I woke up very early this morning. The wet coolness of the rain from the night surrounded me.
I went to the balcony where a new day was dawning. Each time a new, a fresh day is there to begin. And, each time, the birds sing.
Standing still, I listened to myself. What I felt was a life running fast as if it had sprouted wings and the wound of loneliness in deep silence.
And, a longing…
Nowadays, I miss my days of move and production. Those were the days that we used to pursue life running ahead of us. I miss the days that I soaked in the rain, the feverish life as if unceasingly snatching something away; and I also miss the smell of the sea.
I miss the waves that roared and foamed wildly, the winds that echoed like the cry of life; and the rush after having received a gale warning to check all precautions were taken.
As I miss, sadness arrives…
An old saying goes;
“Sadness, falling leaves and October; they are all made for each other.”
So, at this age and in this season, the road to peace passes through sadness.
First, the things you could not achieve make you sad; then the time which passed so quickly. When the time comes and you look back, what you see is a monotonous life that has passed, and there is nothing remaining but sadness.
I want to go somewhere.
To the shores where olive trees, with their centuries-old stems, want to say something to your ears.
I go away on one hand, but I am unable to stay for long!
Home attracts the person who has ended his active working life. After this period, people like to retire into themselves like a snail returning to its shell, with none of the enthusiasm from the working life remaining.
I wonder why? Why do some people retire into themselves?
Is it because man finds this sadness suitable for himself and has difficulty to feel excitement?
Or is it because he counts the remaining springs, while embracing the spring in the autumn of his life?
I have been the same profession for nearly 40 years.
A pretty long time in which I have tried to be useful.
A lifetime ...
Always a sense of self-assertion, a struggle to be taken seriously. They must like my work, my name must be known in society, and I must be taken seriously…
And oh, I must not be fired ...
I have not been faithful to anything in my life more than my profession. This makes me proud. The moment I felt that I was no longer excited about my profession, “Okay,” I said. “This is the end!”
What could one ask for after 40 years of service?
Enjoying a quiet life with his family and particularly with the grandchildren, with the possibilities that the Government provides and without a big change in one’s life style, isn’t it?
Unfortunately, I found out late that this was not the case in Turkey.
A change is unavoidable, when you have to live your life with a salary ten times less compared to what shaped your life. A family moved to a modest flat on the third storey of an ordinary building after having lived in a huge house is a forced change, of course. A cultural difference, starts to occur inevitably when in the past you drove a car to work and now you are being driven on a bus to go deposit money.
And the understanding that the old days will never come back; makes the person feel like a trembling kitten under a street lamp, in the middle of nowhere, abandoned in the freezing night.
And learning what it means to be left unattended, and what it means to be left alone.
When finding a chance, speaking with the stars, drawing the picture of loneliness, sorrow and pain.
And voting, whenever the elections come.
Everything sinks into oblivion...
And, one cannot help thinking: is this what I deserve? After a life in which I have been telling the truth for whatever price it cost; after having worked honestly and without having designs on others’ money; is this what I deserve?.
Life raised me up, and also made me change. It did not make my life easier, but helped me understand the world. It taught me that to see that justice has been served is an exclusive pleasure only for God.
In spite of all these circumstances, I have expectations for the coming days. No matter how small, I will continue to have expectations until the morning the birds sing without me and I will not get old as long as I have something to expect.
To grow old is to stop expecting. To get old is not believing that the morning is something new.
My 80-plus year old mum, who fell down and broke her hip bone, after complaining and moaning for a while, said : “My son, it is still nice to live” and that makes me understand -
“How wonderful life is!
To understand it as a masterpiece,
To hear it as a song of love,
And to live like a child wandering…”