From Diaries of Istiklal Street by Can Berkol
For 15 years, I used to walk up-and-down this street, observing people without getting noticed; without utilizing any emotions. This sreet, full of memories, had no chance to break in my soul. I, on the other hand, was crawling on every inch of its soul.
Things are slipping out of my hands lately. I used to isolate my desires with ease... I can't control how I feel anymore and I try hard not to look at, not to touch to, not to breathe in. I wonder what tomorrow awaits; but I know it's not going to be any easier than last night.
Last night, I tried my best to distract attention. I made myself to believe that I successfuly deceived the street one last time. I believed that I was solid as rock, stolid as the wind - as I was in the good old days. I believed that I was like a ghost, flowing without any trace. After so many years, I now know that I am not the one observing and controlling. The truth is; I am not the hunter anymore. This street and people are watching and evaluating me, not vice versa.
It looks like the walls of my castle has fallen long ago; and I am only realizing it now. All these people and their stories shaped my heart into a ticking clock. And as the clock deviates madly just before it stops, my heart does the same.
Last night; I was looking at you and you are at someone else; and I sensed that another strange pair of eyes were locked on me. Today, I realize I'm just another actor in this story; not the scriptwriter. I am a part of this street, of this environment; not that privileged observer. This street knows all, the truth and the lies. Not me, not you, not anyone else... This street knows all, the hidden and the seen. This street knows all, the secrets and the known. This street knows all, you and me; the hate and the love...
Assignments & Events
- Coming soon...