly sat next to me. “Let me show you a couple of pictures, then.” The “College Years” Album that she found among her other albums excited me as well. “Look! This is you… Don’t you remember?” When I saw the picture, I entered the screen and went to that day and got lost in that moment. It was one of the pictures that I had with my friends in the yard of the college. “Do you remember?” “Yes.” Not only I remembered my old friend but also recreated a person that I dreamed about earlier in my memory. “See, there are many pictures like that.” There was always distance between us in all of the pictures. As far as I remember, there was a communication problem between us. I couldn’t stand hearing her voice, let alone her eyes giving joy in my heart. “Now that you remember me, tell me what you’re doing now.” I had to heal all those mad questions in my head. How come? How was this possible? Had the years passed, changing things, created a new time frame that made my heart and soul run into the same person? “And how are you doing? Do you still keep in touch with them?” “I keep in touch with most of them.” My memory was full of holes. Not many people loved this girl and enjoyed her conversations. “Do you keep in touch with anybody?” Ahmet was always next to me in all of the pictures. We got along well and made fun of others who tried to hang out with us. “I keep in touch with Ahmet but I haven’t seen him for a long time. He is abroad and I don’t have his number now.” “He came back.” “He did?” I wanted to tell her that Ahmet didn’t like her, even hated her, but I couldn’t say this to a person who was a guest at my table. “As you know, Ahmet and I didn’t use to get along back then.” “Yes, you (in plural) did not.” By saying “you did not”, I had taken myself out of the equation, but I was “I didn’t” version of it. “We are getting married.” “What?!” “What” had created a melody of a sentence full of curses that came out of my nose, my ears, not just my mouth. Now, I understood why Ahmet had been avoiding me or ignoring my requests to meet. He must have ashamed of me. I guess he was trying to make himself forget that he was getting married to a girl whom he talked behind her back. “But, you didn’t use to get along.” I told this as if I was blaming her. “Everything is so new. We met here two months ago coincidentally.” “Hmm…” “He didn’t recognize me. I showed him the pictures.” “Hmm…” “Then, we chatted and so on… Here we are.” “Well, congratulations.” We exchanged phone numbers and she went back to her table. I had lowered my head in front of me. Then I chugged my cold tea and shouted after her: “Sinem! Could you send me those pictures?” “All of them?” The thing that makes us is where and in which time frame we are. It doesn’t care about our meddling or calculations. It was as simple as a store tab that kept what was paid off. “The ones with a crowd in the yard of the college.” It did matter where I was. https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=2172585269428655&id=236720409681827
  10. Thanks @Angel. and @purple for the trailer and translation. Looks super interesting. Eagerly waiting for the movie. Berguzar and Engin look so good together.
  11. Yes @Cynthia it means one love two lives. It is mentioned with same title in different sites and pages.
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